tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72771330768912463722024-03-14T01:19:31.864-05:00MR. BOBO & THE DELI DISHrandom observations and the occasional recipeMr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-47193332266185334382021-06-08T20:04:00.002-05:002021-06-08T20:04:21.476-05:00I HAVE A FEW THINGS TO SAY.<p> Just not right now.</p>Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-52214706110908115682020-11-20T10:21:00.013-06:002020-11-20T13:27:45.352-06:00Curbside Confessions, Part One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGwSHllcOo3J6zXj8vmCMmb1nObaohKFQdfRBzu5pupGLmOsjwbnGJRLKcH7CrJYgoAP-2ZT3Jbwu91cOrVxZA2dPtGv-UL5ZPhUd2bh4g600rnaXsGOg3kL2WRatgudmkNXp-WskYt9I/s2048/271F7C86-2578-4284-BE79-E7C375240618.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGwSHllcOo3J6zXj8vmCMmb1nObaohKFQdfRBzu5pupGLmOsjwbnGJRLKcH7CrJYgoAP-2ZT3Jbwu91cOrVxZA2dPtGv-UL5ZPhUd2bh4g600rnaXsGOg3kL2WRatgudmkNXp-WskYt9I/w640-h480/271F7C86-2578-4284-BE79-E7C375240618.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p> Hey. Just yesterday this thing happened. The phone rang and I answered with my usual cheery "W.D.Deli." The voice on the other end said, "This is Douglas. I'm here for my curbside order." I asked him what sort of vehicle I might find him in outside. He told me that he was in a grey Jeep. I told him that I'd be right out with his order.</p><p>I grabbed his order off the to-go table and trotted outside to find the Jeep. I like Jeeps. They're pretty cool. There was a time when Wayne and I had a theory that only cute/handsome/hot guys drove Jeeps. Of course, that's silly. But it was always fun to spot one on the highway and speed up to see if the theory held true. Spoiler alert: Only sometimes. Sometimes the hot guys are in Subarus. I guess it's kind of like that thing we all used to do when we were kids spotting VW Beetles on the road.</p><p>Anyway. I found our big, burly, mountain man of a customer Doug in his Jeep and handed his order over to him through the passenger side window. I told him the total, processed his credit card on the tablet in my hand and asked him if he needed a receipt. I told him that I liked his Jeep and asked him how long he had owned it and we talked about how much he enjoyed his Jeep. He told me that he had bought it new in 2005 and over the years he'd had to have some repairs and replacements done on it and - well, we pretty much exhausteded the topic of his Jeep.</p><p>More than once he asked about how business was going for us in light of the pandemic, etc., and he mentioned more than once how happy he was that we were still "hanging in there." </p><p>Then he stopped and said, "Hey."</p><p>I said, "Yes?"</p><p>"On a more personal note, if I may, if it's not being too personal, I mean, I assume you're gay, right? [I admitted this less than earth-shaking truth.] And his tone changed. "I need to tell you something. I've been coming to the deli a lot over the years, a lot of times with my dad. I want to tell you: He came out to me when he was 73." His voice broke just a little bit. "He didn't come out to me voluntarily. We were talking and I asked him. I cornered him. Forced him to tell me. I want you to know that we would come to the deli, and I would observe you and your partner - not in a creepy, stalking way - and the way you just live your lives and interact with people. I know you probably don't do it in any kind of intentional way, but - it helped me. It helped me understand my dad. It made things make sense. It made it easier for me to accept my dad and understand what he might be going through, as well as dealing with my own feelings about it. I want you to know that I really appreciate it, and again, I'm so glad that you're here, man, that you're <b><i>still</i></b> here." His eyes watered. His voice was shaking.</p><p>I was taken aback and quietly responded with words of appreciation. Humbled. Really.</p><p>"I hope it means something to you because it really means a lot to me," he said.</p><p>"Are you kidding? I'll take this moment and live on this for a while," I told him.</p><p>I came away with a salad bowl full of flavors and feelings. How grateful I was that he came to the deli that day and that I was the one who -by the luck of the draw - got to take his order out to him. How thankful I was that he felt like sharing all of that with me. How lucky we are to live and work in a business that brings people the comfort and happiness that comes with food (good food!) - and that everyday we have the opportunity to welcome people into our little party at W.D.Deli. And this: We (me, you, everybody) have no idea how we affect the people around us sometimes. We're not always aware that other people are seeing us, watching us, observing our behaviors. </p><p>Santa Claus is not the only one watching, kids.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-66367715894813767282020-07-02T12:05:00.001-05:002020-07-02T15:59:44.352-05:00I've neglected you.I've neglected you, dear blog readers. Not that you've missed anything really earthshakingly important. But I'll try to catch you up on a few things. The last time I did just a little blog writing I was accused of sounding chirpy. Maybe it was because I was telling you about how important it is to make your bed in the morning. Maybe I had had too much coffee that morning. Maybe I've had too much coffee <b><i>today</i></b>. But I'll try not to be too chirpy. Though I'm not sure exactly what chirpy is. I'm guessing that it is something like perky. If chirpy and perky are the same thing, it shouldn't require too much effort to <b><i>not</i></b> be chirpy. These are the days of Covid-19 - and these days it's pretty easy to be the <b><i>opposite</i></b> of chirpy. Chirpy would require some effort. Anyway, let's try to catch up on a few things.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7svH0r02nnLSDDzV7V32Yi4m6PAEmu9TNu5aerWG0FAfDFT2hCpf0yUcVpuVWHrxOUos7gOJtM5Plj8p0_XCfDUJZRnS8blekZ0TqMh-FVxO7QR6IKFrUZe9ZcGNCFGSrKWlxFdIxPXT7/s1600/FEEF289D-71A3-4B72-8750-6C29E9126408.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7svH0r02nnLSDDzV7V32Yi4m6PAEmu9TNu5aerWG0FAfDFT2hCpf0yUcVpuVWHrxOUos7gOJtM5Plj8p0_XCfDUJZRnS8blekZ0TqMh-FVxO7QR6IKFrUZe9ZcGNCFGSrKWlxFdIxPXT7/s640/FEEF289D-71A3-4B72-8750-6C29E9126408.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
After living at 320 West Rosewood for almost 15 years, Mr. Beers and I sold our house. We loved the house, we loved the neighborhood, we loved our neighbors. But it seemed like it was time to do something different. Now we're renting a smaller place just a few blocks from Rosewood. Several factors contributed to that decision: buying a place in Puerto Vallarta, the ever-rising property taxes in San Antonio, those kinds of things. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52-WB5pK8KiCxVzVjY05_esE-9NqX34F6WiIgkybs0qLxgFE8J3AgduJZh9zLMFB9rKbxSIkToJW-IhaJv7rpbAkxMGrQWOUWhJGIxZJoPSUMTcKjdBeFGmfstmXlj3uoJbPUMHykd4Wc/s1600/BDCD60DB-9993-47F6-9AEA-4F6C9C7F1001.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52-WB5pK8KiCxVzVjY05_esE-9NqX34F6WiIgkybs0qLxgFE8J3AgduJZh9zLMFB9rKbxSIkToJW-IhaJv7rpbAkxMGrQWOUWhJGIxZJoPSUMTcKjdBeFGmfstmXlj3uoJbPUMHykd4Wc/s640/BDCD60DB-9993-47F6-9AEA-4F6C9C7F1001.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
We went to World Pride in NYC last year. It was a blast. Great times with good friends. No social distancing, but lots of socializing. It's no secret that New York City is one of our favorite places in the world. We send our hearts and positive thoughts and vibes and everything else good to our wonderful friends in that city. But - at least for now - any trips to (among other places) Fairway Market or The Duplex or Bar Centrale or a Broadway show are on hold. Extended hold. Holding for a long time. We look forward to a return visit...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpQGiC4SO5GDv9cicwLhMlkosL_T1u91JtWelb7nr75Nm7mneKMa7QwlB8IRY9eO44XTzTrQjlgEsmbY0LNc_vd7ks_HkbNWWY8tznEZPbNqfasmtgzPY6rYM6SlgrDABkJK-AHwF2et9/s1600/324C3264-3853-48A2-BDE3-DC311735C48E.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpQGiC4SO5GDv9cicwLhMlkosL_T1u91JtWelb7nr75Nm7mneKMa7QwlB8IRY9eO44XTzTrQjlgEsmbY0LNc_vd7ks_HkbNWWY8tznEZPbNqfasmtgzPY6rYM6SlgrDABkJK-AHwF2et9/s640/324C3264-3853-48A2-BDE3-DC311735C48E.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Another thing that happened last year - We were honored to be included at a amazing young woman's quincinera celebration. We were able to hang with these beautiful people for a while. Super good time. No pandemic then. No social distancing then. Lots of fun, though. And if you look a little more closely at the group, you might be able to tell that any gathering with any of these people is special occasion. I want to hug them all so tight right now.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtnvfQiOfTDqnc0gAfXYJDxVilsuuC1FBJ0LvNjiF2eJipMeN1s8XggmighyphenhyphenWRp23N2vTKtSgRceT9qq5VqTOcsIVJthO8LFm2tKV2duj0ItEys0_Vlk5PGnNQvmWh4foPNlfZKrXvpAS/s1600/C92351EE-FACD-4068-AF89-C26F5B96A1A3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="495" height="628" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtnvfQiOfTDqnc0gAfXYJDxVilsuuC1FBJ0LvNjiF2eJipMeN1s8XggmighyphenhyphenWRp23N2vTKtSgRceT9qq5VqTOcsIVJthO8LFm2tKV2duj0ItEys0_Vlk5PGnNQvmWh4foPNlfZKrXvpAS/s640/C92351EE-FACD-4068-AF89-C26F5B96A1A3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Did I mention that we bought a place in Puerto Vallarta? It happened. It happened last October. For the months of October, November, December, January, and February we were able to spend a week (at least) per month in paradise. The last time we were there was February. Ah, to be there again, out by the pool (or beach, or both), sipping on a cool refreshing beverage. We'll be there again eventually. It will take a while. Full disclosure: My bag is already packed. We talk about it fairly often. We love pretty much everything about Puerto Vallarta. The food, the lush surroundings, the relaxed way of life, the people. The <b><i>people</i></b> - so kind, gracious, sweet, smart, funny, beautiful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0PAqMC2ZJKTykYuJ6TUoqW_dZbNDiLGx33MvmAX6wiH7RTaTPZKKB7efqTtEda67j8UqqCT2PNmisx76-DTYRG05hYk6Pqr02DB9f6EYj9J5gWGQU9GAFvFWf5YdT6yKcCY9QLgW73al/s1600/95D714E5-7A95-490B-8C6B-338FEBEF9072.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0PAqMC2ZJKTykYuJ6TUoqW_dZbNDiLGx33MvmAX6wiH7RTaTPZKKB7efqTtEda67j8UqqCT2PNmisx76-DTYRG05hYk6Pqr02DB9f6EYj9J5gWGQU9GAFvFWf5YdT6yKcCY9QLgW73al/s640/95D714E5-7A95-490B-8C6B-338FEBEF9072.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
We are still moving and grooving at W.D.Deli. Come see us. The lemon bars are still here. So are all those (eleven kinds of) cookies. The spinach chicken salad is fresh. Come on Thursday for the Monte Cristo sandwich. Come on Friday for the Mac 'n'cheese. The iced tea is freshly brewed. The place is sanitized. There are fewer chairs around the dining room. There's fresh air (and usually a pleasant breeze) out on the patio in front. Come see us. And speak up, it's hard to hear you through that mask.<br />
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-62359802062034107592018-09-26T14:48:00.002-05:002018-09-26T14:49:31.674-05:00COUSINS & COCKTAILS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1Vk3D4_ETDXYQIKHyd3IHXu6W8WhxWZGtJZrzviY293BYCvzLW217EK3g74Kl2JRuhiqOOgMDKdWT-9YcuR8NOoAqN5N6CndG2kAv1wAZrN3NeKF-a_Q1a7FWx1kliLhErlSI9JDW9LE/s1600/chrislauter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="1194" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG1Vk3D4_ETDXYQIKHyd3IHXu6W8WhxWZGtJZrzviY293BYCvzLW217EK3g74Kl2JRuhiqOOgMDKdWT-9YcuR8NOoAqN5N6CndG2kAv1wAZrN3NeKF-a_Q1a7FWx1kliLhErlSI9JDW9LE/s640/chrislauter.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XSVIwDQWZtLMs38hlbW3uMinyDlDXn0nrTxPF-eNI27Xl98ujh_5L2BUgNikYShQkyLEqtEnTQ4wvvDFXTsQ8rySsEYNr8cRSQ7b6rFdQ8_z0aF7QGnhF2mAIIdM7fK66c3hZl9EHCLI/s1600/moscow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="807" data-original-width="1198" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XSVIwDQWZtLMs38hlbW3uMinyDlDXn0nrTxPF-eNI27Xl98ujh_5L2BUgNikYShQkyLEqtEnTQ4wvvDFXTsQ8rySsEYNr8cRSQ7b6rFdQ8_z0aF7QGnhF2mAIIdM7fK66c3hZl9EHCLI/s640/moscow.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-57437772033771263592018-07-19T20:15:00.001-05:002018-07-19T20:15:56.313-05:00Y'ALL COMING TO THE REUNION?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10S7FmkUt6Q4g5LiHEZrscPH_HQFvE8AbghP6vMk-L0iHk4b1BCxRmwJUhwq42XmP3DSrg0CcF8-QE_dA1YNesNhTd84vEx-UEeub4LqYEki-7D6kbScADbcE5TTf4AW3dyIAuEMaIMtE/s1600/1532048463191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="716" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg10S7FmkUt6Q4g5LiHEZrscPH_HQFvE8AbghP6vMk-L0iHk4b1BCxRmwJUhwq42XmP3DSrg0CcF8-QE_dA1YNesNhTd84vEx-UEeub4LqYEki-7D6kbScADbcE5TTf4AW3dyIAuEMaIMtE/s640/1532048463191.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Road trip! Next weekend we will head for Arkansas. We will fly to Little Rock. We will rent a car. Then we will drive for a couple of hours to Hope, Arkansas, to see some sweet people. We're not the only ones traveling to get there. Lots of people are coming from all over Texas. Some are coming from Tennessee. Some are coming from different places in Arkansas. Whatever the points of origin, the destination will be just a place, just a location, until we all get there. Then it'll be gathering of young (as young as a couple of weeks old) and old (as young as just over 80 years old) souls there to enjoy each other's company.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Next weekend will be a particularly special one. My mom's side of the family will be enjoying a family reunion in southwest Arkansas. I could probably stop right there and you could flesh out the rest of the story. Everybody's got a family. Every family's got their share of family stuff: the crazy aunt(s), the blended families, the exchanging of gifts, the sharing of recipes, the guys wandering outside to get another beer out of the cooler in the back of the truck, the kids who are so excited to see their cousins that they run around in circles until they collapse with scraped knees and elbows in a sweaty pile in front of a box fan... You know...</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAPdKb0qRhZtQh5J3g2v6gShE4l3bleYfYliVdkxXn2WvsScCP3wZcRmK-IX4h4yGFhOW8hYJFoXxp1I2sOqORbnfgPdjqbXFcojlU9tkBY_Ntrn8IOVaehMlBLJrYyyyblYDwbaLIt_ZQ/s1600/20180719_154156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="529" data-original-width="960" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAPdKb0qRhZtQh5J3g2v6gShE4l3bleYfYliVdkxXn2WvsScCP3wZcRmK-IX4h4yGFhOW8hYJFoXxp1I2sOqORbnfgPdjqbXFcojlU9tkBY_Ntrn8IOVaehMlBLJrYyyyblYDwbaLIt_ZQ/s640/20180719_154156.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
