An Ode to Goofy Juice

Lil' Goldfish had surgery the day before Thanksgiving to have his tonsils and adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears. He's been off-and-on sick for quite a while, so rather than being nervous about the surgery, I was actually quite thankful that he was getting it over with.

We had to be at the hospital very early in the morning, which wasn't too pleasant, as Lil' Goldfish is not a morning person. And when we got to pre-op and he had to take his pajamas off and get into the surgical gown, he lost it. See, he has these bizarre modesty issues. He's happy to run around the house stark naked all day long. But if he raises his arms in public and shows a peek of his wee belly button because his shirt's a little small, heaven help us. It offends his Victorian sensibilities. So stripping down in the hospital led to much screaming and thrashing and dirty looks.

Cue the goofy juice! Goofy juice is a kid-friendly version of that Everclear punch you used to mix up in your bathtub in college. It's a pre-anesthesia medicine that helps relax the child.

Here's Lil' Goldfish about five minutes after drinking his juice. He's pondering the meaning of life:

Five minutes after that -- let the party begin!

Right before they took him away, he stood on the bed and started dancing around while singing "I'm naked and I'm silly!" over and over. I got a little glimpse of what he'd be doing on Saturday nights in about 20 years.

It was pretty easy to let him go since, rather than screaming and crying and trying to cling to me, he was laughing and having a blast. But seeing him in post-op just after the surgery was pitiful. He kept wailing and trying to pull his IV out. It killed me.

Overall, my little man did very well, though. We spent one night in the hospital, but by the next morning, it was as if he'd never had surgery, and we got released earlier than I expected. Just in time to hit Luby's for Thanksgiving dinner, in fact.

Guess what I was thankful for?

My Favorite Tuscan Souvenir

When we were in Tuscany, a gal named Eleanora came round every evening to cook an amazing meal for us. She would prepare four- and five-course feasts that were always delightful, delicious and classically Tuscan. And I think Eleanora was only in her very early twenties. Her young age meant her talent in the kitchen was both raw and, quite likely, genetic.

Eleanora's roasted potatoes were scrummy. So was her chocolate torte. But Eleanora changed our lives with her garlic sauce.

When we first came into our Tuscan villa, we entered through the back door directly into the kitchen. We were greeted with a huge rustic country table loaded with breads, fresh fruit and cheeses. But a singular scent led us to the stovetop, where a tomato-based sauce simmered gently. Within minutes, we were boiling pasta and enjoying the best marinara sauce we'd ever tasted.

Later that evening, though, when we met Eleanora and complimented her on the marinara, she seemed confused. As she spoke little English, and we spoke little Italian, we expected things to be a little lost in translation. But surely marinara was marinara, right? Not so. Eleanora convinced us that the English phrase for her concoction was "garlic sauce." We could buy that -- garlic was a prominent flavor in the sauce. But there seemed to be so much more to it. I was sure that Eleanora's recipe used numerous ingredients and was complicated to make.

Not so, my friends. Eleanora's garlic sauce is brilliant in its simplicity. It's so simple even I can make it. And I did make some today. While prepping it, I got into a conversation about it with some friends on Twitter. Everyone was guessing as to ingredients and proportions, so I thought I'd take some pictures and share the secret.

WARNING: If you're one of those people who likes exact measurements and precise instructions, you will not like this recipe. Eleanora doesn't measure, so I don't measure. And the language barrier prevented her from sharing specific nuances of the dish. I learned it by watching her prepare it over and over (she made this sauce for us every day). I thought I'd never be able to replicate it, but you know what? I nailed it. It's that simple. So just roll with it, and make it to suit your tastes.

Another warning: Eleanora didn't use all fresh ingredients, so neither do I. When I asked why she didn't use fresh tomatoes, she looked at me like I was crazy and said "Oh, too much work!" If canned ingredients are good enough for her, they're good enough for me.

You'll need:

About 7 ounces of olive oil (I did it once with 8 -- too much. I then tried 6 -- too little.)

About a tablespoon of dried red chili pepper flakes (more or less, depending on your heat tolerance)

A pod of garlic. Yes, a pod. Not a clove. A pod. (It ain't called garlic sauce for nothing.)

About 3 ounces of tomato paste

A 28-ounce can of crushed tomatoes (I use crushed because I don't like things chunky. I'm sure chopped tomatoes would also work.)

