As previously mentioned, us Blogtaris got our Boricua on with a short trip to Puerto Rico last weekend, and have concluded that for many reasons, Puerto Rico rules.
First of all, it's not far, but far enough to be legitimately Caribbean. Everyone (mostly) understands English, but because Spanish is the main language, you don't feel like you're in the United States. But because technically you are, you get all the benefits: no exchanging money, clean and dependable drinking water, signs in English, Walgreens, etc. Seriously, the Walgreens does it for me. How many times have you been traveling abroad and just wished there was a Walgreens or a Duane Reade so you could get the essentials (diet coke, doritos, toofpaste)? Well, in Puerto Rico that dream is a reality.
Also, the food there is great. I had found this small hole in the wall in Old San Juan last time I was there, and sure enough, it was just like I remembered it: El Jibarito. Translation: The Place with the Funk Funk food. We crushed a plate of mofongo, tostones, sweet plaintains, and stuffed tamales like no one's business. Old San Juan is rulio, except for their blackjack dealing methods, and we saw a huge party in the town square in honor of Navidad.
As for the title of this post, our JetBlue pilot, I mean, first officer, was actually named Butch Brandow. I didn't actually get to see Butch as I deplaned, but Melissa was confident that the reason for his absence is likely because First Officer Butch Brandow was knee deep in a rum runner the second we were wheels down at San Juan Int'l. El Fallardo was a nickname Melissa obtained during our snorkeling trip to El Fajardo off the east coast of PR. Given Puerto Rico's maritime geography, its love of rum, and obsession with novelty pirate t-shirts (I almost bought one that said "Arrrrbucks, Where Pirates Get Coffee" or something along those lines), I figured that El Fallardo should be the name of a legendary pirate who roams the 7 seas, but who is actually a 5'3" woman. The catamaran back and forf to the snorkeling was great, especially because everyone was butt ugly and therefore did not make El Fallardo and I feel self-conscious about our holiday ponches.
Snorkeling was rad. We saw fish, sea turtles (not of the leatherneck variety), and even manatees (from a distance). Snorkeling is the laziest sport and thus, I love it, though I suck at it still and get pwned by Melissa who doesn't go up for air for like an hour.
All that said, the highlight of the trip was our hotel, in my opinion. The Condado Plaza is this sick hotel that is covered in mosaic and other nice decor, and mostly sick because it is home to: a Striphouse Restaurant, a casino, and a poolside arcade which has Lethal Enforcers. Melissa was absolutely lights out at the craps table one night, and completely corrected my losses at the hands of unruly Boricuan blackjack dealers. She must have hit 9 points, and rolled 5s, 6s, 8s and 9s only for about 20 minutes. If the odds were more than 2x at that table, we would have paid for the whole trip in her roll alone. Oh well.
So I guess this is a ringing endorsement of Puerto Rico, especially when the economy sucks and all the tourist areas are empty and can actually be enjoyed. The 85 degree sun during a snowstorm in NY didn't hurt, either.
Puerto Rico: rum, mofongo, ocean, chicks in tight jeans, party music, navidad, caribbean stud, fajardo snorkeling -- what else could you ask for?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Bacardi - Rhymes with Party
In case you didn't know, CinS and I have been together for over 8 years and spent 5 of these years in a long distance relationship. Why am I disclosing this lovely fact? For your admiration, of course!
But seriously, CinS and I spent 2 years flying across the country every 6 weeks, and 3 years schlepping between NY and Philly almost every weekend. So you can imagine our exhaustion (both physically and budget-ally) at the thought of travel. It is due to our history that my husband and I have only taken 2 vacations in our 8-year history.
We went to Jamaica for a week in 2004 from Christmas Day to New Year's Day. This vacation rocked. The resort where we stayed was super nice, the weather was great and we spent one full day on a tour of the Appleton Rum plantation/factory. Our love of fancy rum and our distain of vodka began on the white-sand shores of Negril. And for that, we thank you Jamaica.
Our next trip was a mere 3 years later and was our honeymoon. We went to Africa for 2 weeks and loved every minute of the trip, including our 24-hour flight from JFK to Johannesburg (thank you Ambien extended release). I could go on and on, but will instead lead you here for a small taste (pun intended).