At the mention of those words - "family reunion" - you are able to fill in the blanks. You can imagine the card games, the dominoes marathons, the sharing of stories that start with, "Remember that time..." </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LvTJcQ9whp8TLneH6HIaRZxIvnN1CaxJ7cCH38ZneBMhHH3v62Atw8M6glpA2of-Yl_Cf_ns4vnG0Nl5WPJZaqt02fE6yYQ-XmwMKqmiru06uCDQtDwG9O5UHZHalB8Acp8TscvLFhvl/s1600/20180719_195858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="810" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LvTJcQ9whp8TLneH6HIaRZxIvnN1CaxJ7cCH38ZneBMhHH3v62Atw8M6glpA2of-Yl_Cf_ns4vnG0Nl5WPJZaqt02fE6yYQ-XmwMKqmiru06uCDQtDwG9O5UHZHalB8Acp8TscvLFhvl/s640/20180719_195858.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Well, we're looking forward to all that and more. It will be too hot. There will be too much food. And it will all be good. Aunt Vera has already promised banana pudding. My sister Charlotte has committed to making her much loved corn dip. The call has gone out for everybody to bring their ice cream freezers so that we can make several batches of ice cream on Saturday afternoon. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsuApE4B0oJL4LFQZfgdVk6Gg1CZ6p6JimZPq_0uIspkV1SLzZggvXmPjptpPcAaKycdNUFUw1FtvdluHe3Tv5W8g6lv7CoJC8fBXlMziqysuTE9uCZa1ZkDl5dQ-lwzRBeuQC1sPGMg81/s1600/20180719_154212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="404" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsuApE4B0oJL4LFQZfgdVk6Gg1CZ6p6JimZPq_0uIspkV1SLzZggvXmPjptpPcAaKycdNUFUw1FtvdluHe3Tv5W8g6lv7CoJC8fBXlMziqysuTE9uCZa1ZkDl5dQ-lwzRBeuQC1sPGMg81/s640/20180719_154212.jpg" width="608" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
More than once during the weekend my mom and her sisters will break out into a medley of hymns. Their denominations might not be the same but those Baptist, Assembly Of God, Methodist, Church Of Christ, and even the most heathen voices will make beautiful heavenly harmonies. Also, more than once, a few folks will try to cut a rug. There will most likely be some attempt at a line dance of some kind, and there may be a stab at a jitterbug. We'll just have to wait and see.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1g4nEUoL1gbxhpnuHYD7XbllxRAUth4KgU2qKIjlSe6SEC7Mc4d7CvyRiIZbsWWt1jBlK2CnIAHKlIMdyymrEHmjpCtmfohfVUUkNcCH3RaOBwNuVJ3X8bq-C8Q78FIHjP8Hu8Eaa0vWG/s1600/20180719_154229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="714" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1g4nEUoL1gbxhpnuHYD7XbllxRAUth4KgU2qKIjlSe6SEC7Mc4d7CvyRiIZbsWWt1jBlK2CnIAHKlIMdyymrEHmjpCtmfohfVUUkNcCH3RaOBwNuVJ3X8bq-C8Q78FIHjP8Hu8Eaa0vWG/s640/20180719_154229.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
We'll be there sharing some memories and creating a few new ones. We will miss the ones who aren't there, and we will give thanks for the ones who are. </div>
Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-34848934526386109792018-02-04T21:08:00.001-06:002018-02-06T14:26:00.983-06:00Fool Me Once...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Let me begin by telling you that we have some very wonderful people who work very hard at W.D.Deli. We spend a lot of time together, and when a business is as small as ours, you really do work as a team. We help each other out a lot. We care about each other. We laugh with each other, and sometimes we cry with each other. We work hard. If you've every worked in a restaurant you know that there is always hard work going on. Sometimes shenanigans. But more often, hard work.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqNd_45LpcnuMRHbakWxxr517o7YzoT26HKBlqQ-uxTrD4wc5VqbITa3UHstomRfUAVzUIw6vn0JSw6Z960YFXqnnO4ep9cnGH_H1oF45sKHyZ_VtOhm-ShokgwKciaC1mdGA7QBjZYRe/s1600/IMG_3814.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqNd_45LpcnuMRHbakWxxr517o7YzoT26HKBlqQ-uxTrD4wc5VqbITa3UHstomRfUAVzUIw6vn0JSw6Z960YFXqnnO4ep9cnGH_H1oF45sKHyZ_VtOhm-ShokgwKciaC1mdGA7QBjZYRe/s640/IMG_3814.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The wonderful, loyal, hard-working folks that have been at W.D.Deli a while have seen a lot of not-so hardworking people come and go. It's remarkable how many times we've been fooled. I mean:<br />
<br />
Fool me once, fool me twice - just keep fooling me. For the past ten years or so, we've seen a steady rise in the job applicant's ability to fool us. The application may look good. The conversation/interview is pleasant enough. There is eye contact. There seems to be a good amount of knowledge and experience regarding the food service industry. The energy level is good. We talk for a good little while, and then ask each other (Brandy, Wayne, Mr. Bobo) to talk with the applicant so that we can see if we're all on that good ol' "same page."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoIVHf4nR6tZZ8F_XGQaetxEQYPllu_itKmjwTaI-sOz9KQxVR063QXh7uT60yznI4ExAoXsqbQwMMUj7Ej_w2YdDcioe-jKyWQhL2lh84r62tGpOFfGxWYf9JBhCMB2GK7_qQrXK6BaZ/s1600/IMG_1519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoIVHf4nR6tZZ8F_XGQaetxEQYPllu_itKmjwTaI-sOz9KQxVR063QXh7uT60yznI4ExAoXsqbQwMMUj7Ej_w2YdDcioe-jKyWQhL2lh84r62tGpOFfGxWYf9JBhCMB2GK7_qQrXK6BaZ/s640/IMG_1519.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Once we've agreed that this applicant might be a good fit for the deli, we call them. Assuming that the phone number on the application is a working number, we make contact and talk about a starting date, a starting time, what to expect, etc. The applicant/new hire seems enthused. Excited, even. "Okay, I'll see you Monday morning" are words we've heard more times than I can count.<br />
<br />
But things go downhill fast after that. I'm exaggerating. Things don't <b><i>always</i></b> go downhill. Sometimes things go great with the new hire. But they have gone south enough for me to always have stories to tell my friends that might be some variation of one of these:<br />
<br />
The applicant/new hire decides sometime between the time of the phone conversation and the appointed time to be at work that, well, this is not their jam. They are a no-show. This happens so often. Sometimes this happens with an applicant who has called multiple times to "check on the status of my application." It is a strange and mysterious thing to us. Why go to the trouble to come to the deli and fill out an application and be interviewed and feign interest in a job that you have no intention of showing up for?<br />
<br />
The new hire comes to work. They seem okay. Ready to hit the ground running. We're all working as a team. That well-oiled machine you've heard about. And then the new hire disappears. We look everywhere for them. Finally we look outside. We find the deli uniform on the ground out on the parking lot. Hasta la vista, Baby.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96BY22NKR6GZPwNpUvBk3Lkc8BmUuRs6-cVcyz1LLLGK2SBXbWhZazd9aCpovw66mlpoY9oqkuGlG1smIdkwYIRv2a5Lc9AaOOATLYKkW_3j-3Uzfh3yQvq9vyknuC9RN3HQ9OVbvrR40/s1600/IMG_1829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96BY22NKR6GZPwNpUvBk3Lkc8BmUuRs6-cVcyz1LLLGK2SBXbWhZazd9aCpovw66mlpoY9oqkuGlG1smIdkwYIRv2a5Lc9AaOOATLYKkW_3j-3Uzfh3yQvq9vyknuC9RN3HQ9OVbvrR40/s640/IMG_1829.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The new hire comes to work. It's obvious that they are trying, but just not getting it. On about day three of working at the deli, one of us will approach New Hire and say something like, "We're going to need you to start answering the phone when it rings." "Okay," is the response. Then, as if on cue, the phone rings. New Hire picks up the receiver, holds their hand over the mouthpiece, and asks, "Is it D.W. Deli or W.D. Deli?" [What happened to all that good common sense that you portrayed in the interview? - Fooled again.]<br />
<br />
New Hire comes to work with a great attitude on Day One. "Hey, I want to learn as much as I can. If there are any opportunities for advancement, I'd like to be considered." This is great, we think. This person really wants to be here. They really want to contribute to the success of the business. The Day One enthusiastic announcement is quickly replaced with requests to change positions. "I'm really not a front of house person. I'd be better in the back of the house. That's where my strengths are." Okay. We change things up. We move people around to accommodate this request. The back of the house is actually a worse situation. New Hire spends an inordinate amount of time filling their cup at the soda fountain. Even more time is spent in the restroom. Finally, New Hire asks to be moved back to the front of the house because he doesn't like the way he's being treated by the other BOH employees. But before that transition happens, New Hire stops showing up for work. Just stops.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixjsvk6yloK8MLP-6bF2wMhuKU5-Wu6F25Jlqn9kJCakhISjzRCHYgBjY7C3ohs6KrnTe_GUKeJ5zTMKB67l6tXa0E0NNkLA7sO8vHkIzAdDC0EGkjdIuqvOkKJL9UWMhnmVb2kYj6WwNZ/s1600/20160801_170659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixjsvk6yloK8MLP-6bF2wMhuKU5-Wu6F25Jlqn9kJCakhISjzRCHYgBjY7C3ohs6KrnTe_GUKeJ5zTMKB67l6tXa0E0NNkLA7sO8vHkIzAdDC0EGkjdIuqvOkKJL9UWMhnmVb2kYj6WwNZ/s640/20160801_170659.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There are many more stories from the deli archives. One of my favorites is the one about the two long-time employees who walked off the job one Saturday morning. It was a weekend when Mr. Beers and I were out of town celebrating my birthday. Two key employees just decided, I guess, (after one of them sent Mr. Beers a horribly disrespectful and inappropriate text message) that if we weren't at the deli they certainly didn't have to be. We got a phone call making us aware of the situation and we cut the trip short and caught the next flight back to San Antonio. We got back to town and got back to work. On Monday morning those two people showed up for work as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn't just walked off the job on Saturday. "Oh, no," was pretty much our response. Bye, Felicia. Boy, bye.<br />
<br />
And now I've spent all this time telling you about the crazies, and no time at all telling you about the really great people we work with. Maybe the next blogpost. Right now (I mean right now) we're in the middle of catering a company party and two of our great people are down there handling the guests while I am upstairs with my laptop. I guess I'd better go check on the goings on, though I am sure Jay and Linda are handling things beautifully. We are lucky to have and grateful for our talented, caring, funny, cute staff.Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-57157811524793137242017-10-31T12:27:00.000-05:002017-10-31T12:27:17.315-05:00obsessionsThere are several things that I am obsessed with, but today we will only cover three.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmLoCXTs1h6-HH5x0K3Bf5_fv29DXIH9ZTWQSImPNPrs8nlFeBXQYTVag5c8e-_PvC86iVRRaBW02iSYmEY5HeBvToTg-7Ir7-YljEj4JpCuVbvV4Az2qfsvHez0eywy1ELhYB6-TaROp/s1600/20170701_130221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmLoCXTs1h6-HH5x0K3Bf5_fv29DXIH9ZTWQSImPNPrs8nlFeBXQYTVag5c8e-_PvC86iVRRaBW02iSYmEY5HeBvToTg-7Ir7-YljEj4JpCuVbvV4Az2qfsvHez0eywy1ELhYB6-TaROp/s640/20170701_130221.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
These blank notebooks and journals. If there are any of these in a book store or gift shop, I will find them and admire them for a while, taking the ones that really grab my attention into my sweaty hands to turn over and open and check out. Do they have lined pages? What kind of paper? Right now I have a lot of blank ones, and a few that are full of notes from days past. Just the other day I opened one up from 2008/2009 and was reminded of some good and not-so good times. Why am I obsessed with these things?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksNr90r1Zkyd8Kk93StqAlNcMxjg_e_wPUKP3WZQCTDCmU8x-09IgfgFFRd9sIvfxJ2fuDatht7jXBgZMNDIRwIDkLV7MyfvuD6LR9-N5q4J3YNfwNOtbyFpOPONIv68NwSPV33FfWgjg/s1600/20170902_111601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksNr90r1Zkyd8Kk93StqAlNcMxjg_e_wPUKP3WZQCTDCmU8x-09IgfgFFRd9sIvfxJ2fuDatht7jXBgZMNDIRwIDkLV7MyfvuD6LR9-N5q4J3YNfwNOtbyFpOPONIv68NwSPV33FfWgjg/s640/20170902_111601.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
This place. This is St. Roch's in New Orleans on St. Claude Street. We've been to a few of these new "Food Halls" (Perhaps you remember something called a "Food Court." Get with the program. The Food Hall is the thing now, baby.) in various cities, but I think this is the best one yet. It seems to operate as some sort of cooperative. Real plates (not paper) and utensils (not plastic). Bus boys / attendants to clear tables and refill your water if you like. And really good food. There's enough quinoa to satisfy those healthy hipsters and enough biscuits and gravy to make the rest of us happy. We are already looking forward to our next visit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqD3_wTpMOIQZz86rd0Yl1He766pQM_esOzK06yxLe8qTfZibga0eOxfx7IyF441IwTTIqCdIRf6Hj2DtsBSgBFY-0mVtYttOftqIs9J0Uw9L_JmpdJ3UR1lBzpa1qnC7jgh0pjtO7RTBh/s1600/20171023_161931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqD3_wTpMOIQZz86rd0Yl1He766pQM_esOzK06yxLe8qTfZibga0eOxfx7IyF441IwTTIqCdIRf6Hj2DtsBSgBFY-0mVtYttOftqIs9J0Uw9L_JmpdJ3UR1lBzpa1qnC7jgh0pjtO7RTBh/s640/20171023_161931.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This. We've been working on our web presence and our social media stuff. Well, Mr. Beers has been working on this. You can place orders for good ol' deli grub directly from our website now! Maybe this is something everybody else has been doing for a while, but for us it's fairly new. Try it from your phone, tablet, or computer. It really, really works! www.wddeli.com</div>