Salt to taste

Start by heating the oil on low heat. Then chop/mince/crush the garlic. Whatever you prefer. I mince mine pretty fine because, again, I don't do chunky. Simmer the garlic and pepper flakes in the oil for a while. What's a while? When the garlic starts looking like it wants to turn brown, it's had enough. (I've found that overcooking the garlic sweetens the sauce too much for my taste.) It should look like this:

Then add the tomato paste. Eleanora used paste from a tube. I've used both tube and canned paste, and while I prefer the tube, there's not a huge difference.

Simmer it some more over that low heat until the paste breaks up and it looks like this:

Then add the large can of tomatoes. Throw a bit of salt in. Put a lid on it, and keep simmering and stirring from time to time. Eleanora let hers simmer on the stove for hours. I simmer mine for a couple of hours on a really low heat. (I have an electric, rather than a gas stove, so I like to keep the heat low so it doesn't get out of control.)

The finished product looks like this:

Look closely and you'll see that it's practically a swimming pool of olive oil. Eleanora insisted on using lots of oil, but hey, we were in Italy. I think you can cut back a wee bit. (However, all that oil does work wonders on chapped lips.)

How to serve the sauce? It's best eaten as the whole family hovers over the stovetop, fighting for elbow room, with a big crusty loaf of bread perfect for dipping straight in the pot. Hunk of bread in one hand, bottle of Vino Nobile de Montepulciano in the other.

The more civilized lot of you can drink it through a straw.

If you insist on being polite about it, toss it with some spaghetti.

However you serve it, I'm sure you'll love it. You can tell me grazie later. I'll pass on your thanks to Eleanora.

Padre Agosto Is a Hottie

I'm from Louisiana, where boys are cute and Catholics are numerous. So if you consider the logic, it stands to reason that I've seen a few good-looking priests in my life. (Any of my Catholic friends are welcome to provide a Venn diagram that shows overlap of cuteness/Catholicism/celibacy to prove my point.)

But I have never in my life seen this:

Anna* gets all hot and bothered

For those of you who don't read Italian, allow me to translate: It's essentially a "Hot Priests" calendar.

Stay classy, Italy.

Each month features an attractive priest in clerical garb casually hanging out among his parishioners. One picture, for real, showed a priest in a cafe, grinning from behind his Macbook.

Am I the only one who, while perusing a calendar, immediately flips to her birth month to ensure that the cutest kitty/funniest Dilbert cartoon/most beautiful Ansel Adams photo is assigned to said birth month? I think not. I am pleased to say that, despite their questionable tastes overall, the creators of this calendar did assign the best-looking spiritual advisor to August. Thanks for that, I guess.

Before you ask, no, I did not bring one of these home. If I could have gotten a signed copy, I would have, but even I have standards.

* I make it a practice not to use people's first names on my blog. I would normally call her MBG (my brother's girlfriend), but since she's outed herself in previous comments, she's fair game.

Bent, But Not Broken

Hey everyone! If you're one of the few (but much loved) people who stop by my blog regularly, you may have noticed that it was MIA. In switching over to my own domain name, I made things go a little screwy. But I finally fixed them (who said blonde girls can't be tech geeks?), and now I'm back, better than ever.

And by the way, you can now find me at www.thebeedot.com.

Oh, happy day!

Happiness is a Villa in the Tuscan Countryside

I know I've been scarce lately. I've mentioned how crazy things are at work and in my personal life. But I've recently been off the grid because I went on an amazing vacation. To Italy.

Go ahead, hate me. Because it was everything you've dreamed about and more.

I've got lots of posts lined up, about everything from art to food to how to make high-quality olive oil. But I thought I'd kick things off with a look at where we stayed.

There were lots of us on this trip: my mom and dad (who so graciously rented the villa and did all the planning), my mom's two sisters, my brother, his girlfriend, my husband and me, Flapjack and Lil' Goldfish, and my husband's mom and stepdad. Whew. So of course we needed a place that could sleep a lot of people. And we wanted a convenient location, close to a highway and train station, but not in the middle of a city.

Villa Mimmi fit the bill. Located in the stunning little village of San Casciano dei Bagni on the Tuscan/Umbrian border, Villa Mimmi is owned by a British interior designer. And it shows. This place looks good. It's just rustic enough to be completely authentic, but because it's owned by a city-dweller, the villa also sports all the mod-cons that make life comfortable.

The locals call Villa Mimmi "La Scuola," which means "The School." That's because it used to be the town's schoolhouse. In fact, many people we met in the village grew up going to school there. Once we knew it was a schoolhouse, we understood Mimmi's architecture a bit better. There's one long central hallway with all the rooms on one side, and each room has a little pull cord hanging from the ceiling. When we pulled the cord, a buzzer would go off, and a light would flash by the front door. I guess that's how the teachers used to signal that they needed assistance in their classrooms.