I remind you about our past travel today because CinS and I are about to embark on what I consider to be our third vacation. Sure, we've spent long weekends in hotels in cities across the country, but most often our travel together involves a wedding or a national holiday. When I say vacation, I mean a trip where the only goal is to relax on a beach somewhere without any friends or family. Some alone time, preferably in a tropical climate.
We're heading to Puerto Rico (home of less fancy rum - Bacardi) on Thursday for a long weekend. Yes, we're going back to my "homeland."
I am not actually Puerto Rican, but don't tell that to actual Puerto Ricans, the guys in the "Spanish Food" place by my house, or the large black men of the Alexandria, VA metro stop.
Yes, my entire adult life, I have been mistaken for a Puerto Rican. Which I think is totally awesome. I guess it's my permanent tan and one-time peach hair (I saw myself in Feria. Those were dark days). Or maybe it's my decidedly-Latin figure, ambiguously-ethnic maiden name, and painstakingly-sculpted eyebrows. It is a mystery.
I wonder if when I arrive on the sunny shores of San Juan if I'll be mistaken for a local. I doubt it. My middle-eastern spouse may give me away.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Joker vs. Sub-Zero? Why the Hell Not?
For those dudes ages 24-34 that grew up playing video games, there are some games that were gamechangers.
Punch Out on the NES, for example. My neighbor getting the game for Christmas in 1987 was singluarly one of the better moments of my young life. So much so that I downloaded that game on my laptop while in law school and used to play during Contracts my first year. That game was just amazing; the characters were memorable, the stereotypes blatantly racist, all the things you need for a game. I remember finally beating Tyson right before the end of my 1st semester of law school. Sure I didn't remember crap from that class, but finally taking down Iron Mike -- even at age 22 on a mcgraw laptop -- was the highlight of that semester.
Many of us remember Goldeneye, or, as everyone called/calls it, "Bond" for the N64. That was a game that not only facilitated friendships and rivalries in dorms and frat houses around the country, but it was so universal that you could be visiting your buddy at another college, get turned around (read: butthoused) and lost in someone else's frat house on a campus you don't know, and still easily slide into some choder's room and mingle whilst grawing through people with the assault rifle.
But for me, the 2 gamechangers have and always will be Street Fighter 2 and Mortal Kombat. They both came out around the same time, and were to the fighting genre what Nirvana was to music in the 90s: a signal of things to come, a changing of the guard. The games were pretty simple actually, different characters with different strengths and weaknesses, killing each other. I especially liked Mortal Kombat for its humor and gore. The movies never did the games justice; I'm pretty sure that Jean Claude Van Damme as Guile or Pete Sampras' wife as Sonya Blade is not exactly what the developers had in mind when they were programming the games while living in their parents' basements.
With the advent of Xbox and more recent gamechangers like Halo and Rock Band, fighting games pretty much fell off of the map. So I was very interested when Mortal Kombat vs. DC Comics came out for Xbox 360 a couple weeks ago. They played it to the bone well, choosing only to include a handful of MK originals and DC comic staples like Batman, the Joker, and the Flash. The voice acting kind of sucks, but having the Joker beat up on Raiden and Wonder Woman get into it with Catwoman is a novelty that hasn't worn off. Even Melissa, who had just arrived home tired from a business trip, sat there watching me play the story (yes, I consider myself lucky for marrying a woman with the good sense to appreciate a well made and well played video game [or at least pretend to if necessary]).
With this game and next year's Street Fighter 4 coming out, it seems safe to assume that the fighting video game is alive and well. Even if the games are only surviving with ridiculous premises like having SuperMan team up with SubZero to save the Erf from some fat dude that can shoot lasers out his butt.
Punch Out on the NES, for example. My neighbor getting the game for Christmas in 1987 was singluarly one of the better moments of my young life. So much so that I downloaded that game on my laptop while in law school and used to play during Contracts my first year. That game was just amazing; the characters were memorable, the stereotypes blatantly racist, all the things you need for a game. I remember finally beating Tyson right before the end of my 1st semester of law school. Sure I didn't remember crap from that class, but finally taking down Iron Mike -- even at age 22 on a mcgraw laptop -- was the highlight of that semester.