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-39376391100132754052017-10-30T14:52:00.001-05:002017-10-30T14:52:06.203-05:00Cheesecake Cookies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5urNsKwnMj1oJJsSxaLmSKefjqNMnkFraOGnhyZIlO6Q3iP1qhSCUXWstQZYUiYuwXEDyUbw7b4JFN36rHUTAdKy6Ai1Coh1At8hxOvyp5a_rKKMEL5RZVttFHlNGVUwLUlcwhF9nx0h/s1600/1509133589384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5urNsKwnMj1oJJsSxaLmSKefjqNMnkFraOGnhyZIlO6Q3iP1qhSCUXWstQZYUiYuwXEDyUbw7b4JFN36rHUTAdKy6Ai1Coh1At8hxOvyp5a_rKKMEL5RZVttFHlNGVUwLUlcwhF9nx0h/s640/1509133589384.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Several months ago a dear friend and customer brought this dessert in to the deli as a "Thank You" for something we did for them. The staff ate it up and asked for more! It was a sweet gesture (literally, as the kids say), and I hounded Miss Walton and Miss Annis until they surrendered the recipe. As usual, I doubled the recipe to make two of these. Maybe it has something to do with being in the food business. I figure that if I'm going to the trouble to make one of something, I might as well make two. It doesn't take any longer, and that way I have one for us to enjoy and one to share with someone.<br />
<br />
<br />
The recipe is called "Cheesecake Cookies" but it seems more like cheesecake bars. It starts with this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUreSlKlbC9uLz2EqGRnkGImKOgjaRoJTRK9lSqBbG0eiKdVVG1jSgj2Db-e47Ya4Xf9LPsMraonF_ZICxDOV5QiUg4w8JVjQ9vGB7lu2C4yTgtgfjQcM4SqIaD_Hr16jrPsYFNM2nqPdY/s1600/20171026_160218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUreSlKlbC9uLz2EqGRnkGImKOgjaRoJTRK9lSqBbG0eiKdVVG1jSgj2Db-e47Ya4Xf9LPsMraonF_ZICxDOV5QiUg4w8JVjQ9vGB7lu2C4yTgtgfjQcM4SqIaD_Hr16jrPsYFNM2nqPdY/s640/20171026_160218.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Ingredients for the crust.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I am told that this recipe comes from the New Orleans Junior League's cookbook. That, to me, is not something that should be taken lightly. Cookbooks from Junior League groups, Parent-Teacher organizations, or the local Baptist church are usually pretty amazing, with recipes like "Isa's Nana's Sopapilla Cheesecake." Come on. And this one is from New Orleans? Please. Home of some of the best food in the world, y'all.<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Cheesecake Cookies</span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b>Crust:</b><br />
<b>1 cup all purpose flour</b><br />
<b>1/4 cup packed light brown sugar</b><br />
<b>1 cup finely chopped pecans</b><br />
<b>1 stick butter, melted</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Filling:</b><br />
<b>2 - 8 oz. pkgs. cream cheese</b><br />
<b>1 cup sugar</b><br />
<b>2 teaspoons vanilla</b><br />
<b>3 eggs</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Glaze:</b><br />
<b>2 cups sour cream</b><br />
<b>6 tablespoons sugar</b><br />
<b>2 teaspoons vanilla</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>In a small bowl, mix together all the crust ingredients.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e23KBQ1VWm894gECUTmSk1RX54Lgk9w1RJGz1aKNVsDFRwkLLEyYlWic9FLk8pNX6xuh9REjIGF6stAMnyYgNlwK5HiyqxaeRQN6raAD6doR18bLtRuufNP8VgCZHC3NEuRuWf_er61Z/s1600/20171026_160246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e23KBQ1VWm894gECUTmSk1RX54Lgk9w1RJGz1aKNVsDFRwkLLEyYlWic9FLk8pNX6xuh9REjIGF6stAMnyYgNlwK5HiyqxaeRQN6raAD6doR18bLtRuufNP8VgCZHC3NEuRuWf_er61Z/s640/20171026_160246.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Press into a 9x13 baking dish. Bake at 350 for 10 to 15 minutes, or until browned.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq-8x4wPmlDIHoOnAdeErbNb-sBURr9gU6DGVOSGUbx54ZzDf79cRLPOmXH42FB_CfK1vDjFBW2BoD8zceENwDQrCtR1PsixgsKF_981q2mgfcPdjI7F6fAt0uRiZzxpnuo4i4fP4P6Fl/s1600/20171026_145455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq-8x4wPmlDIHoOnAdeErbNb-sBURr9gU6DGVOSGUbx54ZzDf79cRLPOmXH42FB_CfK1vDjFBW2BoD8zceENwDQrCtR1PsixgsKF_981q2mgfcPdjI7F6fAt0uRiZzxpnuo4i4fP4P6Fl/s640/20171026_145455.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>To prepare filling, beat cream cheese, sugar, and vanilla in a bowl. Add eggs and beat well. Pour over baked crust. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes. While baking, combine all the glaze ingredients in a small bowl.</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXC91685qultQKbqyXXUZLPipwHJVn7QrfEMXMNoTgt5Erm71LgQ-5p2FqlhjpTC2KJEF-hM5qmKSVYmnJwbBxunOuixZcQSnRALnCKBUMfso8Q-mVwhq0ZowlaJN7kzHsecvbygSkWyWR/s1600/20171026_151829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXC91685qultQKbqyXXUZLPipwHJVn7QrfEMXMNoTgt5Erm71LgQ-5p2FqlhjpTC2KJEF-hM5qmKSVYmnJwbBxunOuixZcQSnRALnCKBUMfso8Q-mVwhq0ZowlaJN7kzHsecvbygSkWyWR/s640/20171026_151829.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sour cream glaze that goes on top.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Pour over baked filling. Bake 3 to 5 minutes longer. Cool and refrigerate before cutting into squares. Yields 4 dozen cookies.</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvD25_PYhcYWbaCMWeX6uBLqovShZPFN_oq-tpybl318yEA1AAyKZQZMGk9x4rbXagYZbZMLUXkkQuh_6ci_iTCQq8jcG9OR3CkfZcygJoosMjDozsDOIHR_MScpyyY-ayUv3M7YeUZVeO/s1600/20171027_144312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvD25_PYhcYWbaCMWeX6uBLqovShZPFN_oq-tpybl318yEA1AAyKZQZMGk9x4rbXagYZbZMLUXkkQuh_6ci_iTCQq8jcG9OR3CkfZcygJoosMjDozsDOIHR_MScpyyY-ayUv3M7YeUZVeO/s640/20171027_144312.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-30606618059590121002017-08-23T15:29:00.000-05:002017-08-23T15:29:13.912-05:00Hamburger & Noodle Casserole<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVR-BvoioT-peaoYCVlK-61AYZyWhN6I_6pPGpkKb8-3H91n54wHKuu7J8UJw6XecLqN0lvLJpVUkrjlOjjGeQduNQGUmH6PjDooZy_au5LkbmJrC8Y-xilfNIiCoUQaWcSVXprntwhRo/s1600/FB_IMG_1503247633860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeVR-BvoioT-peaoYCVlK-61AYZyWhN6I_6pPGpkKb8-3H91n54wHKuu7J8UJw6XecLqN0lvLJpVUkrjlOjjGeQduNQGUmH6PjDooZy_au5LkbmJrC8Y-xilfNIiCoUQaWcSVXprntwhRo/s640/FB_IMG_1503247633860.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing with Mom out by the pool was a highlight of the weekend.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Last weekend Mr. Beers and I road-tripped our way to Dallas/Ft.Worth, specifically to Bedford, Texas, for a little quality time with some family folks there. It was a swell and relaxing time. We splashed around in Sheila & Jimmy's pool, enjoyed some fried fish & potatoes & hush puppies, and just visited. It was long overdue and the time went by way too fast.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
While we were sitting in Mom's living room Saturday, each of us looking at our little screens, my mom started getting Facebook messages from her dear friend Nancy May in Ohio. Nancy had a question for mom. She needed to find out what all the ingredients were for this casserole. Mom had gotten the recipe from her friend Frances Tucker in the early 1960s. Nancy had gotten the recipe from Mom over 15 years ago and now she couldn't quite read what everything was.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Mom was able to go directly to her little metal recipe box with 3 X 5 cards of recipes written in cursive (some in pencil, some in ballpoint ink) and find the Hamburger & Noodle Casserole recipe in minutes.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
And this is where old school meets new school. She took a picture of the recipe of the 3 X 5 card with her phone and sent it directly to Nancy May in a Facebook message. "Wow! That was fast!" was the next Facebook message. And I decided that since Nancy May was wanting this recipe sent to her all the way in Ohio, well, maybe it was worth sharing, so here you go (pretty much as it was written):</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHcX6EQJBYx7rHmmKKtcvt7ye9_FeyNB3OJ6-nuetSUtBBrl8-DpfVyRu95EF6oiTRrgsB3rmx2zEjMVRCB80y1qQQzZULZwxoSynueJEVTCLRP3ACdAbFyote4859_Ztr0Ds-U8Rf-oiT/s1600/20170820_113512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1306" data-original-width="1600" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHcX6EQJBYx7rHmmKKtcvt7ye9_FeyNB3OJ6-nuetSUtBBrl8-DpfVyRu95EF6oiTRrgsB3rmx2zEjMVRCB80y1qQQzZULZwxoSynueJEVTCLRP3ACdAbFyote4859_Ztr0Ds-U8Rf-oiT/s640/20170820_113512.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<b><i><u>Hamburger & Noodle Casserole</u></i></b></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br />
1 lb. Ground beef<br />
2 teasp. Salt<br />
2 teasp. Sugar<br />
1 16 oz. can tomatoes<br />
1 8 oz. can tomato sauce<br />
1/2 teasp. garlic puree <br />
Salt & pepper to taste<br />
Cook 5 to 10 minues<br />
Cook & drain one 5 oz. pkg. egg noodles<br />
Add 1 cup sour cream<br />
6 whole green onions, chopped<br />
Cook 35 minutes in the oven,<br />
Topped with 1 cup grated american cheese.</div>
Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-13596797982404935782017-07-03T13:29:00.000-05:002017-07-03T13:29:30.264-05:00Aunt Gail's Banana Pudding<br />Tomorrow is the Fourth Of July, and Mr. Beers and Mr. Bobo are invited to a friend's place for a day of America-ing. Happy Independence Day, y'all. We'll be splashing around in the pool, eating, drinking, laughing. Mr. Bobo thought it might be appropriate to bring a dessert. Perhaps a banana pudding. Coincidentally, my Facebook feed has been reminding me that I was with my siblings and my dad about four years ago. And that combination of random thoughts (dad, banana pudding, etc.) reminded me of Aunt Gail's Banana Pudding.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZJgUvct3Sd08LtpdvQ_zSTGf-nDHMo7UsJh1sfMpGPufLuoXhsXmRH9LfONpPXbk2CizjtvA4g-Ox8ZkT9w8KCFosQU-9tkfOeSakj8vayuaNtxECtURnHwSOmqOmzteFJ1wO0pQ6KPb/s1600/FB_IMG_1499103976451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZJgUvct3Sd08LtpdvQ_zSTGf-nDHMo7UsJh1sfMpGPufLuoXhsXmRH9LfONpPXbk2CizjtvA4g-Ox8ZkT9w8KCFosQU-9tkfOeSakj8vayuaNtxECtURnHwSOmqOmzteFJ1wO0pQ6KPb/s640/FB_IMG_1499103976451.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am with my darling Aunt Gail.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><div>
All the women in my family are great cooks. All the women in my extended family are great cooks. One "recipe" that stands out in my mind, though, is my Aunt Gail's Banana Pudding. When I was around middle school age, my dad and my Uncle Royce (Aunt Gail's sweet husband) worked together as mechanics at Hope Volkswagen in Hope, Arkansas. Every day around noon they would find something good to eat during the midday break. On one of those days, my Aunt Gail was talking to my dad and mentioned to him that she had some fresh banana pudding at her house over on Belew Street that he was more than welcome to go by and enjoy... Well, Ray Von Bobo did not have to be told twice. Banana <i><b>anything</b></i> and he's there. Banana ice cream, banana cream pie, banana <i><b>anything</b></i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-fklQyFopWsnyk5u6CInLFdWWME3bSwgrp3pmzbBnqG5fRVxKyRiQJxqUcHIlItKE1zEODttpVTLPXMXYoSZXZJZxYbYZBS3Bp8XWkWiP5BpeJ0DnbAfGXYofGFzt78Jzf5_-FPb_lna/s1600/1499102638831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-fklQyFopWsnyk5u6CInLFdWWME3bSwgrp3pmzbBnqG5fRVxKyRiQJxqUcHIlItKE1zEODttpVTLPXMXYoSZXZJZxYbYZBS3Bp8XWkWiP5BpeJ0DnbAfGXYofGFzt78Jzf5_-FPb_lna/s640/1499102638831.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
When my dad got to Aunt Gail & Uncle Royce's house, there was no banana pudding. There was a package of vanilla wafers on the counter. Next to the vanilla wafers was a bunch of bananas. But there was no banana pudding. Ray Von asked Aunt Gail about the banana pudding that she had told him about. His frustration was nothing but amusing to her, as she explained that banana pudding was indeed right there on the counter, it only needed to be assembled. You see, Aunt Gail has always been a joker. A prankster. Come to think of it, there's a good amount of that in the Lauterbach family. (I'm looking at you, Uncle Dan.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_5Ra7bYk-IjOpDq_kag804_6mQs4HmCoNEKUtAzegBlm3DViooZN42hZfmDu-NlfYIC8ZHMB06jLurGqBiXi12VwRE_TJkvtui5XvOiIlTbAg39pNDdwGPh67ue8Mvh7Ahq6Bve-X6HE/s1600/FB_IMG_1499103945963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="1136" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_5Ra7bYk-IjOpDq_kag804_6mQs4HmCoNEKUtAzegBlm3DViooZN42hZfmDu-NlfYIC8ZHMB06jLurGqBiXi12VwRE_TJkvtui5XvOiIlTbAg39pNDdwGPh67ue8Mvh7Ahq6Bve-X6HE/s640/FB_IMG_1499103945963.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Gail and Aunt Mary playing cards. There are rumors about her card playing. Let's just leave it at that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-23311632621921805052017-04-24T20:32:00.000-05:002017-04-24T20:32:00.519-05:00Sausage Crustade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmldK2Hsk8syM0lWzEj3Ysfs-FeOO9pIVGHqcgZRWA8jrm3H8XFqozHpvA-Nx5b1MOTLZwtAvulCiWGWPtI1eOCOSsTNwNplrG-H8vZwhRgunjGOEjAh1pB5yVF-89E_QCDfrB8rtjkJs/s1600/20170414_095547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmldK2Hsk8syM0lWzEj3Ysfs-FeOO9pIVGHqcgZRWA8jrm3H8XFqozHpvA-Nx5b1MOTLZwtAvulCiWGWPtI1eOCOSsTNwNplrG-H8vZwhRgunjGOEjAh1pB5yVF-89E_QCDfrB8rtjkJs/s640/20170414_095547.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A long, long time ago we were at a friend's house for a party and came across this delicious thing: sausage crusade or sausage bread. Our host fancied himself a kind of Martha Stewart type o' guy, and it was always fun to see what his party decorations would be and what kinds of fabulous foodie things we would get to enjoy. Mr. Beers swiped this recipe and tweaked it a little bit and made it his own. We still have these at some of our parties, and every holiday season Wayne Douglas has to make lots of these for friends and customers. They are always gobbled up and people always want more. Now you can make them, too! Here you go:<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sausage Crustade</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Ingredients:</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>1 lb. ground sausage (like Jimmy Dean), fully cooked and crumbled</b><br />
