Back in the Day

Wow, this video brings back so many memories. Taking the bus downtown with my mom to go to the dentist and stopping to watch the clock at Midtown Plaza. Going to dinner at the Spring House many, many times. Riding our bikes down a relatively quiet Monroe Avenue to Pittsford Plaza and eating french fries at the cafeteria in Woolworth's. Picking up the latest 45s at J.C. Penney. Getting our new shoes for the school year at Altier's -- where they measured your feet and made sure they fit perfectly. And getting S&H green stamps at the supermarket, affixing them to the coupon books and leafing through the catalog for free goodies.

Great childhood. Fun video.

Photo Per Day: Town Hall

The Pittsford Town Hall looked so pretty this morning on my way to work. It was covered in snow and looked all Gingerbread House-y.

Seriously, I need to take photography lessons just to raise the bar to "presentable." I don't need to be the next Stieglitz just a tad less blurry. I could blame it on the fact that I was driving (slowly) at the time but that's just a cop-out.

Haste-makes-wasteology?

Until last night, I sincerely believed I was the easiest person to please food-wise. I’m equally as content dining in upscale restaurants as I am gorging myself on cheeseburgers at Tom Wahls. And, in my humble opinion, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese – the powdered kind lest there be any confusion – is better than “gourmet” Mac & Cheese any day. On the flip side, I can’t find a suitable tuna anywhere since I had killer sashimi years ago at the Market Street Bar & Grill in the Hyatt at the Reston Town Center. Alas, my hunt continues.

In recent weeks, I’ve enjoyed a fabulous Chilean sea bass at Max of Eastman Place, shared a delicious plate of Cajun calamari with my girlfriend at Bistro 135, devoured a heavenly breakfast empanada at Juan and Maria’s in the Rochester Public Market, and even found a little slice of yum with the Triple Chocolate Meltdown at our neighborhood Crapplebee’s. Really, it doesn’t take much.

Welcome to Tasteology: Rochester’s very own introduction into branded “health food.” With a clever concept, fabulous mission (the passionate pursuit of great food and inspired customers) and a CIA-trained head chef, what could go wrong? Oh, I wish you hadn't asked. The poor execution of an overstated brand promise, that’s what.

If you like dining at the Ikea Café sans the deliciously fattening Swedish meatballs, this is the place for you. Picture an oversized, nondescript dining room with Pergo-like flooring, colorful green painted walls and what I possibly remember to be plastic chairs —devoid of any warmth—and voila, try to make yourself at home on a chilly, wet, November evening. And feel free to ignore the woman being filmed in the kitchen and broadcast on a giant screen toward the back given that you cannot hear a word she's saying and the top of her head is cut off.

But really, lack of ambiance and technical difficulties aside, we were there for the “great food.”

I ordered the Parrilla touted as “grilled Argentinean style barbeque beef with chimichurri herb sauce, fire roasted tomatoes, chiles and Spanish cheeses (on a flatbread)” and sold to me as “really spicy.”

I received what tasted like sweet, barbequed, pulled pork over chunky Ragu on a flatbread. Being the good friend that I am, I kindly gave pieces to each of my friends. “Try this! No really, I insist!”

Being the good friends that they are, they offered samples of their meals in return. The noodle bowl I tried, to me, tasted like vomit. My girlfriends didn’t mind it nearly as much as I. One commented sadly that she could easily make it at home. Me too! If I stick my finger down my throat . . .

With all due respect, the Sizzology (i.e., stir fried beef, broccoli and cashews with black bean sauce, cinnamon roasted sweet plantains and sesame basmati brown rice) was the best item at our table. Hearty flavor with a hint of cinnamon sweetness. If there’s ever a next time, I’ll be sure to order it. I don’t want to venture out of my comfort zone here ever again! And I'm not naturally risk-adverse.

Thankfully Brio is next door. The minute we finished our meals, we walked (make that ran) next door, grabbed a bottle of wine and sunk into the leather couch and seats by the bar. Surrounded by candles and floor-to-ceiling curtains, we then proceeded to relax and stuff ourselves full with two fairly large bowls of spicy snack mix.

Goodbye health food. Hello Frito Lay!

Please, Tasteology, do us a favor, take some more time to perfect your recipes before going to market. We really do want you to succeed.

Rescue 911

The last few weekends, I’ve taken either one or both boys on hikes. Two weeks ago, Son #1 and I walked along a path near our house that I had seen but had never taken. It began alongside a cornfield, wound its way through a little woods and ended in a huge clearing that was flanked by marshlands filled with cattails. In the middle of the clearing was a great, blue heron that allowed us to approach and then swooped away. We were amazed; it was huge. Then both of us lay down in the grass for a while looking at the clouds and then made our way home.

Last Sunday evening, the three of us walked through the woods in Tinker Park just before dusk. There were deer all around who just looked up at us as we passed. We played on the playground and walked the labyrinth.

Years ago, my girlfriends and I decided that we would go on a big hike the first warm day of spring every year. One year we climbed the face of Bristol Mountain and, when we got to the top, stripped down to our shorts and bras to bask in the hot sun only to have a group of guys descend on us mere moments later. So much for thinking we had the mountain to ourselves.

Another year we began climbing a steep, rocky path alongside a stream in Naples, NY. At first we were jumping from stone to stone to cross the stream but after a number of misses, we just started trudging straight through the ice cold water. We were soaking wet but it felt exhilarating. When my girlfriend Poo got to the top of the cliff and saw a little rope hanging from a tree presumably to swing us across a fairly large precipice to the next overhang, she stopped and said, “Turn back, we can’t go any farther.” Unfortunately for me, my fingers were at the top of the overhang and my toes were dug into the rock. I was literally hanging off the face of the incline. Me. The girl who cannot open a soda bottle with her bare hands was facing a sheer drop into the abyss.

Much akin to driving to the hospital on my way to give birth to Son #1 trying to figure out if it was too late to outsource, my brain was scrambling. I honestly thought we were going to have to call “Rescue 911.” I needed a helicopter and a basket. Somehow, I mustered up my courage and made my way back down to the ledge below where my friend Patti helped me to safety. I was pretty shaken but, at least for a short while, I felt really confident and empowered.

But not enough to want to repeat it--ever!