Many of us remember Goldeneye, or, as everyone called/calls it, "Bond" for the N64. That was a game that not only facilitated friendships and rivalries in dorms and frat houses around the country, but it was so universal that you could be visiting your buddy at another college, get turned around (read: butthoused) and lost in someone else's frat house on a campus you don't know, and still easily slide into some choder's room and mingle whilst grawing through people with the assault rifle.
But for me, the 2 gamechangers have and always will be Street Fighter 2 and Mortal Kombat. They both came out around the same time, and were to the fighting genre what Nirvana was to music in the 90s: a signal of things to come, a changing of the guard. The games were pretty simple actually, different characters with different strengths and weaknesses, killing each other. I especially liked Mortal Kombat for its humor and gore. The movies never did the games justice; I'm pretty sure that Jean Claude Van Damme as Guile or Pete Sampras' wife as Sonya Blade is not exactly what the developers had in mind when they were programming the games while living in their parents' basements.
With the advent of Xbox and more recent gamechangers like Halo and Rock Band, fighting games pretty much fell off of the map. So I was very interested when Mortal Kombat vs. DC Comics came out for Xbox 360 a couple weeks ago. They played it to the bone well, choosing only to include a handful of MK originals and DC comic staples like Batman, the Joker, and the Flash. The voice acting kind of sucks, but having the Joker beat up on Raiden and Wonder Woman get into it with Catwoman is a novelty that hasn't worn off. Even Melissa, who had just arrived home tired from a business trip, sat there watching me play the story (yes, I consider myself lucky for marrying a woman with the good sense to appreciate a well made and well played video game [or at least pretend to if necessary]).
With this game and next year's Street Fighter 4 coming out, it seems safe to assume that the fighting video game is alive and well. Even if the games are only surviving with ridiculous premises like having SuperMan team up with SubZero to save the Erf from some fat dude that can shoot lasers out his butt.
Raise the (Red) Roof (Inn): Tales from K-Town
With my beloved co-ed soccer team's season coming to an end, I have little left to do during the winter doldrums except blogtari.
Last night was the end-of-season/holiday party for said beloved soccer team, and for the party, we went with dinner in Koreatown followed immediately by karoake in KTown. To begin with, it's always weird and cool to see everyone on the team dressed in civilian attire, and not the usual orange n' black or black n' black that our team dons on the pitch week to week. I almost didn't recognize half the people at first, or knew what the women on our team look like with their hair down.
We started at Baden Baden, a fried chicken place in KTown. Allow me first to say how rulio I think KTown is. Chinatown is big and sprawling, as are a lot of ethnic neighborhoods in NY or other cities. What I like about KTown is how they cram all of it into a couple blocks. Every building contains all of the following: a Korean bank (Nara Bank one time!), a restaurant with e-dash-gregious fried chicken, and a karaoke place.
As an aside, Koreans are pretty rad, I gotta say. Their food, whether fried chicken (served at Baden Baden with fries and onion rings, a kind of Seoul-style Roscoes Chicken n' Waffles) or short ribs, absolutely drop kicks other Asian cuisine. Their soccer team and club teams pwn the rest of the Far East, and I would take any electronic Made in Korea over Made in China any day. Also, randomly, Fort Lee, NJ is like Koreatown but surburban Koreatown. Still haven't figured that one out yet.
So after crushing fried chicken, onion rings, and other grub, the well-dressed maitre'd gave us a round of shots that looked and tasted just like Vicks 44. Count it. Then, onto karaoke. Karaoke Wow, the place I found randomly online after learning my tried and trusted I-Bop Karoake was booked, is sweet. To begin with, unlike most karoake in KTown, they have an elevator, and since it's new, all the private rooms are filled with plush couches, a sic sound system, and flat screens.
Oh, and lasers. EVERYWHERE. When in doubt, add lasers and smoke machines and everyone wins. That is essentially the Karaoke Wow m.o. The booze selection is extremely limited, but nowhere's perfect. Since it's new, KWow's song selection is growing, but not quite there. I shall write a letter to the proprietor advising them of their unacceptable lack of 90's West Coast rap (Ain't No Fun, Regulate, Express Yourself, et al.). The team sang well, and one of our ladies is a singer/dancer/actor by trade, and so obviously, crushed the vocals on some of the harder songs. But she was very wise to use her talents modestly, and didn't use soccer team karaoke as her personal showcase.