<b>1 - 8 oz. pkg. cream cheese</b><br />
<b>1 - roll/pkg Pillsbury Big & Flaky Crescent Dinner Rolls</b><br />
<b>1 egg white</b><br />
<b>poppy seeds</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Directions:</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Preheat oven to 350. Line a cookie sheet with baking parchment. Mix the crumbled sausage and cream cheese. Unroll the crescent rolls onto the parchment lined cookie sheet. Pinch seams and perforations in the dough to seal into one large sheet. Use fingers or rolling pin to press or roll the dough to form a large rectangle. Spread the sausage and cream cheese mixture lengthwise down the center of the dough. Fold the dough over the toppings and pinch together. Brush the top of the dough with egg white and sprinkle liberally with poppy seeds. Bake 18 to 20 minutes, or until light golden brown. Remove from cookie sheet to cutting board. Cut into slices and serve warm.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBU7nNtFGMW7OfdcbkTK_aexxp3pkttsgxGIVg-jsnJ372cZzIeNtL6D2Ak9g6sl6senVjLrUPDrhexBqmuihOCDhh9HlislSswlu5L1CC3b97RLX-pCdXfXjoCWMfLllMIYQo6d5zaZXu/s1600/20170414_082255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBU7nNtFGMW7OfdcbkTK_aexxp3pkttsgxGIVg-jsnJ372cZzIeNtL6D2Ak9g6sl6senVjLrUPDrhexBqmuihOCDhh9HlislSswlu5L1CC3b97RLX-pCdXfXjoCWMfLllMIYQo6d5zaZXu/s640/20170414_082255.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CSS4FpX3wA1lGhBFs0OTYJdpvpgkIFYkkzkTW0RGCvSR3pbJyGpRwi1YRu_khINSphaR32llo3A7ul1e9E0V7ZxVkr54GLKHxMBYbWbpgJwdzkNdIdcgrbSyq_9NJCRRs3oEpHm3Kjzt/s1600/20170414_083840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CSS4FpX3wA1lGhBFs0OTYJdpvpgkIFYkkzkTW0RGCvSR3pbJyGpRwi1YRu_khINSphaR32llo3A7ul1e9E0V7ZxVkr54GLKHxMBYbWbpgJwdzkNdIdcgrbSyq_9NJCRRs3oEpHm3Kjzt/s640/20170414_083840.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXPqcgbIJn2Dak28yIdRV1EkvZp4rtgO0WwXoMus2GEb_pTyqlCQd1Irw40fyI1vOnlhky9pKpd9Svj3LOst0WN4FrmANgYN2OWHJ-jm5IQOR5dSXLsciHyL_Y40DNN_Fzr5xl0LcQShd/s1600/20170414_084113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXPqcgbIJn2Dak28yIdRV1EkvZp4rtgO0WwXoMus2GEb_pTyqlCQd1Irw40fyI1vOnlhky9pKpd9Svj3LOst0WN4FrmANgYN2OWHJ-jm5IQOR5dSXLsciHyL_Y40DNN_Fzr5xl0LcQShd/s640/20170414_084113.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW7dh-Tlw16qqa7umxVg4nO_-k3BRYX3CxlM3pXcXnA71PZnldVt-IW-k16y7VQs58tBiECP11qh_cXbtPUU9b0hjk_LnWwNWs01BQimPEC03p3SAxagXlno8q8vyGrLZOLQzED1bNx7rl/s1600/20170414_084601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW7dh-Tlw16qqa7umxVg4nO_-k3BRYX3CxlM3pXcXnA71PZnldVt-IW-k16y7VQs58tBiECP11qh_cXbtPUU9b0hjk_LnWwNWs01BQimPEC03p3SAxagXlno8q8vyGrLZOLQzED1bNx7rl/s640/20170414_084601.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXgLGz3irwzB8MUTF563HAFQqHrA5w1ix565Ya5zp3rz_oFwIP7eDm3HV8h0drwzXxm4AnJrpTbObPuexskj69OD43Nd6sjfdyvP36VEJ9S8rQm1thPe4xJSIB-sGWADFhrC5jBvO8O1f3/s1600/20170414_095547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXgLGz3irwzB8MUTF563HAFQqHrA5w1ix565Ya5zp3rz_oFwIP7eDm3HV8h0drwzXxm4AnJrpTbObPuexskj69OD43Nd6sjfdyvP36VEJ9S8rQm1thPe4xJSIB-sGWADFhrC5jBvO8O1f3/s640/20170414_095547.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-7875789905498927842017-03-14T16:05:00.001-05:002017-10-26T16:57:23.782-05:00How's your 2017 shaping up?I'm trying not to worry about whether our microwave oven is spying on us.<br />
<br />
It looks like 2017 is going to be just as much fun - - probably MORE - - as 2016. Already things are lining up for a fantastic year, filled with travel, visits with good friends and dear family.<br />
<br />
I had a big old birthday.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zrf4f41TTGu1Vz2aSa9QlNjI0y-hyIZRHVMS2qXWaMv-6EpEobstqDfLNqL76gdZND14lSpQRWwfV8bqV0m4HbWpa0K3gNq-_k3woBayT0-NzoIazz5xMXMFDqSsCHEjH78b2QFGTWvy/s1600/20170221_165448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zrf4f41TTGu1Vz2aSa9QlNjI0y-hyIZRHVMS2qXWaMv-6EpEobstqDfLNqL76gdZND14lSpQRWwfV8bqV0m4HbWpa0K3gNq-_k3woBayT0-NzoIazz5xMXMFDqSsCHEjH78b2QFGTWvy/s640/20170221_165448.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
February has come and gone and now your Mr. Bobo is SIXTY years old. SIXTY means (I hope) I worry less about the trivial, petty things. Anxiety and nervousness (and the constantly sweaty palms that plagued me in my teens, twenties, thirties, and forties) have hopefully given way to a little more relaxation. Of course, the trade-off is the other stuff that accompanies these years. The involuntary groans and moans when we sit or stand. The increase in the number of medicines and supplements that are consumed on a daily basis. Even with those kinds of things, so far, SIXTY is good. Just fine by me. Thank you very much.<br />
<br />
There are plans for a New Orleans trip soon. There we will meet up with old and new friends for laughs and delicious food and tasty cocktails and casual strolls through The French Quarter, The Garden District, and just wherever the winds blow us. A visit to Commander's Palace is on the books. Perusing some of the great art on Royal Street is on the list.<br />
<br />
Then there's Fiesta in San Antonio. Already you can feel the energy building as the city anticipates that wonderful time in April when we all greet each other with "Viva Fiesta!" while lining up to buy tickets with which to purchase precious cold beer and tasty Fiesta grub. It's a great time for us to run into people that we might not have seen since last Fiesta. Our focus during those days in April is very clear. It is Fiesta.<br />
<br />
A little later there's a trip to Cancun on the calendar. It's a repeat of a trip we took last year about the same time. It's a time of total relaxation. An all-inclusive resort where we can decide just how active or how lazy we want to be for a little while. We may go climb pyramids again. We may spend a good amount of time in a pool or on a beach...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr33Pk4sCAWifp097h_XVlmlePQ5qzNST6t154PNBofVcrVX1E_mem97zgu-TociDZRUHBYgy5CCRkLJA5xdNALgsPSvPMoTr7m10g4Hu8pPztvHx3MFVxOdohYbnBKfBDO5ZhTWvV-nuB/s1600/FB_IMG_1463489167113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr33Pk4sCAWifp097h_XVlmlePQ5qzNST6t154PNBofVcrVX1E_mem97zgu-TociDZRUHBYgy5CCRkLJA5xdNALgsPSvPMoTr7m10g4Hu8pPztvHx3MFVxOdohYbnBKfBDO5ZhTWvV-nuB/s640/FB_IMG_1463489167113.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
About half-way through the year there's a family reunion in Arkansas. We missed it last year, but the year before we had a such good time with all those sweet folks there, we need to get back. Lots of hugs and laughs and games and tons of good food.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1sUMl4EB9d-N7vokKKLmdQvkfgwTCFhlO8zZw5SgYMYZUlue__P1g_6AEbu5tWaurEsKrBIHh9dfq9N7iKiXZPzqpqTzZr-eFSfek7uJO1GtXPcPoUQrajFAD82rL8hcOdToLh7su6IP/s1600/20161022_173440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1sUMl4EB9d-N7vokKKLmdQvkfgwTCFhlO8zZw5SgYMYZUlue__P1g_6AEbu5tWaurEsKrBIHh9dfq9N7iKiXZPzqpqTzZr-eFSfek7uJO1GtXPcPoUQrajFAD82rL8hcOdToLh7su6IP/s640/20161022_173440.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
That's the schedule so far. TBA or TBD are a trip to Tulsa, certainly another trip to New York City, and who knows what else. We're looking forward to a big old basket of good times in 2017.Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-81987947698736659032017-01-02T18:32:00.001-06:002017-01-02T18:32:28.950-06:00Christmas 2016 in New York City<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kcmD3dHv-QXFGSA7Q1uGklqk23-SxLNSCDVkZLhKroUp1GXUFy9Gp3PyN98Pf9i4T1WOvHZyVoIZMqHtmq29OY3mvTOwA2KkXSvf77DJuqrQMumD3DuvzZXL2MjQ-9hyphenhyphenZggVVduPAb-b/s1600/20161224_212154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kcmD3dHv-QXFGSA7Q1uGklqk23-SxLNSCDVkZLhKroUp1GXUFy9Gp3PyN98Pf9i4T1WOvHZyVoIZMqHtmq29OY3mvTOwA2KkXSvf77DJuqrQMumD3DuvzZXL2MjQ-9hyphenhyphenZggVVduPAb-b/s640/20161224_212154.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our hotel room.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
On our most recent trip to New York City, Mr. Beers and I had (yet another) grand old time. As I reflected on it just this morning, I was able to list seven bars and eleven restaurants we visited. We saw three Broadway shows and one great cabaret show (at Joe's Pub). We were able to visit with old friends and not-so old friends. We shopped a little. We slept a little late once or twice, and stayed out late once or twice. We always enjoy the annual Christmas pilgrimage to New York.<br />
<br />
I think Mr. Beers would agree that our most outstanding meal of the trip was <b>The Edge</b> in Harlem. We went for brunch/lunch on one of our last days in the city. Mr. Beers enjoyed shrimp 'n'grits, while I feasted on a coconut fish burger and plantain fries. The Edge is at 139th Street and Edgecombe, walking distance from the 135th Street subway station. We're already talking about going back there. It's a relatively small place with a really chill vibe. Great food. Great service. Cool place. What else do you need?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYhLqIwDUgVRuDAI5fqYB7jI5mKC3x70D9oZzrO0Cu1XsI-gyvegBuxQiS52vOjJAfqkS3mSvmLBnpo8fEUjIWBb9ozID1Jgg03fa6HzjTkUOG0Jy_twSyNR81TlwbTmy1QuojZVjkSVlO/s1600/20161226_130634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYhLqIwDUgVRuDAI5fqYB7jI5mKC3x70D9oZzrO0Cu1XsI-gyvegBuxQiS52vOjJAfqkS3mSvmLBnpo8fEUjIWBb9ozID1Jgg03fa6HzjTkUOG0Jy_twSyNR81TlwbTmy1QuojZVjkSVlO/s640/20161226_130634.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Beers, hanging out at The Edge in Harlem, New York City.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The best of the shows that we saw was <b><i>Dear Evan Hansen</i></b>. We've been talking about it since we saw it, but when we try to tell people about the show, it loses some of its ooomph in the telling. <i>Dear Evan Hansen</i> is a musical about an awkward high school senior and the different situations he encounters and how he deals with them. See? It doesn't sound nearly as exciting as a musical set in an old opera house or something about the French Revolution, or animated Disney film for that matter. But you gotta believe me when I tell you: It's really, really good.<br />
<br />
One of our (several) <b><i>musts</i></b> whenever we visit NYC is <b>The Duplex</b>, mostly because of the wonderful, amazing people who work (and perform) there. Maria, Adam, William, Darius, Brian, Poppy - and others that I can't remember right now - always make sure that their "guests" have a great night.<br />
<br />
Another <b><i>must</i></b> is <b>Fairway Cafe</b> above Fairway Market on Broadway at 74th Street. Fairway Cafe is a great place for breakfast. On this particular trip to Fairway, we got to have a delicious breakfast as well as a delicious visit with our dear friend Lisa. She regaled us with stories of being the mom of three fantastic young fellas in New York City.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnECdWHOmoS1vnRF7UZvlNA85XT3qil-GWINcH0aU8wzN9ltd3wtCzjJzu9p7gFv7hkN_GHGNc8H6-lWYEdEQWoA68prURo_xlzuZx7VovehAANTfteCAxLz9C_ElHuBnTH7OGvk4MWFh/s1600/20161222_192746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnECdWHOmoS1vnRF7UZvlNA85XT3qil-GWINcH0aU8wzN9ltd3wtCzjJzu9p7gFv7hkN_GHGNc8H6-lWYEdEQWoA68prURo_xlzuZx7VovehAANTfteCAxLz9C_ElHuBnTH7OGvk4MWFh/s640/20161222_192746.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sarah Kay, a gifted poet, was part of Employee Of The Month at Joe's Pub.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
The place we always try to make it to for dinner is <b>Piadina</b> on 10th Street, between 5th and 6th Avenues. Piadina is a small Italian restaurant that serves up an appetizer of polenta smothered in Gorgonzola cheese that makes us very, very happy. This time we were able to share the experience with Colin and Jesse and Seth. Good times and good food.<br />
<br />
A new spot (to us) that I want to go back to was introduced to us by our friends Colin and Jesse. <b>Bleecker Street Pizza</b>. Bleecker Street provided hot delicious sustenance at the end of a night of cocktailing. Probably the best pizza I've had in a long time. Then again, it could have been everything leading up to the pizza that made it taste soooo good.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8vHieX2QdrLg5rTnBu7D-nrttt1W5yq-IJllgDbSQ-YkopCdKqYJiZXOnJ-26JH-WgjmonMWOr5_0kQrLV4ZwEvmQw_ySQaGsflD6VQe38EwJS_BDfHeAsVH9TFPX6VWIZTCxcF94hrO/s1600/20161223_235452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8vHieX2QdrLg5rTnBu7D-nrttt1W5yq-IJllgDbSQ-YkopCdKqYJiZXOnJ-26JH-WgjmonMWOr5_0kQrLV4ZwEvmQw_ySQaGsflD6VQe38EwJS_BDfHeAsVH9TFPX6VWIZTCxcF94hrO/s640/20161223_235452.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Whatever we do and wherever we go in New York City - we always manage to have a great time. And we're always ready to go back.<br />
<br />
