Openly Giving Thanks

This time of year is my favorite. Gathering family and friends to eat, drink, laugh, watch football and relax together. What's not to like?

Traditionally, I would be also using this festive time to buy a boatload of gifts for those family and friends, including hostess gifts for the parties I'll attend and wine and ornaments for those who allow me to stay in their home.

Clearly, money is tight this year (tight is probably an understatement) so the gifts will be light. However, I can still express my thanks and appreciation to people in this forum.

Therefore, on this most American of holidays, let me openly give thanks.

Open hearts.
I am thankful most of all for the people in my life that make it worthwhile. Those in my life who love unconditionally; those who support me through the ups and the downs; those special people who allow themselves to be vulnerable, trusting in the future despite the unknown; those who care and aren't afraid to express it; those who make me laugh, let me cry and tell me I'm going to be ok.

Open minds.
Speaking as a casualty of this hard economy, I am thankful for the open minds of the American people to look beyond the norm, the comfortable and the easy to nominate and elect the right person for the job. I am inspired, excited and invested more than ever before in the future of this country, and believe that we are armed to attack the problems head on. And, as with any other relationship, I trust and have faith that the best is yet to come.

Open arms.
Is there anything easier to be thankful for than the welcoming arms of a giant hug? This is also a thank you to those who have, or will, host me throughout this holiday season. As one who lives 1,000 miles from her immediate family, it is a privilege and a joy to visit with and stay in the homes of extended family and the family of those I care about. I look forward to toasting, laughing, sharing and dining with my aunt and uncles, cousins and Brett's family this year. It will be delicious in every sense of the word.

Open doors.
I hate to do it, but this one is tangible. I am thankful for the doors of the fridge opening, revealing plates of turkey glazed to perfection, stuffing that is fluffy yet crispy, potatoes that are mashed and delightful, pumpkin pie and other pastries that are sugary and scrumptious and for the wine, beer and cider to flow to accompany the feast. I can't help it, but I have been anxiously awaiting the food, and the leftovers, for days. Maybe it is partly due to the unemployed diet of grilled cheese, soup, cereal and pasta, but I'm game.

Open windows.
With the overused metaphor, I would also like to be thankful for the windows that open when a door closes. With a fervor that is usually reserved for a slick salesman, I have been networking, contacting, communicating, following up, emailing, calling, touching base with and reaching out to everyone that I know in this industry, and it is working. I am not yet working, but I trust that that is still to come.

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and hope that you are sharing the time with your family, friends and loved ones. I am thankful that you all have allowed me this creative forum, this place to share my feelings, this expression of my opinions, stories and aforementioned ups and downs.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,

Colleen

A Picture Speaks

Let's have fun with flickr, and see what a "Colleen mosaic" would look like. Thanks to Grits in the City, I know how to make this happen.

How does this whole thing work?

First, I typed the answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search. Using only the first page, I picked an image. Then, I copied and pasted each of the URLs for the images into Mosaic Maker. And the questions were...

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. Your favorite hobby?
11. Your sibling's name?
12. A pet you have or wish you had?
13. What are you most proud of?
14. The place you call home?
15. What do you love most in life?
16. One word to describe you?

My mosaic looks like this:


Isn't it beautfiul?

My answers, and the link to credit the photorapher, are below. Did you guess correctly what the image I chose represented?

1. Colleen
2. Beef tenderloin
3. Norcross
4. Red
5. Bono
6. Vodka tonic
7. Santorini, Greece
8. Caramel turtle cheesecake
9. A mother
10. Writing
11. Lauren
12. Golden Retriever
13. Buying my condo
14. Lakeview, Chicago
15. Laughter
16. Storyteller

There you have it. Thanks to all of the super photographers I borrowed from...aren't they amazing?

By the way, this process made me:

a) want to eat fatty desserts dripping with sauces
b) long to travel
c) wish it was happy hour already
d) crave a good puppy cuddle
e) envy the talented photographers out there

Hope you enjoyed the view.

I Wanted to Smack Him with His City Map

Last night, while walking down Michigan Avenue toward my bus stop, I overheard some tourists trying to figure out where to go to dinner. Immediately, thoughts of all of the fantastic restaurants I could recommend flooded my mind, but I was polite enough to keep my opinions to myself.

And then I heard it.

The dad said, "It's too bad there isn't a Chili's or an Applebee's on Michigan Avenue."

Ohhhh-Kaaay.

First of all, that is so incredibly sad. With all of the highly rated, fantastically reviewed, best-in-class, top-in-the-world restaurants in Chicago, at every price point and every "level," it is a total shame that someone would even CONSIDER going to a chain for a dinner in Chicago. Much less a chain like those two, restaurants that appear on every corner near every strip mall in every suburb in America.