But today, Villa Mimmi sports a crystal-clear pool, a large, welcoming kitchen, lots of spots for lazy lounging and a lawn big enough for petanque or for letting little boys run wild. In fact, as my boys ran full-speed up and down the hallway, screaming at the top of their lungs (the marble floors made a great echo chamber), I imagined that Villa Mimmi was happy to be La Scuola once again.

So here are some pictures of my Tuscan dream home. This is the view down the hallway from the entryway:

This is the living room. It's hard to tell in this picture, but those are massive custom-made sofas. They seat about six each. And yes, someone did take the time to wrap almost all the books in white paper.

And here's where the magic happened. It's just what you expect from an Italian kitchen: a large, rough-hewn table with room for the whole family, lots of cooking utensils, a huge oven and stovetop and a breathtaking view of the Tuscan countryside.

Although it rained almost every day, we did have a few chances to lie around by the pool. And we had a beautiful feast under the stars one evening.

Here's the master bedroom. This picture doesn't do it justice:

This was my bedroom. The bed was hard as a rock and about two inches off the ground. After a long day of touring and walking all over a city, it was hard to get in the bed. And it was even harder to get my stiff, sore, creaking body out of it each morning. But I swear that was my only complaint.

Another bedroom:

This was Flapjack and Lil' Goldfish's room. Of course they wrecked it. Their dad had to scrub stickers off the floor the day we left.

Another bedroom:

This was my brother and his girlfriend's room. They wrecked it even worse than my boys did theirs.

The awesome bathroom in the master bedroom:

A view from the backyard:

(all photos courtesy of the Villa Mimmi website)

So there you have it. That's where I've been hiding out. I've got so much more to tell you about everything we did, so please stop back by soon!

Seven Layer Italian Salad

I was talking with one of the chefs at work yesterday morning about how the change of seasons means a change of menus. Our restaurants are all about using fresh, local, sustainable ingredients in everything we make. We definitely follow the tenets of the Slow Food movement.

I always lament the end of summer, since my favorite foods tend to be summer foods. I told the chef how I was broken-hearted that I wouldn't have any more fresh tomatoes. He told me I was mourning prematurely, though. He said that weather permitting, we'd be able to get good tomatoes until the end of this month.

So in honor of the good news, I thought I'd share one of my favorite recipes that uses tomatoes. It's a delicious layered take on a caprese salad. It looks beautiful in a trifle dish or a deep glass bowl, and it's incredibly easy to make.

1/4 cup olive oil

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

1 clove garlic, minced

Salt and ground black pepper to taste

1 medium head iceberg or romaine lettuce, rinsed, cored and torn into pieces

1 15-ounce can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

1 large ripe tomato, peeled, cored and chopped

6 ounces fresh mozzarella, small balls or cut into cubes

Fresh basil leaves

2 tablespoons pine nuts, toasted

In a small bowl, whisk olive oil, vinegar, garlic, salt and pepper; set aside.

Layer remaining ingredients in a large bowl, ending with toasted pine nuts. Drizzle dressing over salad.

That's it! Once I found myself out of balsamic vinegar, so I used champagne vinegar instead -- worked fine. And if you don't want to bother making a vinaigrette, you can substitute your favorite store-bought vinaigrette or Italian dressing.

You can find pine nuts in the baking section of your grocery store, along with the other chopped nuts. To toast them, just spread them on a baking sheet and put them on the top rack of a 250 degree oven for about five minutes.

Enjoy this last taste of summer!

Oh Lawdy, the Jet Lag

Well, I'm alive. Barely. I disappeared for a while because I've been on the road, and it was a long, hard, tiring trip.

In Las Vegas.

Yeah, yeah, I get it. How bad could it be? I was in VEGAS for work, for heaven's sake! Yep, not much to complain about, really, especially since Vegas is one of my favorite places in the world. It's like my second home. Flapjack was even born there. (Me being in labor in Vegas is a hilarious story that I'll have to share with you later. It was not at all funny at the time, but in hindsight, it's some good comedy.)

I was in Vegas for the world's largest speed dating convention. Actually it was the Virtuoso Travel Mart, which is the world's largest luxury travel convention, but it's very much like speed dating. I'll tell you about it sometime if anyone actually cares to hear the details.

And after Vegas, I stopped by L.A. for a couple of days. I went to Disneyland sans kids. Boy, was THAT tough.

But I'm back now, and I missed y'all very much. And I have some great stories to tell.

Oh wait, I forgot. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas...

You'll have to beg.