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-82829007755276802872016-11-18T10:51:00.000-06:002016-11-18T10:51:11.411-06:00Sunday Snaps in San Antonio<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOJVAxeqPa9s0pTSqyB_jO1EPzH7WImTj71ZrZk-ZeEzUZqrcHPTIi-3Wl48pgZoyPhpH2e4VxCveQAAsLG-g4NxemW6U2zMyDw4Af-wdCu48S2Xvvl5TotktTsxLvheDPGoFwq-hOppA/s1600/IMG_3832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOJVAxeqPa9s0pTSqyB_jO1EPzH7WImTj71ZrZk-ZeEzUZqrcHPTIi-3Wl48pgZoyPhpH2e4VxCveQAAsLG-g4NxemW6U2zMyDw4Af-wdCu48S2Xvvl5TotktTsxLvheDPGoFwq-hOppA/s640/IMG_3832.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Mark's Episcopal Church, downtown San Antonio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYdwxKqaFhUOjzxLoiKGks_Nil3VJKD5GX96_7sMjqFJrvp2E2q9d_cPlwdEfNVnpKG1DlinuP2cqwcvwtx1Z9KyaUsOGkUMLX7OSFbIUkviFySc3F53yBuvSpXgzaO-SiIWzZa1FzqII/s1600/IMG_3833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYdwxKqaFhUOjzxLoiKGks_Nil3VJKD5GX96_7sMjqFJrvp2E2q9d_cPlwdEfNVnpKG1DlinuP2cqwcvwtx1Z9KyaUsOGkUMLX7OSFbIUkviFySc3F53yBuvSpXgzaO-SiIWzZa1FzqII/s640/IMG_3833.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Mark's Episcopal Church, downtown San Antonio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMGIgslvIoFaFSXknL6og7AQggqsEHsXJ6e16RcH9CIO6GWY4QxwNsIm7mJ6l5pcsnyPpg6uBAKiBdMrr6tOCu5FHRzRuU0hfKc6e_0blebAWUqMefUCE5PYE56NIeupkn6uQ7OEtSsIG/s1600/IMG_3841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMGIgslvIoFaFSXknL6og7AQggqsEHsXJ6e16RcH9CIO6GWY4QxwNsIm7mJ6l5pcsnyPpg6uBAKiBdMrr6tOCu5FHRzRuU0hfKc6e_0blebAWUqMefUCE5PYE56NIeupkn6uQ7OEtSsIG/s640/IMG_3841.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Travis Park, downtown San Antonio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxFFWoeAByiJw3EOCmGFhZkvpXuQHwVUkcAMaMzYVN1uLEMaZOU7YqxUYRxTvo_FKhWLyHwSJl8in0yzVAPgwHGNEr1Bqd1yh5wvpciTaM6gpNaDkMjioddPWIzeDLUkV02ozrb4C-XSG/s1600/IMG_3848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxFFWoeAByiJw3EOCmGFhZkvpXuQHwVUkcAMaMzYVN1uLEMaZOU7YqxUYRxTvo_FKhWLyHwSJl8in0yzVAPgwHGNEr1Bqd1yh5wvpciTaM6gpNaDkMjioddPWIzeDLUkV02ozrb4C-XSG/s640/IMG_3848.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Anthony Hotel, downtown San Antonio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xm0LRLIMXEHOFQQHszXeNTWSA9rR61WhdgI_s4JRtQ6CAVhdM-bGibLmGYS4hC9dlf0HKbjpRPK5bO03ej8KcQOqJ2ZXrwD3lShlTy58zlBPd_E-mlxTVnkKNSbEAaCFgz81ooFhRIiz/s1600/IMG_3857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Xm0LRLIMXEHOFQQHszXeNTWSA9rR61WhdgI_s4JRtQ6CAVhdM-bGibLmGYS4hC9dlf0HKbjpRPK5bO03ej8KcQOqJ2ZXrwD3lShlTy58zlBPd_E-mlxTVnkKNSbEAaCFgz81ooFhRIiz/s640/IMG_3857.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">parking garage, downtown San Antonio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="goog_1769689535"></span><span id="goog_1769689536"></span><br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-48392713553521501612016-11-17T15:51:00.001-06:002016-11-17T15:54:12.660-06:00ROAD TRIP<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUifhPUDlIAXzkIo6ea_Hte3E2s_EaBpi46RfPHqd9HWiTwOYmscX3oakh9ksFPLeyI4PITJdPNcRUeawqGrb4-mprsfsifi1mjfqs_-UheROH3vstiBVIeRLLWHzC8zmncd8o5hjI6is/s1600/1479414747720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAUifhPUDlIAXzkIo6ea_Hte3E2s_EaBpi46RfPHqd9HWiTwOYmscX3oakh9ksFPLeyI4PITJdPNcRUeawqGrb4-mprsfsifi1mjfqs_-UheROH3vstiBVIeRLLWHzC8zmncd8o5hjI6is/s640/1479414747720.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A few weeks ago, Mr. Beers and I loaded up the car and headed out for Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Missouri. A road trip! Our travels were scheduled around family birthdays: Darren Beers was turning 50 and there was a great party happening in Tulsa. Liz Bobo was turning 80 and there was a small family celebration going on in Branson. So we planned a trip that would start with one party and end with the other. And in the middle, we still had time for some other stops along the way.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNlCnle2EyYJfK93t2uyO61dhybG4j_jNoBauRudVgL_2nPxIf7scRKEhkLQUxbV083cDkebSVC4T3Fad0TdLJwDn0HMtSr7f-6tV1MOah0rTKbXkKEfc2gPM8nipElyaqQxyVdBb8VVp/s1600/20161020_111832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNlCnle2EyYJfK93t2uyO61dhybG4j_jNoBauRudVgL_2nPxIf7scRKEhkLQUxbV083cDkebSVC4T3Fad0TdLJwDn0HMtSr7f-6tV1MOah0rTKbXkKEfc2gPM8nipElyaqQxyVdBb8VVp/s640/20161020_111832.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view just outside Eureka Springs, Arkansas.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The weekend in Tulsa for Darren's birthday was really fun. It's always a treat to get to spend time with the Beers clan, but we had extra special bonuses this time! Jill Sjodin made the trip from the Great Northwest, while Jeanine and Denise and Rose ("Aunt Sister") all came from the New York / Long Island area. So we got to see and visit with some sweet people that we don't get to see very often. It was a special time, and I think we should thank Darren for having his 50th birthday, but the extra super happy fun time big time THANK YOU goes to Jen Maki Dolan, who can throw a party like nobody's business.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After our time in Tulsa, we headed for Little Rock and Conway, where we visited with both old and new friends. Though we were only in central Arkansas for two days, we managed to visit Hendrix College, eat at a couple of great restaurants in Little Rock, catch up with some near and dear folks, and even do a little shopping at Sweet Home / clement on South Main in Little Rock. If you find in yourself in Little Rock, check out the shops along South Main. When it's time to have dinner, go over to Kavanugh and hit Tacos & Tamales or Boulevard Bistro. Good stuff. Even better stuff: being able to see Ann & Pam & Jim & Eric & Chris & Nathan. Loved it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4h-oaNkeQHCsV32NjgH1I4_wUqm32QZIosrbNtHPZZoCe1sFNbLaSjyhJ69mb8TrPmZPbCCSFtM0C7oYZuNkIGDyVkX7nUOBwxCDtAFOMtD0ljHbNmx1LD9wP17qmqjysnb3_uF-_aGnG/s1600/20161019_162656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4h-oaNkeQHCsV32NjgH1I4_wUqm32QZIosrbNtHPZZoCe1sFNbLaSjyhJ69mb8TrPmZPbCCSFtM0C7oYZuNkIGDyVkX7nUOBwxCDtAFOMtD0ljHbNmx1LD9wP17qmqjysnb3_uF-_aGnG/s640/20161019_162656.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pinocchio at Crystal Bridges</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From Little Rock we went to Bentonville. "Bentonville?" you say. Bentonville is not only the home of Walmart, it is also the home of an amazing museum of American art called Crystal Bridges. It has only been open since 2011 and holds an awe-inspiring collection of all kinds of art - including - a Frank Lloyd Wright house that was originally built in New Jersey. Crystal Bridges had the house dismantled and moved and reconstructed on the grounds at Crystal Bridges. It's a great place to visit, and that part of Arkansas is beautiful. The Bentonville bonus for us was that we had dinner at the home of one of Wayne's oldest and dearest friends from his high school days, Allyson Burns Brown and her husband, Tim.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The next day started with us loading up yet again and heading down the road toward Branson, Missouri. If you are driving from Bentonville to Branson, you get to see some of the most beautiful countryside there is. And you can stop along the way in Eureka Springs and soak up some of that funky groovy Eureka Springs vibe. We had a light, delicious lunch at Local Flavor Cafe before getting back on the road.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgTYc3Knn-ccrIEyYFzrLKm-DSF9iSPlr04gRnUVScyGNOEs-8unw3Lu7R9eesS1dTFFup9tEHv9QoszDf7Uu7TeFuKbb-Z4fBN4KsHRuNG6QDh12IBdIpnwx187J_TGE0wYoVWP6vQxM/s1600/2016-10-25-22-49-28-603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbgTYc3Knn-ccrIEyYFzrLKm-DSF9iSPlr04gRnUVScyGNOEs-8unw3Lu7R9eesS1dTFFup9tEHv9QoszDf7Uu7TeFuKbb-Z4fBN4KsHRuNG6QDh12IBdIpnwx187J_TGE0wYoVWP6vQxM/s640/2016-10-25-22-49-28-603.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liz, Mary, Linda, and Gail. Also known as Elizabeth Ann, Mary Alice, Linda, and Abigail. Also known as the Lauterbach girls. Also known as dancers, singers, card players, and all around good time gals.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
Once we got to Branson, we were able to spend some quality time with the women pictured above. They are, without a doubt, the sweetest women on Earth. The one on the far left is my mom, and once she decided that she might like to spend her 80th birthday in Branson, my wonderful sister Sheila got busy figuring out how to make that happen and ended up with plans for us all to meet in Missouri for the celebration. Sheila made arrangements for the family to stay at a beautiful lakefront property and we gathered there. We talked and ate and laughed and ate and played games and ate and had a really good time. Aunt Mary made some really good soup. Jimmy grilled burgers and hot dogs. Charlotte and Sheila made sure breakfast was delicious. We went into town a couple of times for shows, but we had the most fun was hanging out with everybody at the house.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOLC8s2tB3ylI6cgcbrJlvhageKlVYui47Gih9QAFN1BaZGAAe6Vdp9PnI6PCj2CBmyRbXq8Gz8urp__48I8rkL-6a2hLO4Sop_At13WFR4mhjCUTxUL-dGEqtPKsSLZxXEPk0g9lLdCF/s1600/FB_IMG_1476936391756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOLC8s2tB3ylI6cgcbrJlvhageKlVYui47Gih9QAFN1BaZGAAe6Vdp9PnI6PCj2CBmyRbXq8Gz8urp__48I8rkL-6a2hLO4Sop_At13WFR4mhjCUTxUL-dGEqtPKsSLZxXEPk0g9lLdCF/s640/FB_IMG_1476936391756.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Beers and Mr. Bobo at Crystal Bridges.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
After a couple of days in Branson, it was time to load up and look at the map (GPS navigation style) and think about heading home. It was a wonderful road trip. We were gone a total of ten days and spent roughly a total of 30 hours driving from destination to destination. We saw some beautiful sites, but more importantly, got to spend time with beautiful people.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-90438181647480320422016-07-26T20:19:00.000-05:002016-07-26T20:19:05.913-05:00San Diego Pride 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOT1PMS6McUYiUj1W5weXyj01grQuRs9BFvaGxMV-OC1v5YooOBcGIFykPuPdsehzSqIKPJ1QRieN7L_V1598Xvv7rs30btDN4t6vGTCIOLtrpqt76B6cESv_-iXo8yQ5zXl5J7ZyYiKIC/s1600/FB_IMG_1468732230990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOT1PMS6McUYiUj1W5weXyj01grQuRs9BFvaGxMV-OC1v5YooOBcGIFykPuPdsehzSqIKPJ1QRieN7L_V1598Xvv7rs30btDN4t6vGTCIOLtrpqt76B6cESv_-iXo8yQ5zXl5J7ZyYiKIC/s640/FB_IMG_1468732230990.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A couple of weeks ago, Mr. Beers and I traveled to San Diego to visit dear friends and to be a part of San Diego Pride 2016. Our friends, Mr. Davis and Mr. Campbell, have always been gracious hosts and have invited us to come for this event numerous times, and this trip was perhaps the best yet. There are many reasons that this was a great trip. The weather was perfect. The pride events were wonderful. But the best reason that it was a great trip was the amazing group of people. We got to visit with old friends and we got to make new friends. From Mo's to The Hole and everything in between, we had such a good time.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NtUBU2nboYBGBH0IQadsKZYwYciUprSUM4aPd4ZJdF3MlHomHVIE9Pfz5V2sV2uXO3LMzhxuMHJFbLRgoBrwiHPqxL3Hp2g2_Fbcaw4h04vlMD8qMnhU3YpuHFY8TsGJjerw6kh22fwZ/s1600/IMG_20160717_083934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_NtUBU2nboYBGBH0IQadsKZYwYciUprSUM4aPd4ZJdF3MlHomHVIE9Pfz5V2sV2uXO3LMzhxuMHJFbLRgoBrwiHPqxL3Hp2g2_Fbcaw4h04vlMD8qMnhU3YpuHFY8TsGJjerw6kh22fwZ/s640/IMG_20160717_083934.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Watching the Pride Parade Saturday morning, we were very emotional. It had been just over a month since the tragedy at Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida, and one of the first things we saw at the parade was a group of 49 people, each carrying a placard with the name and a picture of one of the Pulse victims. It was breathtaking to see those names and faces represented on University Avenue in the Hillcrest area of San Diego. Another emotional moment was when the San Diego police force marched in the parade. The crowd cheered and applauded them without ceasing, showing their appreciation for the work they do, as well as for the willingness of these members of the SDPD to participate in the Pride Parade. We felt at once vulnerable and protected. We teared up more than once.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjg-J1i_J_LE-q1v2wgIdM3lLerq5NUFNNIBfKO4zMkdwWTmmbxgMR7i7eP0C3W_JDjxAauh_MSE4xMTnwtFNwYOzFfZDq7raLSSMGmIaJREqOrbUWxQxSKStOGcwNk-6iy30tVOYLnXxy/s1600/20160716_113413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjg-J1i_J_LE-q1v2wgIdM3lLerq5NUFNNIBfKO4zMkdwWTmmbxgMR7i7eP0C3W_JDjxAauh_MSE4xMTnwtFNwYOzFfZDq7raLSSMGmIaJREqOrbUWxQxSKStOGcwNk-6iy30tVOYLnXxy/s640/20160716_113413.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Another moment was when we looked up and behind us at the parade and realized that we were all being watched over by camouflaged and armed military personnel ready to respond to whatever unexpected incident might occur. Again we felt at once vulnerable and protected. This is the state of things. Friends who knew we were in San Diego for Pride sent text messages and Facebook messages asking us to "Please be careful," adding, "I hate that even have to say that."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Thankfully, there were no "incidents." The entire weekend was full of love and fun and good times. We were all there to celebrate life and love. We were there with thousands of people who refuse to live in fear. We were cautious and we were aware of our surroundings at all times. We greeted each other with smiles and "Happy Pride." We celebrated life and we celebrated love.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjy48hyphenhyphen_VmEoni_rWSMqTBylRdqAuYu3_vsjv0UiRWa7ycFiwusUINTP65MU9TIPEcBHxCQfOjjooiAFhXzaM6zcFFs15v8d_dYXHyzH12yF2BnnaYeCqqitlK0jYVzLr08bKmDXee82L8/s1600/20160716_111427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjy48hyphenhyphen_VmEoni_rWSMqTBylRdqAuYu3_vsjv0UiRWa7ycFiwusUINTP65MU9TIPEcBHxCQfOjjooiAFhXzaM6zcFFs15v8d_dYXHyzH12yF2BnnaYeCqqitlK0jYVzLr08bKmDXee82L8/s640/20160716_111427.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-61201458871082953322016-05-31T12:37:00.001-05:002016-05-31T12:37:23.290-05:00WHEN WE WERE KINGS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0CUHqghpqYpeMQZhyphenhyphengCDP3mTioW0I7bdGOiMvBHg4fEJ7NmquNTbzRFO3_DkuFTl3tLUZUMq3R2CR2LdqjlSbMa7xynNwX9j6wlWqw-Okak6CfF3b-EXDNL-PRHqt6I1RZGfLaABWXqV/s1600/MG_9938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0CUHqghpqYpeMQZhyphenhyphengCDP3mTioW0I7bdGOiMvBHg4fEJ7NmquNTbzRFO3_DkuFTl3tLUZUMq3R2CR2LdqjlSbMa7xynNwX9j6wlWqw-Okak6CfF3b-EXDNL-PRHqt6I1RZGfLaABWXqV/s640/MG_9938.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