The singing ended around 12:30, but no one wanted to go home just yet. With it pouring outside, we looked for the closest bar, and found the "lounge" at KTown's Red Roof Inn. Now the Red Roof Inn isn't on the same level as, say the W or even a Sheraton, but the Red Roof Inn had a bar, a PhotoKhunt machine, and it was open.
So pretty much KTown is a top 3 neighborhood in New York. Cheap and delicious fried chicken? Yup. Smoke and lasers? Fo' sho. Red Roof Inn with a PhotoKhunt machine? Damn skippy. That's a combo that's hard to beat.
Last night was the end-of-season/holiday party for said beloved soccer team, and for the party, we went with dinner in Koreatown followed immediately by karoake in KTown. To begin with, it's always weird and cool to see everyone on the team dressed in civilian attire, and not the usual orange n' black or black n' black that our team dons on the pitch week to week. I almost didn't recognize half the people at first, or knew what the women on our team look like with their hair down.
We started at Baden Baden, a fried chicken place in KTown. Allow me first to say how rulio I think KTown is. Chinatown is big and sprawling, as are a lot of ethnic neighborhoods in NY or other cities. What I like about KTown is how they cram all of it into a couple blocks. Every building contains all of the following: a Korean bank (Nara Bank one time!), a restaurant with e-dash-gregious fried chicken, and a karaoke place.
As an aside, Koreans are pretty rad, I gotta say. Their food, whether fried chicken (served at Baden Baden with fries and onion rings, a kind of Seoul-style Roscoes Chicken n' Waffles) or short ribs, absolutely drop kicks other Asian cuisine. Their soccer team and club teams pwn the rest of the Far East, and I would take any electronic Made in Korea over Made in China any day. Also, randomly, Fort Lee, NJ is like Koreatown but surburban Koreatown. Still haven't figured that one out yet.
So after crushing fried chicken, onion rings, and other grub, the well-dressed maitre'd gave us a round of shots that looked and tasted just like Vicks 44. Count it. Then, onto karaoke. Karaoke Wow, the place I found randomly online after learning my tried and trusted I-Bop Karoake was booked, is sweet. To begin with, unlike most karoake in KTown, they have an elevator, and since it's new, all the private rooms are filled with plush couches, a sic sound system, and flat screens.
Oh, and lasers. EVERYWHERE. When in doubt, add lasers and smoke machines and everyone wins. That is essentially the Karaoke Wow m.o. The booze selection is extremely limited, but nowhere's perfect. Since it's new, KWow's song selection is growing, but not quite there. I shall write a letter to the proprietor advising them of their unacceptable lack of 90's West Coast rap (Ain't No Fun, Regulate, Express Yourself, et al.). The team sang well, and one of our ladies is a singer/dancer/actor by trade, and so obviously, crushed the vocals on some of the harder songs. But she was very wise to use her talents modestly, and didn't use soccer team karaoke as her personal showcase.
The singing ended around 12:30, but no one wanted to go home just yet. With it pouring outside, we looked for the closest bar, and found the "lounge" at KTown's Red Roof Inn. Now the Red Roof Inn isn't on the same level as, say the W or even a Sheraton, but the Red Roof Inn had a bar, a PhotoKhunt machine, and it was open.
So pretty much KTown is a top 3 neighborhood in New York. Cheap and delicious fried chicken? Yup. Smoke and lasers? Fo' sho. Red Roof Inn with a PhotoKhunt machine? Damn skippy. That's a combo that's hard to beat.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The Other Side
You may recall that we hate our neighbors, and may even recall that in addition to the Iraq-visiting, mutton-chopped jerk next door, we also live next door to some folks who have loud sex. But what you don't know is the whole story.
While we have had frequent run-ins with the mutton-ass, his lady friend, and their poorly behaved dog, we have never seen the loud sexers. Never.
We think they may be vampires. Seriously. And not Edward Cullen, able to leave the house and function in the sun vampires, but Bill Compton, stuck under the floorboards vampires.
These folks are completely nocturnal. I know this because I hear them. CinS is quick to say that the reason we hear them is because their bed is against our shared wall and causes a ruckus, but my hearing may be better than his because I always hear her screaming. Always.