Second of all, maybe try the deep dish pizza? Or the polish sausages? Or the kosher dogs? Or the Italian beef sandwiches? Or the steaks and potatoes and salads at any number of restaurants? Or the sushi? Or anything but THAT?

Third of all, go back to Oklahoma. Or Arkansas. Or Iowa. Or whatever middle-America suburb you came from. We appreciate the tourists that appreciate Chicago. Which is to say, we appreciate those who will indulge in, take a bite of, experience and enjoy the culture, cuisine and class that Chicago has to offer.

If you're looking for plastic table cloth covers, kitchy yet duplicated a million times across the country decor, bad fried foods at cheap prices served fast, then we're not the city for you. And, Michigan Avenue is not your place to roam.

Go home. And take your whiny husband with you.

Fat Chance

There is a Corner Bakery going into the lobby of my office building.

This CANNOT be good for my wallet, or my waistline.

It sure will be convenient in the winter, however, when the temperature is at a balmy 9 degrees with galeforce winds whipping around Michigan Avenue.

I'll be fat enough by then to ward off the chill, though, I suspect.

Step One, Go to Trader Joe's

I keep getting praised for my newfound "cooking skills" now that I'm all homey and domestic and stuff.

Do I have to tell him that it doesn't really count as cooking if it was frozen ingredients opened, heated and served on a plate?

My argument against this revelation is multi-dimensional: the fruit salad was all raw (it was never in a frozen state) and I picked each ingredient out myself and put them together for just the right amount of zing and zip. I really did pay attention to having a nice well-balanced dish with plenty of color, just to distract from the aforementioned frozen ingredients. Each part of the meal involved opening a separate bag and using lots of different pots and pans and bowls. It took several different rounds of the kitchen timer to get it all done at the same time so we wouldn't go hungry while waiting for the rice to be ready. I bought and carried home the pieces and parts from the grocery store, including two bottles of red wine. Finally, and for the grand finale, I served the entire concoction on matching dishes with linen napkins and wine.

So, do I have to tell this sweet partner in my eating adventures that the above doesn't really qualify as cooking?

Yeah, I didn't think so either.

Chicken for Breakfast: I'm Lovin' It

While at painting class last night, with the class full and busily man-handling their color still lifes (oh wait, that was just me), the radio was on and playing all sorts of fun 1970s classic rock.

And then a commercial promoting McDonald's new breakfast treat—chicken biscuits—came on and interrupted the quiet. The class all simultaneously reacted negatively, with the teacher even saying aloud, "who eats chicken for breakfast?"

Uh...have you EVER been to Chick-fil-A? The fast food chain that is healthier than the rest, tastes better, smells delicious and is torturously NOT in the Midwest yet? Ok, so apparently there are a few franchise spots up in Wisconsin, but even I haven't had that much of an urge. Yet.

At Atlanta-based Chick-fil-A, you eat chicken for breakfast, and you wash it down with a giant lemonade. That's just what you do. Then you go back at lunch and get the nuggets and waffle fries, and wash that down with a sweet tea. HEAVEN.

So now when I'm seeing the article in the Chicago Tribune today asking, "Will the chicken for breakfast work in the North?" it just upsets me. At least one observer, quoted in the article, was smart enough to give credit where credit was due saying, "They may not admit this, but it looks like they copied this a little from Chick-fil-A."

Give it a chance. I'm not sure that Midwest-based McDonald's will do it the way that Chick-fil-A does, or half as well, but let's not knock it before you've tasted the delicious salty chicken resting on a buttery, flaky biscuit.

McDonald's is giving them out free tomorrow, and Costa-Rica-trip-diet be damned, I'll be in line.

Wishing it were the real thing, but willing to take one for the team, and sacrifice a little something for a taste. I'll let you know.

Ways of the World

It seems that this has been a week of cultural experiences and eye-opening adventures.

At dinner last week a friend was telling stories about her trip to India, and we were all amazed by the sights, sounds and tastes that she described. The most interesting fact she shared was this: in India, the petty crime rate is fairly low, especially given the extreme poverty and overcrowded cities, because the faith of the region is based on a religion that believes in karma. A simple notion, the people of India believe fully in the concept that what you do and how you behave will inevitably come back to you, good or bad.

I think that's an interesting way to live—and without debasing their culture by making light of it, I couldn't help but apply that principle to our life here in America. If every action I took had a direct result on someone else (which it usually does) and ultimately that action comes back to me in the form of a distinct and equal reaction, would I choose to behave differently? Would the ill-tempered bus driver calm down? Would the grouchy old lady be kinder? Would the rude and pushy teenager give way to those who need more time to board the bus? Would patience abound? Would general kindness be more evident? Would commuting actually be pleasant?