If you're familiar with Fiesta (in general) in San Antonio and (specifically) Cornyation, great. If you're not, I'll let you discover all the details for yourself. There's a lot of information online about both subjects, and I don't want to copy and paste a bunch of stuff here. You can Google either of those topics and get plenty of information if you're so inclined.<br />
<br />
I <b><i>would</i></b> like to mention that Mr. Beers and I were selected to be Kings Anchovy for this past April's Cornyation. To say that it was a great and wonderful experience would be an understatement. From our first meeting with Jesse Mata and Ray Chavez we experienced nothing but fun and love. Lots of both. Yep, it's been all sunshine and lollipops, rainbows and unicorns for these kings. That first meeting went something like this:<br />
<br />
Jesse & Ray: We're here today to ask you guys if you's like to be involved in Cornyation this year.<br />
Beers & Bobo: Sure. We haven't been really involved in quite a few years, but that would be fun.<br />
Jesse & Ray: Specifically, we'd like to know if you'd be interested in being Kings Anchovy this year.<br />
Beers & Bobo: (Exuberantly, smiling) I believe we can do that. (And then) That would be great!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicj1ft6slds81sm1GgnMW10vJ0ISKyVYNWiMOYISWP6UrCQet-PtL2syNtvG0iz1cUyEtkif0fNtLxCd6VqjOD_e5EL3rZUP1EyBlWdrK0RLmtO8LDuMWN8PvTou0sM9zizfGA0F320gMG/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-05-18+at+2.53.39+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicj1ft6slds81sm1GgnMW10vJ0ISKyVYNWiMOYISWP6UrCQet-PtL2syNtvG0iz1cUyEtkif0fNtLxCd6VqjOD_e5EL3rZUP1EyBlWdrK0RLmtO8LDuMWN8PvTou0sM9zizfGA0F320gMG/s640/Screen+Shot+2016-05-18+at+2.53.39+PM.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The weeks that followed were full of planning, and then parties (Thanks for letting us hang out with you guys, Tim Campion & Allison Little!), and then, eventually, Cornyation. Friends and family members stepped up and volunteered to do all kinds of things. Our friends Fred, Tom, and Craig put on a fantastic Cornyation fundraising party. The great people at European Artisan Upholstery got to work making a beautiful throne for for <b><i>two</i></b> kings. Greg Mannino began sketching and creating some of the most amazing costumes. Gloria Liu recruited and choreographed some beautiful tappers. Friends from near and far found it in their hearts to volunteer their time and talent (and sass) to be part of our court. Still others gave generously to the cause with money and checks and credit cards. It was overwhelming and humbling to experience so many acts of generosity and kindness.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeX7EY2yNx4lWyqejLGznywsGFua8PAUjMW-FPMaclOUWwUWQdmLJTc9rdazuTJ2P8iC9nJie9w3aesF0QKhEFLLWfnO9cEb-jOuaVFJPus5NM8m4eX4mAuxcGAavOmew3_fna-Y6aI6W/s1600/Screenshot_20160425-222008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeX7EY2yNx4lWyqejLGznywsGFua8PAUjMW-FPMaclOUWwUWQdmLJTc9rdazuTJ2P8iC9nJie9w3aesF0QKhEFLLWfnO9cEb-jOuaVFJPus5NM8m4eX4mAuxcGAavOmew3_fna-Y6aI6W/s640/Screenshot_20160425-222008.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When Cornyation ended lots and lots of people approached us and asked about the experience. "How was it? Did you survive? What was your favorite part?" The favorite part answer is easy. People. Old friends, deli customers, new friends, family members, strangers. People. A few weeks before Cornyation there was a great Kings Coming Out party (Thanks, Elaine!) held at El Mirador hosted by Chris Hill (King Anchovy 2015). There were at least half a dozen former Anchovies at the party, and they were (and are) some of the nicest and coolest folks ever. They all had little bits of advice to offer us. One told us that the trick to a successful Fiesta as King Anchovy was to "Try to stay drunk, not <b><i>too</i></b> drunk, but just drunk enough." Almost every one of them told us to get ready to have the <b><i>best</i></b> time and to savor every minute of it. Other sage wisdom included the necessity of "a bottle of really good tequila backstage."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPclTc6qgPzKjeU3xkT6BU8lv6nVmHiL2oSNhVQOjF90qECNUPQe6Iv4HFfoOqiKA9yJ2zyNmcutjsRMXy5WiYHTP5Gh_RZVmfXkf3QT7kaH_w7f7WCBC0N6JfaL5x51eFBoIBbCd2wM5/s1600/IMG_0038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPclTc6qgPzKjeU3xkT6BU8lv6nVmHiL2oSNhVQOjF90qECNUPQe6Iv4HFfoOqiKA9yJ2zyNmcutjsRMXy5WiYHTP5Gh_RZVmfXkf3QT7kaH_w7f7WCBC0N6JfaL5x51eFBoIBbCd2wM5/s640/IMG_0038.jpg" width="552" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We really did have the best time and we really did try to savor every minute of it. We will remember the experience fondly. It was an outstanding Fiesta for us, thank you. And next year, at the Kings Coming Out party, we'll be right there with a nugget or two of advice of our own.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-1719208391639923372016-05-25T16:16:00.000-05:002016-05-25T16:16:00.852-05:00RELATIONSHIPSI haven't posted in a while. For the usual reason: I didn't really feel like I had anything to say. That's not to say that there hasn't been anything going on. There's been plenty going on, and maybe I'll gather my thoughts enough to write something about Cornyation sometime soon. Maybe I'll post a word or two about our fantastic vacation in Cancun. But lately I've been thinking about relationships.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxbsiqBnL1NOxJMw5wfEtY28F8zMSMhulEK3LHFPeNrDufaotZXiL3_DRbMZX_raqsHIOcIPxZf9XU-Y4LwFvSp_DR_UHZtMNXLogygtX86c42H2cJPhE5Ybo4E8pdo-xtpc6kV1B7I6F/s1600/BOYS2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="556" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxbsiqBnL1NOxJMw5wfEtY28F8zMSMhulEK3LHFPeNrDufaotZXiL3_DRbMZX_raqsHIOcIPxZf9XU-Y4LwFvSp_DR_UHZtMNXLogygtX86c42H2cJPhE5Ybo4E8pdo-xtpc6kV1B7I6F/s640/BOYS2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The thought that keeps going around and around in my head is that each relationship is unique. Each relationship is defined by the people who are in that relationship. For that reason, I feel that it's not just unfair - it's impossible - for anybody outside of the situation to make any judgements about a relationship.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgitJBrHxe14DhBM8EKpUCNAk1QyqSZeMlEqy9TS4M3mgGuBIoMrSFdDPP0YvNGCEr9MJBju_qG64ul-sHilDwkcHXEQqXGf_F0OwPxGjh7bWbey9hihxW4QTlUR1GfItSwTqMtqPvIOP4j/s1600/RUSS4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="591" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgitJBrHxe14DhBM8EKpUCNAk1QyqSZeMlEqy9TS4M3mgGuBIoMrSFdDPP0YvNGCEr9MJBju_qG64ul-sHilDwkcHXEQqXGf_F0OwPxGjh7bWbey9hihxW4QTlUR1GfItSwTqMtqPvIOP4j/s640/RUSS4.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's difficult sometimes when you observe a situation in which someone you care about seems to be on the receiving end of some sort of mental or emotional or physical abuse. But here's the thing: you or I have no way of knowing what's going on with those two (or three) people. We may hear someone's side of the story, and we may choose to believe that side of the story without giving consideration to the fact that there may be several versions, several points of view to consider.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTh1QR0zukArXo8KuaDwyQeiIP_RDt0KsKxBLYd7B0Sf0ZsUMRlHc0mvlizlEsvnFiC3-nB_XCYaIBoy6Q4YAN-bBNqj5kYs9RBzCTXvHbSfMQDUX394yH71QOfoucpL8cV9mM5sPKutsp/s1600/IMG_1931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTh1QR0zukArXo8KuaDwyQeiIP_RDt0KsKxBLYd7B0Sf0ZsUMRlHc0mvlizlEsvnFiC3-nB_XCYaIBoy6Q4YAN-bBNqj5kYs9RBzCTXvHbSfMQDUX394yH71QOfoucpL8cV9mM5sPKutsp/s640/IMG_1931.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A friend recently approached me to ask what I thought about the prospect of marriage - theirs, not mine. I did not feel qualified to offer advice, per se, but I did offer my opinion that getting married is something you do because you want to do it - not because your friends or family continue to ask, "When are you guys going to tie the knot?" What's right for one relationship may not be right for another, I told my friend. You have to do what is right for you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rE-t5WYNwmyhjvO3hRY3-jZIMEfsxaPXW-XCjWl7cfpk5b2-Q3Fbn95LyJabY7zFHfQ8bszueCKfI58oVQ5RYVrjIw8KP-TZOiv2t07cf5yEB_IVJdDe_b2y72sKyjJjVfaD1DlXG4vg/s1600/20141223_121151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rE-t5WYNwmyhjvO3hRY3-jZIMEfsxaPXW-XCjWl7cfpk5b2-Q3Fbn95LyJabY7zFHfQ8bszueCKfI58oVQ5RYVrjIw8KP-TZOiv2t07cf5yEB_IVJdDe_b2y72sKyjJjVfaD1DlXG4vg/s640/20141223_121151.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
In another scenario, someone I know recently ended their marriage. There's no way that anybody but that couple can know everything that led to the decision for the two of them to part ways. There. Is. Just. No. Way. I don't care what you (or anybody else) heard. It's not fair for you or me to say it was one person's (or the other person's) fault. Too often we hear judgements being shared as to what went wrong and who was to blame.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmJePnfrM_CuGMHY0eeod_8-_RMdDEfKvejPU-fjiiYwWlYN-AQhXh7hcHoVBKpe-bK8WLwNLhkTRg299zpD9MmAeKTlHilaUCWXWP7HUOpWWJUpvjZAhanFHS_zrbmH23FwuDBEbJLJk/s1600/1557633_10151844938744397_643848177_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmJePnfrM_CuGMHY0eeod_8-_RMdDEfKvejPU-fjiiYwWlYN-AQhXh7hcHoVBKpe-bK8WLwNLhkTRg299zpD9MmAeKTlHilaUCWXWP7HUOpWWJUpvjZAhanFHS_zrbmH23FwuDBEbJLJk/s640/1557633_10151844938744397_643848177_n.jpg" width="382" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
My advice to you, gentle reader, and to myself, is to be careful and thoughtful about how we respond in situations where relationships are called into question. Similarly, we might want to be a little more careful and thoughtful about what we share on social media. Asking friends to support the rantings of a scorned spouse may backfire once you've cooled down (or sobered up) from a particularly torrid weekend.<br />
<br />
To make a long story very, very short: BE NICE.<br />
<br />
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-51136742019303884772016-03-10T09:15:00.000-06:002016-03-10T09:21:00.250-06:00DIRECTIONS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrvFiNW8ypV4o1CopxhdNfTOpSw5FpSG913y5KiDI8KKdu1A07oRiwak8DJda0JYartT24RqKuiTGfsyLbG3fluzb46oY7-wNQCOWqQj3FWL1qwONu-kBZlEePS7CLKwoUBZRXerx4Azo/s1600/image1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkrvFiNW8ypV4o1CopxhdNfTOpSw5FpSG913y5KiDI8KKdu1A07oRiwak8DJda0JYartT24RqKuiTGfsyLbG3fluzb46oY7-wNQCOWqQj3FWL1qwONu-kBZlEePS7CLKwoUBZRXerx4Azo/s640/image1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Maybe something like this has happened to you. You're going to your family's place at the lake for the first time. You've never been there. And you're driving several hours to get there. You ask them for the address so that you can enter the information in your navigation system (most likely your phone). But your family member doesn't know the actual address. Well, either they don't know the address or they just want to withhold the information so that they can say instead, "Let me tell you how to get there. It's really easy to find."<br />
<br />
And then. And then there's a really long narrative that includes phrases like "the second big curve" and "the new McDonald's, not the old one on Hwy. 69," and other equally vague (and frustrating) verbiage that alludes to points to watch for along your way to the new lake house. But you make the most of it and try to find your way using these "directions." Several phone calls happen next. Phone calls that sound like this: "Where are you?" "I don't know where we are. We were following your directions, and now we're in another town." "Oh, you must have missed the turn by the old Conoco station. Stay where you are and we'll come get you." "Where are you?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_rvobhSCls3739O6AwrALVlp0nfGw1ie4ftGFR-fnQ_SLXAXv9T09-UYPIw_xBENEOmVDzwVqdR-gZ7dAlyOM2R_OVl3o5QUazSmSdMJmSeTdjuk45zZFIbig-CyfeJHgHHNMRj7SMvI/s1600/IMG_0029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_rvobhSCls3739O6AwrALVlp0nfGw1ie4ftGFR-fnQ_SLXAXv9T09-UYPIw_xBENEOmVDzwVqdR-gZ7dAlyOM2R_OVl3o5QUazSmSdMJmSeTdjuk45zZFIbig-CyfeJHgHHNMRj7SMvI/s640/IMG_0029.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This all happened a few years ago. These same family members have changed their view regarding directions. They're singing a new song. They demand, "Just give me the address with the zip code and I can plug it into my iPhone." Really? Now you're interested in actual physical addresses? Not just "down the road a piece pass the second big hill take the third right at the second flashing light?"<br />
<br />
But there are still holdouts. Another dear relative just a few weeks ago said something like this: "Let me tell you how to get there. You know how Shady Brook runs over here? Well, don't go that way, go the other way over here. It curves around and then you can catch Shady Brook on the other side. You know it dog-legs back in there." I asked for the address. I got dog legs. The look on my face must have read as <b><i>confusion</i></b>, because my relative quickly added, "Surely you've gotten better at taking directions, Mike." My thought was: Better at taking directions? Have you gotten better at giving directions? Dog-legs? Really? Are you sure it doesn't squirrel-tail back there? Maybe it turtle-necks. Seriously.<br />
<br />