They are "active" at 9:00 when I'm putting on my robe to settle in for nice night of DVR. Then again at 12:30 when we're trying to sleep. Again at 5:00 when I'm waking up to pee. And then some more at 9:30 when I should already be at work (I was home sick one day).
It's a little nuts.
It would be kind of rad if the girl were single and dragging strangers home for loud sex all the time, but we're pretty sure that these vampire people are in a committed relationship. (Yes, CinS did put a cup up to the wall and heard the dude say I Love You) Which I suppose is admirable, but also a little gross.
It's like imagining your parents having sex. Or even your married friends.
Anyhow, the worst part about the sex vampires is that they make us feel guilty for not having constant sex at all hours. I would rather go back to bed after I pee at 5 am, but I guess that's why I still get carded at 30 while they feed off the blood of virgins.
While we have had frequent run-ins with the mutton-ass, his lady friend, and their poorly behaved dog, we have never seen the loud sexers. Never.
We think they may be vampires. Seriously. And not Edward Cullen, able to leave the house and function in the sun vampires, but Bill Compton, stuck under the floorboards vampires.
These folks are completely nocturnal. I know this because I hear them. CinS is quick to say that the reason we hear them is because their bed is against our shared wall and causes a ruckus, but my hearing may be better than his because I always hear her screaming. Always.
They are "active" at 9:00 when I'm putting on my robe to settle in for nice night of DVR. Then again at 12:30 when we're trying to sleep. Again at 5:00 when I'm waking up to pee. And then some more at 9:30 when I should already be at work (I was home sick one day).
It's a little nuts.
It would be kind of rad if the girl were single and dragging strangers home for loud sex all the time, but we're pretty sure that these vampire people are in a committed relationship. (Yes, CinS did put a cup up to the wall and heard the dude say I Love You) Which I suppose is admirable, but also a little gross.
It's like imagining your parents having sex. Or even your married friends.
Anyhow, the worst part about the sex vampires is that they make us feel guilty for not having constant sex at all hours. I would rather go back to bed after I pee at 5 am, but I guess that's why I still get carded at 30 while they feed off the blood of virgins.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Top Ten Things I Hate About Public Office Restrooms
- Pubes on the toiletseat (seriously?)
- An unflushed toilet (takes so much effort!)
- A fine spray of urine on the toiletseat (gross!)
- Women breast-pumping (TMI!)
- Other people choosing the stall right beside you even though every other stall is available (personal space, much?)
- Toothpaste smell (inappropriate!)
- Other people talking to you while you are doing your business (privacy please!)
- Toiletpaper all over the floor (raised in a barn?)
- No soap (sanitize!)
- Other people
I have none of these problems at home, and I share my bathroom with a man.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Holiday Par-Tay
CinS' office is based in Rockefeller Center and each year his firm throws a holiday party the night of the tree lighting so friends and family can hang out with Al Roker and catch the latest teen sensations perform on the ice rink. In case you don't have NBC where you live, the tree lighting "spectacular" is tonight. I'm hoping to see a Jonas Brother. Actually, I'm really hoping for the cast of Heroes to present David Cook signing "American Boy" whilst the SYTYCD crew krumps. I know I'm mixing networks on this one, but a girl can dream right?
The punch line of the party is that from inside the hallowed walls of CinS firm, you can't see jack, and end up watching the tree lighting on TV in the conference room. Oh well. Free food and booze peppered with awkward small talk can't be beat!
But I am honestly looking forward to tonight's affair. Last year, CinS hadn't been with the firm too long so we spent part of the night hiding in his office eating lasagna. Like all good networkers do. This year, CinS has loads of peeps and is planning to pimp me out by adding my company name to my nametag so he can claim me as a potential client.
The only thing I am not looking forward to is the next morning, when I need to get up at 4am to go to the airport to fly in for my own holiday party. Way too much festiveness happening this week in expense of my sleep. But 'tis the season.
Speaking of the season, it is also the time of year when I agonize over how much to tip our doormen, super, and porters (who I'm guessing are handymen with a naming convention complex). CinS is a super-generous person who tips 25% and is best buddies with our building staff, which causes trouble each December. I think being CinS friend is tip enough. CinS disagrees.