And, then, while this was all on my mind, I got talking with a few people about the foods of the world, and realized that I am poorly versed on many cultural cusines. I hadn't eaten at a Lebanese restaurant, had never really tried Vietnamese foods, and had only tasted Indian food (takeout) once. My palette was sorely virgin when it came to the ways of the world.

Sunday night was an opportunity to try to change that. We dined at Old Jerusalem, a small and visually unremarkable Lebanese and Middle Eastern spot in Old Town, featuring fresh and authentic dishes from the region.

I'd had some of it (hommus, falafel), but never in a full meal such as this, and most often out of a plastic Whole Foods container. Last night, however, my senses were awakened by the unique paradox of the citrus/parsley blend of the tabbouleh with the creamy nature of the feta dishes, the thinly sliced meats of the shawarma were balanced by the spices and the rice on which they laid gently. I was pretty amazed at how delicious it all was, and how I had neglected to ever try this food before, simply out of fear of the unknown.

Overall, I was impressed, both with the food, and with the entire experience of it all.

And then the dessert comes, and it is a small slice of homemade Baklava, a honey-lemon pastry dish with layers and layers of flaky crusts on top. We all shared, inching in with our small dessert forks, to sample the delicacy.

And, then, the cultural finale of the evening was upon us: Brett tastes his portion, settles back into his chair, and says calmly, and quietly, "I'd rather have a Toaster Strudel."

Needless to say the wine was almost coming out our noses. Not that he didn't appreciate the entire meal and the dining experience of trying new things, but at some level, we all want to go back to the basics. The comfort foods of our youth. The more familiar.

But, I must tell you, at that exact moment, nothing could have stopped our table at laughing at the truth and simplicity of his statement.

Because, sometimes, you just would rather have a Toaster Strudel.

And We Weren't Even Poor

We got talking at work today, during one of our free lunch learning meetings, about how funny lunch meat is. Either you love it or you hate it. Some like only certain meats, and others won't touch the stuff.

That led us to the conversation about what we took for school bagged lunches growing up.

I, for one, wasn't a fan of sandwiches, even when my Mom tried lovingly to recreate a "Subway sandwich" by putting ham and cheese and the fixins—including oil and vinegar—on a hoagie. I wasn't fooled. Then she tried the toasted approach. Not gonna do it. I wasn't even a huge supporter or PB&Js, the childhood staple, or cheese sandwiches, which given the chatter today, were a crowd pleaser.

So, inevitably, I ate a bagel with cream cheese (plain, not toasted) every day from 6th grade through 12th grade. Some girl at work ate a ketchup sandwich, some guy liked cream cheese and jelly on Wonder Bread, another guy devoured peanut butter and bananas, and there were a few honey-lovers in the mix.

Overall, the lunch sandwich discussion was funny.

And then I dropped the bomb that my Mom used to grill us SPAM sandwiches, on toasted bread. Yes, SPAM. The room got silent. I dropped my head in shame. Then decided to own my SPAM-loving history.

I remember liking them! The smell filled the house, and I can still recall helping my mom with the rolling-back metal lid with the little key, which I found totally cool.

The best part is this—as an adult I am totally and completely grossed out by the concept of processed or congealed meat—like bologna. I even heard that at the factory, bologna is in a tube of liquid meat, and then someone puts the pimentos in there by HAND. That is so gross I can't even comment. Another chat on this subject of mystery meat revealed that in Greek restaurants, the gyros are made from that congealed/processed form of meat that is often lamb, or pork, or a little of both. GROSS.

However, I'm known to eat a great Kosher hot dog at the ballpark during the summer, so what's the difference, right? No one knows quite what is in a hot dog, and it is a close cousin to bologna anyway. I'm fooling myself by adding the grilled onions. And, the 5 draft beers. That usually does the trick.

Frankly, the only SPAM in my life now comes into my inbox, offering me a larger penius, Viagra, or some other totally useful product such as those.

Especially for a woman.

Curious Combination Y'all

A fried-food-loving (beautifully thin) friend at work was proudly cooking her chicken fries today for lunch. When we looked at the box, we saw that they were Dwight Yoakam's brand of foods. They are only a dollar at Walgreen's, so what do you expect.

But I must say that I find this hilarious—I know that Paul Newman has long since promoted his dressings and other foods under his name, but come on.

A country star? What does he know about chicken?

Well, I guess now that I type that sentence, anyone from a small, rural town like he probabaly calls home likely does know a thing or two about frying up some chicken.

But, still. I'm in branding, and I think this goes a bit far.

What's next?

Kelly Clarkson Texas-sized onion rings?

Britney Spears fatty cheese doodles?

Ok. Actually, these start to make sense.

However, I'm still not buying them.