And then there's the other extreme. The guy who enters his desired destination on his phone and then takes not Route A, not Route B, but rather Route C or D, because he's convinced that there'll be less traffic or maybe he thinks it'll be a more scenic route. My take on that - just be aware that you may find yourself cruising through heavy crime areas of the inner city. Just saying'.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wppEs2-0ru6Un_7HZFCYKwoyVWdgi3CenjL1eotgG2zk-b3ETkIirfwT3vQjbVEBbNZNKeiHWor-rQT3eym-bVStFzHX3WAPBwV9-yZNkglA3XNZegl5j8s9VMiCr2OkY1YCYLh9SpMm/s1600/image1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3wppEs2-0ru6Un_7HZFCYKwoyVWdgi3CenjL1eotgG2zk-b3ETkIirfwT3vQjbVEBbNZNKeiHWor-rQT3eym-bVStFzHX3WAPBwV9-yZNkglA3XNZegl5j8s9VMiCr2OkY1YCYLh9SpMm/s640/image1.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I love the technology we use now to find out how to get to where we need to be. I remember using maps. I remember looking businesses up in the phone book and then calling them and asking how to get there. I can't imagine doing that now. I don't like to think about how hard it would be to figure out navigation without Siri or the nice Google lady who tells me, "In one thousand feet, turn left." Just give me the address with the zip code. Siri (or somebody) will do the rest.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqHdU5k5XfF1ahuHrNf2x71NWE1P84HKlQ3m301PfTchMcRxHztSSJ4jseF7UDvqyNyvr_PjPbG0ZBwx8fronYk_ncKRdxXAr9Z6aJGc9T8qHMqwaP0psR9BeRALtyxWFC-oMN63e5_Pk/s1600/image1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqHdU5k5XfF1ahuHrNf2x71NWE1P84HKlQ3m301PfTchMcRxHztSSJ4jseF7UDvqyNyvr_PjPbG0ZBwx8fronYk_ncKRdxXAr9Z6aJGc9T8qHMqwaP0psR9BeRALtyxWFC-oMN63e5_Pk/s640/image1.PNG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-18747977970425828622016-03-07T10:51:00.001-06:002016-03-07T15:40:02.464-06:00THESE GUYS.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsEudXvlhNfkCSFDo-8hlB-Fwptwl9YNk_eXPeE0AJacgrI7IrlXnMl-UnRrxc6TyQTQ0FRsZmKOk5FBTMKiyfnsvvq-O-xmjKH4JdPPtB_8QHLJgTHSI_Qy_gg4594ziTS8jIsK3qoAA/s640/blogger-image-2023549839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsEudXvlhNfkCSFDo-8hlB-Fwptwl9YNk_eXPeE0AJacgrI7IrlXnMl-UnRrxc6TyQTQ0FRsZmKOk5FBTMKiyfnsvvq-O-xmjKH4JdPPtB_8QHLJgTHSI_Qy_gg4594ziTS8jIsK3qoAA/s1600/blogger-image-2023549839.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
These guys right here. If you ever have the opportunity to spend a little time with Fred & Tom & Craig, do NOT pass it up. They will probably buy you a drink. They will most likely feed you a delicious meal. They will have you laughing your ass off. And without a doubt, they will make you feel really special. What else could you want?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
You may or may not have heard that Mr. Beers and I have been tapped to be Kings Anchovy this year. Yep, we have. It is an honor. It is a very cool thing. Of course, we're following in the footsteps of lots of cool Kings Anchovy (and one special Queen Anchovy - Hi, Jody!) of past years. Once the Cornyation folks notified us of the decision that we would be this year's kings, after we did our happy dance for a little while, we shared the news with our friends and family. If all of that sounds like Greek to you, you might want to look at <b><i>www.fiestacornyation.org</i></b> or check out the Fiesta Cornyation facebook page.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
So, yeah, we shared the news with our friends, and Fred & Tom & Craig immediately said, "We want to help. We want to do something. We'll have a party." What they ended up doing was hosting a very successful, very fun fundraising event in their beautiful home. And you know, when you're as wonderful as these guys are, other wonderful people want to help you, too. Their friends stepped up and helped with everything from food to door prizes, from set-up to clean up. It was really a beautiful thing.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVrMvp5CKfIj5YtB0718oUzLNjHUI7xUlTZWsAjjlkX-gBCREaSTZAzQ_AmWlYJe5HYTLsCVf3LPw33HFe0sEzxCzstIv5SZOov57FMavwl0HOjdqsv1bLNvP_MfpzA5iuEFcObMRWifJ/s640/blogger-image--1925809844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVrMvp5CKfIj5YtB0718oUzLNjHUI7xUlTZWsAjjlkX-gBCREaSTZAzQ_AmWlYJe5HYTLsCVf3LPw33HFe0sEzxCzstIv5SZOov57FMavwl0HOjdqsv1bLNvP_MfpzA5iuEFcObMRWifJ/s640/blogger-image--1925809844.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU Fred, Tom, and Craig. You guys are the best.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip4t45xUqiyNYSzJ3fpqOzcWKld1YWenbYgCjzkeBKyUYE-65En0254DchxCyBJ8koEWBr8Z9KzA8Z6tKkda7sUn7Y8VeXP9qIJvyZb_NcIR1L4O-sU60IyGaAubiExkudv0AyqO4ud4tA/s640/blogger-image--1001684550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip4t45xUqiyNYSzJ3fpqOzcWKld1YWenbYgCjzkeBKyUYE-65En0254DchxCyBJ8koEWBr8Z9KzA8Z6tKkda7sUn7Y8VeXP9qIJvyZb_NcIR1L4O-sU60IyGaAubiExkudv0AyqO4ud4tA/s1600/blogger-image--1001684550.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-52940924266919807662015-12-18T12:07:00.001-06:002015-12-18T12:08:58.226-06:00FRUITCAKE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08nS1Xep1ROMuUjp8ZwWG1UgepSwWbuxFGfdNdnkXExeeYtjjmAxnOgBAgjrrDk9ca6jKEslsif1M_IofSH2jztf0-vc81gRg08rmM78_nUzpOEdm2Z7iDdX-os8jyIzr9hlbZjWyusjR/s1600/IMG_20151216_101954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08nS1Xep1ROMuUjp8ZwWG1UgepSwWbuxFGfdNdnkXExeeYtjjmAxnOgBAgjrrDk9ca6jKEslsif1M_IofSH2jztf0-vc81gRg08rmM78_nUzpOEdm2Z7iDdX-os8jyIzr9hlbZjWyusjR/s640/IMG_20151216_101954.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
Back around this time of year in 2011 (Wasn't that, like, yesterday?), Mr. Beers and I were planning our annual pilgrimage to New York City. We've been going to the city for Christmas for quite a while, so this wasn't anything new. What <i>was</i> new was that the state of New York, earlier in the year, had decided that it was okay for people to marry whomever they loved. Mr. Beers and I started talking about the possibility of getting married on this particular trip. We shared our feelings about this with a few people. Those feelings were mostly feelings of uncertainty since getting married had never seemed like anything that would really be feasible for us. We thought about it and talked about it and researched it and found out enough to think that we might actually be able to do it. Still there were rather loud voices in our heads telling us that it might <i>not </i>happen - that somebody would say, "Wait a minute. You can't do that." You see, since it had never been possible in the past, it was hard to imagine that finally we could just go get married. Like I said, we shared these thoughts and feelings with a few people - a couple of whom were Bob and Melanie Maxham, dear friends and regular customers at W. D. Deli (and, not incidentally, the parents of Will, our beautiful godson).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few days before we were to leave for New York, Bob and Melanie came to lunch. Melanie had a small package of something wrapped in aluminum foil. She explained that it was a fruit cake that she had made, and that she wanted to give to us for - not just for Christmas, but also as a wedding cake. There was a time when fruit cake was a traditional wedding cake, and this one was made from a recipe that was Melanie's grandmother's. It was a such a sweet gesture, and that fruitcake traveled with us to Manhattan, and was unwrapped and enjoyed at a champagne brunch at Les Halles in the financial district immediately following our wedding at the city clerk's office on December 28, 2011. Since we weren't sure that the wedding would happen, as I said, we had only told a few people about it. But even those few people got excited enough about the prospect of this celebration that we ended up being surrounded by the sweetest group of eleven friends and family members from New York, Texas, and Maryland. The whole day was - there are no words, really - very special. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The fruitcake was delicious. Once we were home, I asked Melanie to share the recipe and she graciously did. I don't think she'd mind my sharing it with you. When she gave it to me it was written beautifully - not only a recipe, but a story as well, with anecdotal notes letting you know that she used to help make this cake when she was a child, crushing vanilla wafers and graham crackers with a rolling pin. I'll give you a slightly abbreviated, less lovely version. You know what, never mind, I'm gonna leave it the way Melanie wrote it. Another nostalgic note on this recipe is that some of the amounts on some of the ingredients say things like "a can or half a bag of coconut" and a "box of graham crackers," harkening back to a time when things like coconut and graham crackers came in a standard size. Here we go:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="clearfix" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; zoom: 1;">
<h2 class="_5clb" style="font-size: 24px; line-height: 28px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
Sybil Howard Sims' Ice-Box Fruitcake</h2>
</div>
<div class="_5k3v _5k3w clearfix" style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-top: 16px; overflow: hidden; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1;">
Ingredients:<br />
1 box vanilla wafers<br />
1 box graham crackers<br />
1 quart (4 cups) chopped pecans<br />
1 box golden raisins<br />
1/2 bag or one can sweetend cococut<br />
16 oz. can evaporated milk<br />
1 bag marshmallows<br />
16 oz. maraschino cherries, drained but retain liquid<br />
1 - 2 cups dried cherries, depends on how much you like dried cherries<br />
<br />
This was Melanie Sims Maxham's grandmother's recipe. and she made this cake at Christmas. Even people who say, "Oh, I don't like fruitcake" will eat this one up. It keeps a long time in the refrigerator, and travels well if you want to send it in the mail. <br />
<br />
You can make this by yourself, but Melanie doesn't recommend it, as it is much easier with help. Before you begin making the cake, get your pan(s) ready.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1znryW5ZwS2s0ORwR_0k6NcNWbNhtN6idhIycukz0iCyD3zMkXxM-COUVEINsvtnP4bsh9TawGJy5QDwZF8pkK_2jHc-E7fkgpZZyhucnloiGx1sjPbF-YfAlaSuXEmjy-yMfP_QMOfih/s1600/IMG_20151215_173842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1znryW5ZwS2s0ORwR_0k6NcNWbNhtN6idhIycukz0iCyD3zMkXxM-COUVEINsvtnP4bsh9TawGJy5QDwZF8pkK_2jHc-E7fkgpZZyhucnloiGx1sjPbF-YfAlaSuXEmjy-yMfP_QMOfih/s640/IMG_20151215_173842.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It will all fit into one bundt pan, and that makes a nice presentation, but it is hard to get out of the pan. Typically, she will use a small cake pan, and four mini-cheesecake pans with removable sides. That way, we have cake at home, and little cakes to give away. You will need to line the pans with waxed paper or cling film. Melanie uses waxed paper on the bottom of pans with removable sides, and cling film on anything else. If you use cling film, use enough so it extends over the sides of the pan, you will pull on this to remove the cake from the pan. Don't worry if it wrinkles, it doesn't matter. I used small loaf pans and it filled three.<br />
<br />
Crush the vanilla wafers and graham crackers very fine. A food processor works well, as does placing the wafers and crackers in a paper bag and letting a child crush them with a rolling pin. The paper bag / rolling pin combo was my job when I was a child. <br />
<br />
In a VERY large bowl, mix the pecans. raisins, coconut and cherries. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWD3sk-TyD3aiQLm4P9FAVjIbeLcJMphY_rxsQxjfR3WJun0OvRiOC-rov_MHMT5fic6k75HfuFJxh31oOatutMrn0SZjCiGXHi-xLHSXiBTeZq1-ok8zh60jJjoZxgH5-4hs9o5L2EQG/s1600/IMG_20151215_175856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWD3sk-TyD3aiQLm4P9FAVjIbeLcJMphY_rxsQxjfR3WJun0OvRiOC-rov_MHMT5fic6k75HfuFJxh31oOatutMrn0SZjCiGXHi-xLHSXiBTeZq1-ok8zh60jJjoZxgH5-4hs9o5L2EQG/s640/IMG_20151215_175856.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
Gradually add the crushed vanilla wafers and graham crackers, stirring thoroughly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQtsg73svwgIkMfkoD6fzz4e1rqDi__ZArobOISGT_iR_agvXpt20xf_QAJd-qGYY4UObiP-PsgdqCGjlz4v1xr8KF7r4QCMsi0A0o_16oKLSakyJQI_glgXu-F4CbmDCPs5H6XLAa_Mb/s1600/IMG_20151215_173823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQtsg73svwgIkMfkoD6fzz4e1rqDi__ZArobOISGT_iR_agvXpt20xf_QAJd-qGYY4UObiP-PsgdqCGjlz4v1xr8KF7r4QCMsi0A0o_16oKLSakyJQI_glgXu-F4CbmDCPs5H6XLAa_Mb/s640/IMG_20151215_173823.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Put the marshmallows and evaporated milk in a large heavy-bottomed pan over low heat. This scorches easily, so stirr constantly until the marshmallows have completely melted. Remove mixture from heat and let stand until it cools slightly. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3-CLMe94evhqkYeAr1FJxRjoe7AapFgnKIbK79C5lPbe1Ij-hr0qPfHB7vDj1QYFUChxM29sex9Na40sNiiOWiyjmRSIcVRxNWpVTfsFHBw_KpxEt5e4VGzO1-Epf6q_pRl_8lRtSBj5/s1600/IMG_20151215_180312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3-CLMe94evhqkYeAr1FJxRjoe7AapFgnKIbK79C5lPbe1Ij-hr0qPfHB7vDj1QYFUChxM29sex9Na40sNiiOWiyjmRSIcVRxNWpVTfsFHBw_KpxEt5e4VGzO1-Epf6q_pRl_8lRtSBj5/s640/IMG_20151215_180312.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Pour the marshmallow mixture a little at a time into the bowl over the other ingredients. This is where it's really good to have help. One person pours the marshmallow mixture, and the other mixes. You will have to mix this together with your hands. Latex or food service gloves are a really good idea for this part. At this point, you need to work fast, because as the marshmallow cream and the mixture come together it will get stiff quickly. If it is too dry, add some of the liquid you reserved from the maraschino cherries. It will be very sticky.<br />
<br />
Once the ingredients are thoroughly combined, start placing into the pans, pressing the mixture down firmly. Your gloves will be very sticky by this time, so placing a piece of waxed paper over the top of the pan to press on is helpful.<br />
<br />