On my way to work this morning, I passed the mailman exiting our apartment building, which reminded me that every year the mailman slips a postcard in my mailbox fishing for holiday tips. Sorry, buddy. You are the mailman. I have never seen you in my life, and I know you don't do me any special favors that would warrant a tip. In fact, I blame you sir for the delayed delivery of my In Touch magazine each week. If there was any way to anti-tip you, by say, stealing a $20 out of your wallet, I would do so.
All this ranting about holiday tip policies has got me running late to the party. But you will be pleased to know that I gave the manicurist a little something extra today. I took it from the mailman's stash.
The punch line of the party is that from inside the hallowed walls of CinS firm, you can't see jack, and end up watching the tree lighting on TV in the conference room. Oh well. Free food and booze peppered with awkward small talk can't be beat!
But I am honestly looking forward to tonight's affair. Last year, CinS hadn't been with the firm too long so we spent part of the night hiding in his office eating lasagna. Like all good networkers do. This year, CinS has loads of peeps and is planning to pimp me out by adding my company name to my nametag so he can claim me as a potential client.
The only thing I am not looking forward to is the next morning, when I need to get up at 4am to go to the airport to fly in for my own holiday party. Way too much festiveness happening this week in expense of my sleep. But 'tis the season.
Speaking of the season, it is also the time of year when I agonize over how much to tip our doormen, super, and porters (who I'm guessing are handymen with a naming convention complex). CinS is a super-generous person who tips 25% and is best buddies with our building staff, which causes trouble each December. I think being CinS friend is tip enough. CinS disagrees.
On my way to work this morning, I passed the mailman exiting our apartment building, which reminded me that every year the mailman slips a postcard in my mailbox fishing for holiday tips. Sorry, buddy. You are the mailman. I have never seen you in my life, and I know you don't do me any special favors that would warrant a tip. In fact, I blame you sir for the delayed delivery of my In Touch magazine each week. If there was any way to anti-tip you, by say, stealing a $20 out of your wallet, I would do so.
All this ranting about holiday tip policies has got me running late to the party. But you will be pleased to know that I gave the manicurist a little something extra today. I took it from the mailman's stash.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Thanks...
The Blogtaris were home in PA this weekend for Thanksgiving. As expected, CinS hit all the suburban hotspots while I read quietly on the couch. But because of the holiday, this weekend visit was a little different from the usual trip to the 'burbs.
Thanksgiving always makes me a nostalgic for the Thanksgivings of my youth. When I was young, my parents and I always packed in the car and headed down the shore to my Bubby and Poppy's house in Margate, NJ where we would meet up with my Aunt and cousins.
Every holiday was the same. We would begin our drive early in the day, stop at McDonalds for chicken mcnuggets, and arrive in Margate around 2pm. My dad would watch football while my mom and Aunt tried in vain to help Bubby with Thanksgiving dinner. We would aim to sit at the table around 6, but ended up stalling for 1-2 hours until we decided the turkey was actually done.
We would eat candied sweet potatoes and slimy cranberry sauce from the plastic tub. My dad would load his plate with peas and dark meat. We drank Diet Coke out of heavy crystal goblets.
After eating, the men would retire to the den with a fresh pot of coffee. The ladies would do the dishes. About an hour after dinner, we would have our pie. My Bubby would serve fresh whipped cream on top of a supermarket pie. We would head home.
Since my grandparents passed away, Thanksgiving has been a more intimate affair. CinS and I rotate between our parent's homes for Thanksgiving each year, leaving my parents to vacation in their years "off." But when we are at home, my mom goes all out.
This year, my mom's food was supplemented with some cheesy potato casserole that CinS prepared and my famous pumpkin cheese pie. The pie is famous for many reasons.
Reason number one: Half my family loves it, the other half hates it. The pumpkin cheese pie made its debut at a Margate Thanksgiving where the extended family had the pleasure of trying this new pie. My Bubby hated it and refused to serve it as the only pumpkin pie option in future years. I think she was secretly resentful of those of us who opted for the cheese pie in lieu of the standard-issue. But what's most interesting to me is that when it was "our" pie vs. Bubby's, my mom loved our pie. But now that our pie stands alone, my mom claims to hate the pie. She won't eat it, and in true-Bubby style, serves alternate pies to our small party of 4. And just like Bubby, I noticed a glimmer of resentment when my pie was finished before her pumpkin pecan alternative this year.
Reason number two: My pie requires no cooking. Yes, there is a reason that it is called a pumpkin cheese pie and not a pumpkin cheesecake. First, it is a pie. Second, I'm pretty sure cheesecake requires an oven. My pie is basically a pudding pie. A pudding pie with a cheese (cream) layer and a pumpkin layer, hence a pumpkin (space) cheese pie.
Reason number three: My pie gets botched almost every year. The problems with the pie are many. The main reason for the trouble is that the layers include so much filling that the pie lid can no longer cover the pie, making transport (to the table, let alone to Bubby's house) a challenge. Attempts to lessen the bulk of the layers results in funky tasting pie that needs to be treated with flavored coffee mate to salvage the taste. I am proud to say that this year, the pie was problem free and ridiculously good. It could be because I stopped kidding myself and used full fat, full sugar ingredients. Or it could be that it was made with extra love.
But despite the pie's history, it will be a staple of the Blogtari Thanksgiving for many years to come. It takes me back to Thanksgivings down the shore and all the fond memories of celebrating with my family, no matter if I am in NJ, PA or CA. All I need is a west coast pie rivalry to make the holiday complete.
Thanksgiving always makes me a nostalgic for the Thanksgivings of my youth. When I was young, my parents and I always packed in the car and headed down the shore to my Bubby and Poppy's house in Margate, NJ where we would meet up with my Aunt and cousins.
Every holiday was the same. We would begin our drive early in the day, stop at McDonalds for chicken mcnuggets, and arrive in Margate around 2pm. My dad would watch football while my mom and Aunt tried in vain to help Bubby with Thanksgiving dinner. We would aim to sit at the table around 6, but ended up stalling for 1-2 hours until we decided the turkey was actually done.
We would eat candied sweet potatoes and slimy cranberry sauce from the plastic tub. My dad would load his plate with peas and dark meat. We drank Diet Coke out of heavy crystal goblets.
After eating, the men would retire to the den with a fresh pot of coffee. The ladies would do the dishes. About an hour after dinner, we would have our pie. My Bubby would serve fresh whipped cream on top of a supermarket pie. We would head home.
Since my grandparents passed away, Thanksgiving has been a more intimate affair. CinS and I rotate between our parent's homes for Thanksgiving each year, leaving my parents to vacation in their years "off." But when we are at home, my mom goes all out.
This year, my mom's food was supplemented with some cheesy potato casserole that CinS prepared and my famous pumpkin cheese pie. The pie is famous for many reasons.
Reason number one: Half my family loves it, the other half hates it. The pumpkin cheese pie made its debut at a Margate Thanksgiving where the extended family had the pleasure of trying this new pie. My Bubby hated it and refused to serve it as the only pumpkin pie option in future years. I think she was secretly resentful of those of us who opted for the cheese pie in lieu of the standard-issue. But what's most interesting to me is that when it was "our" pie vs. Bubby's, my mom loved our pie. But now that our pie stands alone, my mom claims to hate the pie. She won't eat it, and in true-Bubby style, serves alternate pies to our small party of 4. And just like Bubby, I noticed a glimmer of resentment when my pie was finished before her pumpkin pecan alternative this year.
Reason number two: My pie requires no cooking. Yes, there is a reason that it is called a pumpkin cheese pie and not a pumpkin cheesecake. First, it is a pie. Second, I'm pretty sure cheesecake requires an oven. My pie is basically a pudding pie. A pudding pie with a cheese (cream) layer and a pumpkin layer, hence a pumpkin (space) cheese pie.
Reason number three: My pie gets botched almost every year. The problems with the pie are many. The main reason for the trouble is that the layers include so much filling that the pie lid can no longer cover the pie, making transport (to the table, let alone to Bubby's house) a challenge. Attempts to lessen the bulk of the layers results in funky tasting pie that needs to be treated with flavored coffee mate to salvage the taste. I am proud to say that this year, the pie was problem free and ridiculously good. It could be because I stopped kidding myself and used full fat, full sugar ingredients. Or it could be that it was made with extra love.
But despite the pie's history, it will be a staple of the Blogtari Thanksgiving for many years to come. It takes me back to Thanksgivings down the shore and all the fond memories of celebrating with my family, no matter if I am in NJ, PA or CA. All I need is a west coast pie rivalry to make the holiday complete.
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