Put the pans into the refrigerator to chill. I usually leave them in there for a couple of days before I try to unmold the cakes. Keep uneaten cake in the refrigerator.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11IUBCFDCaLGYzJviK-fytc9S4b40xquXEW1z7vSdFu-AJJQVHJCzAYy790F9vk2lWH6awhWAZxMT0N1Io1Z2KU4p4E4w3B7lI9Ygv8OhYeS6u00XaLOmnf1mnDgbHpIqWGdqrjtFTKB1/s1600/IMG_20151216_101954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11IUBCFDCaLGYzJviK-fytc9S4b40xquXEW1z7vSdFu-AJJQVHJCzAYy790F9vk2lWH6awhWAZxMT0N1Io1Z2KU4p4E4w3B7lI9Ygv8OhYeS6u00XaLOmnf1mnDgbHpIqWGdqrjtFTKB1/s640/IMG_20151216_101954.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-24394001763172280492015-12-16T13:02:00.001-06:002015-12-16T13:13:51.696-06:00The Shift<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzuWRCvUpTu6vCqLci9t35LVjBb5EK9vgPOLT3R4Y5VkNM5_n6AxufPGUZLqKtHPezGB1RZpVb1Z-zg86vm8zEbdWbCyfli9luzBpZt3NCFa0VxxR0yoPCQVeoAy8PU5O2wsv91HO-OAL1/s1600/20151215_185338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzuWRCvUpTu6vCqLci9t35LVjBb5EK9vgPOLT3R4Y5VkNM5_n6AxufPGUZLqKtHPezGB1RZpVb1Z-zg86vm8zEbdWbCyfli9luzBpZt3NCFa0VxxR0yoPCQVeoAy8PU5O2wsv91HO-OAL1/s640/20151215_185338.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
Somewhere along life's long road up to where we are right now, we shifted gears. Our feelings about Christmas have changed quite a bit. We've moved on from first gear, I guess, when we used to take the catalog and circle all the things that we wished for Santa to bring for Christmas. We stopped making lists of what we hoped to see under our tree on the 25th of December. It was a long and gradual change.<br />
<br />
These days we don't anticipate the arrival of Malibu Barbie in a shiny plastic Corvette nearly as much. Instead we look forward to things like Christmas cards with pictures of friends and family (Can you believe how he/she has grown?!). We get excited about having the opportunity to visit with dear friends at holiday parties (where, incidentally there has also been a gradual change as the years have gone by - more about the food, less about the cocktails).<br />
<br />
The gifts are still there, and they're plentiful. But they aren't necessarily in a wrapped box with a ribbon. Nothing from a catalog. Not even from a store. More often these gifts are the ones we're the most grateful for - the smile, the hug, the beautiful music at church on Christmas Day. The cards with thoughtful notes. The great food shared with wonderful people. Priceless gifts.<br />
<br />
The shift to this particular gear is not always smooth. There are almost always bumps in the road along the way. But eventually the road gets a little smoother, the hugs last a little longer and life is really, really good. Here's hoping you have a great holiday season. Merry Christmas & Happy New Year. Now go finish your shopping & baking & wrapping and crack open a fresh box of wine.Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-54110355805020301342015-11-12T14:50:00.001-06:002015-12-30T21:48:08.593-06:00Nobody looked at a cell phone.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_gJGWchAGt7cQwnoMJKvHxGxkp-p5rvQbpItMWVFy8bk-VieVNR1y_Jpygyz5GvCs6WsmO5eLmFbjSf6WK37wXnppm-2T_CLyGoATU45DjzMipnzPYmM6ssqDew6IXaVPIdb3LyUpiGG/s1600/20151112_075559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_gJGWchAGt7cQwnoMJKvHxGxkp-p5rvQbpItMWVFy8bk-VieVNR1y_Jpygyz5GvCs6WsmO5eLmFbjSf6WK37wXnppm-2T_CLyGoATU45DjzMipnzPYmM6ssqDew6IXaVPIdb3LyUpiGG/s640/20151112_075559.jpg" width="640"></a></div>
<br>
You can't tell it from this photo, but last night this table on our patio at home was full. It was full of people and delicious food and drinks and lively conversation and unbridled laughter. There was music playing in the background. There were nine of us at the table and not one had a cell phone out during the whole evening.<br>
<br>
I lie. There was that one moment when Del snapped a cell phone photo with Putsy, but that was it.<br>
<br>
We talked about everything - pop culture, music, theatre, movies, books, food, travel, family. We even talked about the things that you're not supposed to talk about: politics. religion. Even the Kardashian family came up in conversation - but just long enough for almost everyone to admit that none of us have seen an episode of their TV show. We didn't all agree completely on everything, but we had a great time.<br>
<br>
There were a good number of Catholics at the table. There were a good number of Southern Baptists at the table. There were lots of great stories - like the one about the lady at church who was sweet on the preacher - so sweet on the preacher that she would carefully take out her compact and retouch her lipstick during one of those last verses of "Just As I Am" just in time to go down to the front and re-dedicate her life to Christ <b><i>every</i></b> Sunday night just so she could hold onto the pastor and whisper into his ear. I think the Baptist boys had the best stories, but I'm probably biased.<br>
<br>
It didn't occur to me until later how remarkable (and refreshing) it was to look around the table and see that everyone was engaged. There were people laughing and talking and looking at each other. No heads were tilted forward toward little handheld devices. There were no double-thumbed messages being typed during our time together. No selfies. No check-ins. We were all just there, having a great time.<br>
<br>
Of course, later, several of us <b><i>texted</i></b> and <b><i>facebook messaged</i></b> each other to say what a good time we had. So there's that.<br>
<br>Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-55431514596235958622015-11-05T16:58:00.000-06:002015-11-05T17:01:20.535-06:00That Good Old Green Salsa & Really Nice People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0GdoTz_3-T74LpBQ545AdVwKaSd1knYfwFXuROpVPUKpM2g8Gm7iZUTKN54FFOLCs1VHY8qw1141Kx2DLzJRz_ZKpaoNpNrwyP5nq0aLBq-qfEnz8qGbvJR1FmQ3ovvzQMCZSpZjrtlOQ/s1600/deli+plates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0GdoTz_3-T74LpBQ545AdVwKaSd1knYfwFXuROpVPUKpM2g8Gm7iZUTKN54FFOLCs1VHY8qw1141Kx2DLzJRz_ZKpaoNpNrwyP5nq0aLBq-qfEnz8qGbvJR1FmQ3ovvzQMCZSpZjrtlOQ/s640/deli+plates.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Last week someone went on the W.D.Deli facebook page and left a negative review. You know if you're a business owner with a facebook page, anytime there's <i>any</i> activity on your page you get a notification. This particular time this particular person said something like, "This place used to be good. It's really gone downhill." We were concerned and perplexed. We're always concerned when someone is unhappy with their "deli experience." We want to figure out why and make things better. We were perplexed because when we looked at the review, and at who the reviewer was, we saw that it was someone who had been a regular customer at one time. We were also puzzled because there was no explanation of exactly <i>what</i> the reviewer thought has gone downhill. The food? The service? Our fashion choices? We responded to the reviewer, thanked them for the review, and asked if there was anything they thought we might do better. So far there's been no answer. We always take those things seriously (and personally, really) because we know there's always room for improvement.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVTJ-6-W177cyiuN2l4_slpPODOSpSsUj2830W9zEUXVXCLCTd9NQJZD6lhtMHOeAXK52RUWIpBJTxlzpwDThEwML8I8JOR2C1GYAwI96YEclVVHuQunbm91I8-xUnZwlDPJ3GOWnIZmr/s1600/deli+stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVTJ-6-W177cyiuN2l4_slpPODOSpSsUj2830W9zEUXVXCLCTd9NQJZD6lhtMHOeAXK52RUWIpBJTxlzpwDThEwML8I8JOR2C1GYAwI96YEclVVHuQunbm91I8-xUnZwlDPJ3GOWnIZmr/s640/deli+stairs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A negative review or an unhappy customer is the kind of thing that can make you have a less than stellar day. And then something like this happens: Really Nice People. That same day I was at the register ringing people up as they came through the line, doing my thing. A couple stepped forward and the wife asked if I was one of the owners. I braced myself and responded that I was, and introduced myself. She said, "I'm Shawn, and this is my husband, John." She went on to tell me that W.D.DELI is one of their favorite places in San Antonio. She told me that live and work in the Sea World area of San Antonio, but they love W.D.DELI and they come whenever they have a chance. Then my day was back to being stellar. Since that not-so positive interview last week, there have been at least five or six or seven really good ones. We will continue to celebrate the positive feedback we get, and try to see the negatives as an opportunity to do better.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwq3rpn72ERJXb_bx7dltCQq5F7uMSKZtGldaJs9UOXl9I_Q2OdJa1mGo1dL5RmBl2r0XUB-YFJjJ6WIa5fAzjya1BpDKItwzVrOSuoDuOj1baOk-GnG1gABWB82JhdiN4lusbvddjy_U8/s1600/los+patios.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwq3rpn72ERJXb_bx7dltCQq5F7uMSKZtGldaJs9UOXl9I_Q2OdJa1mGo1dL5RmBl2r0XUB-YFJjJ6WIa5fAzjya1BpDKItwzVrOSuoDuOj1baOk-GnG1gABWB82JhdiN4lusbvddjy_U8/s640/los+patios.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the dining rooms at Los Patios.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And now I will share a recipe with you. One of the first restaurants I went to when I moved to San Antonio was Hacienda at Los Patios. If you don't know about Los Patios, it's a compound just north of 410 between Starcrest and Nacogdoches. I haven't been there in a long time, but when I went to Hacienda, the server would also bring chips and three salsas to the table. My favorite was always this green one. A few years ago it was in the San Antonio Express-News, and today I found it in a stack of papers at the house. (Don't ask.) Here's the recipe:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Hacienda Green Salsa from Los Patios</i></b></span><br />
<br />
9 large whole green tomatoes<br />
1 lb. extra lean ground beef<br />
1 Tbsp. garlic salt<br />
1 Tbsp. cumin<br />
2 Tbsp. sugar<br />
Black pepper to taste<br />
2 cups chopped onions<br />
3 cups chopped mild green chiles<br />
3-1/2 cups chicken broth<br />
2/3 cup flour<br />
<br />
Put the whole tomatoes (including skins and seeds) in the food processor. Process until sauce consistency. Pour into a large bowl and set aside. Saute the meat, garlic salt, cumin, sugar, pepper, and onions until the meat browns and the onions are soft (about ten minutes). Add the green chiles, tomatoes, and half the chicken broth. Simmer uncovered over medium-low heat for 30 to 40 minutes. In a medium-sized bowl mix the remaining chicken broth with the flour with a wire whisk until blended and any lumps are gone. Slowly pour into meat and tomato mixture, stirring only until thickened. Remove from heat. Cool to room temperature before storing in the refrigerator overnight. Serve cold or at room temperature as a dip with your favorite corn chips or as a side with grilled chicken.<br />
<br />Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7277133076891246372.post-32872738213286342252015-09-27T10:37:00.001-05:002015-09-27T11:58:58.309-05:00A cup of coffee and a donut.I can't help it. It happens every year about this time. Late September. Something happens. Maybe it's that first cool breeze, or the first few leaves that fall, but it happens. It happened this morning while I was walking dear Putsy in our neighborhood. It probably helps that our walking route includes a little stretch through the Trinity University campus here in San Antonio. And suddenly my mind and my heart briefly go back to a place and a time about thirty (or forty?) years ago.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NcMusy6Yvzhs8RpbGtYOfXJ4UYjlflMIrxtQ-1N_nFgqXanoEx0nHMZH3QgQBzO48T3YTjHWU0w5DJDKHe-ev8L9diSV1HUlhXW4iOSWYhFyeyqW4uOnXzekZPO3yeZxEVwL2p_gaimI/s1600/20150927_080227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NcMusy6Yvzhs8RpbGtYOfXJ4UYjlflMIrxtQ-1N_nFgqXanoEx0nHMZH3QgQBzO48T3YTjHWU0w5DJDKHe-ev8L9diSV1HUlhXW4iOSWYhFyeyqW4uOnXzekZPO3yeZxEVwL2p_gaimI/s640/20150927_080227.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am back at Hendrix College. It is my junior or senior year. It's early in the morning. I am walking across that beautiful Conway, Arkansas, campus. I am walking alone, probably trying to figure out whether I am going to pass Dr. Fitch's Abnormal Psych class...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3HqcO3mMnjl5dr2vNIjFsrL2x_XXzgQXWuflQiNdzrJP90E2lP_huGCAbi-LUARG1A7ftQEAH96v3uRUo6nlA9lrx0K6hyphenhyphenATLAen1P5E2y4sZqzrjrapNxFi3-zGW04-98QDs8lOzsfS/s1600/6a00e54efbe3a18833010536625a5c970c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3HqcO3mMnjl5dr2vNIjFsrL2x_XXzgQXWuflQiNdzrJP90E2lP_huGCAbi-LUARG1A7ftQEAH96v3uRUo6nlA9lrx0K6hyphenhyphenATLAen1P5E2y4sZqzrjrapNxFi3-zGW04-98QDs8lOzsfS/s640/6a00e54efbe3a18833010536625a5c970c.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then a smiling young woman appears at my side. It's Louie Mann. Always happy, chipper, perky as hell. She is wearing her uniform: A flannel shirt tucked into Levi's, her hair tied back in a bandana, and the Vasque boots ("You gotta love those Vibram soles!") - or maybe Birkenstocks with rag wool socks. "'Mornin', Bobo. Wouldn't a cup of coffee and a donut be good this mornin'?" And off we go, stopping to say 'Good morning' to Coach Grove, to Hulen Hall, where we will find coffee and donuts.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvI4iSJkXUZcHlrS41CnEUbParOeFiKnHDY3EetCNKn1h_CpzFukd26p8cGPbR8Ust6arMa6kN2-mWQuvZ7DHmRBklVkCCtDnyj4MvVMnOouCO03SA6t1MU5abkbrEwG_0qJA5ZGFRk9E/s1600/donut-day-facts-ftr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvI4iSJkXUZcHlrS41CnEUbParOeFiKnHDY3EetCNKn1h_CpzFukd26p8cGPbR8Ust6arMa6kN2-mWQuvZ7DHmRBklVkCCtDnyj4MvVMnOouCO03SA6t1MU5abkbrEwG_0qJA5ZGFRk9E/s640/donut-day-facts-ftr.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Some memories are not as clear, clouded by years (or whatever), but this memory of a morning with Louie is vivid. It is a recollection that makes me smile. There are lots of those, especially this time of year. It was forty (!) years ago that I stepped onto that college campus as a freshman. And sometimes I still crave a cup of coffee and a donut in the morning.</div>
Mr. B.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05069889425109987984noreply@blogger.com2