Heat? We don't need no stinkin' heat!

Newsflash. . .it is still cold outside.

With that said, I think I'll stick with the cold theme for today's post. I thought about giving my commentary on the issue of global warming and bullying those people who believe it is a hoax; but, opted for a lighter topic.

In late Fall of 2003, my niece, Veronica and my sister-in-law, Bea bought a farm in Martin County, Florida. Veronica is in the horse business (training, buying and selling) and the farm was perfect for her plans. While the existing house and stalls needed a lot of work, the potential was enormous. It was a little piece of heaven.

I had gone down in early December that year to celebrate my great niece's sixteenth birthday. They were still living in Palm Beach, so we planned an outing to visit the new homestead. The local community was having their "holiday parade" and we decided to initiate the community with a visit from our clan.

It was one of those "freakish" cold snaps for the area. The afternoon, while sunny, was a crisp 48 degrees and very breezy. I had gone to Florida with Florida clothes and had to borrow a light jacket from Bea. Our entourage included seven adults, four children and four dogs. In our various vehicles, we met in a parking lot to take our place on the parade route. I use the term "parade" very loosely. What we saw was an array of public service vehicles (fire truck, water department truck, a police cruiser), residents of the local retirement community driving their golf carts down the street, dressed like clowns and throwing candy into the crowd. I also use the term "crowd" very loosely. I believe Santa arrived atop a tow truck; or was it a boat being pulled by a tow truck? You gotta love a small town effort.

After the festivities of the parade we went back to the farm. Our plan was to spend the night. Although the house wasn't ready for full time residents, we were opting to "camp out." There were a few sofas and a bed and we brought sleeping bags and perhaps an air mattress. We cooked out for dinner and built a huge bonfire. Rory was our only adult guy until morning. Rory loves fire. Rory was throwing everything he could find into the bonfire. It was getting bigger and bigger and we were all quite toasty. Sitting in front of that huge blaze we weren't really conscious of the fact that the temperature was taking a nose dive.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (house), Bea had thrown a couple of those "clean air" logs into the fireplace; and Veronica had turned on the heat. Or, so we thought. As we begin gathering ourselves indoors and realized that the temperature outside had dropped below freezing, we noticed that the air temperature in the house wasn't much different. You have got to be kidding me! No heat. Yep, no heat.

Bea, always the eternal optimist, said "we'll be fine; I have another one of those fire logs." I had to point out that those fire logs only last a maximum of four hours. So at two in the morning, there would be no fire. Do we go or do we stay? We stay.

We all carefully choose our territory to bundle up with what we have and settle in for the night. I chose one of the couches and a small pillow. And, I coaxed my niece's dog, Bruno, to join me. I would have coaxed all the dogs to join me, but the couch wasn't big enough.

In retrospect, it wasn't that bad of a night, but to hear us tell the story the next day you would have thought we were stranded in a blizzard in the Andes. Someone had to let the dogs out during the night; that was poor Bea. I wrapped myself in a blanket that I found laying across the sofa. Finders keepers. The kids were bundled in their sleeping bags.

Trips to the bathroom sent you shivering back to your nest. Although I suspect Rory chose a different facility. We did hear the back door open during the night.

When morning came, we realized that we didn't even have coffee. The plan was to go into town to the Inn's brunch. We were laughing at the thought of this crowd filing into the Seminole Inn's dining room, straggly, hungry and cold. I was planning on a pot of coffee with a Mimosa chaser; and a warm bathroom. As we were gathering our things, Rory was getting something from the car and his little boy, Ryan was in tow. We heard the car door slam and also heard "oops" (that's the PG version). Yep, the keys were locked in the car. We called AAA and waited. I'm not very good at waiting without coffee.


Meanwhile, my nephew Kenneth arrived, having been on duty at the fire station. Being the problem solver he is, he went straight to the thermostat to see what was wrong. Kenneth turned the heat on. Yes, we could have heat all night. It was a matter of a small switch that had kept us in the cold. But, we were leaving now, so no point in letting it heat us up while we waited for the AAA tow truck.

The serviceman arrived and opened the car door. We loaded into our various vehicles, arrived at the Inn and sat down for a hearty brunch for fourteen hungry mouths. We ate. We laughed. And we laughed some more.

Heat? We don't need no stinkin' heat.

What's for dinner?

I read that the film Julie/Julia has put The Art of French Cooking back on the New York Times best-sellers list. While Julia did not necessarily approve of Julie's blog, I think she would have thought that this "is a good thing." Oh no, that's Martha's line.

It sometimes amazes me how much the discussion of food consumes us; and how much food we really do consume. We cook; we eat; we talk about cooking; we exchange recipes; we dine out; we throw dinner parties; we critique food; we calculate calories and nutrition; we watch food and cooking shows; we read cook books; we make documentaries; we photograph our food; and then, we obsess about our weight and coax our physicians into giving us prescription-strength anti-acids.

We drive thru; we dine leisurely; we snack; we munch; we knosh; and then, we talk about it. We can't wait to sit down for a big meal; and then, we complain that we ate too much.

We search for unique ways to use chocolate; we grow herbs; buy spices that cost a fortune and only use them once in some obscure recipe. We fill shelves with reference material and have parties themed to exchange recipes and taste the creations. We spend a small fortune on pots, pans, knives and utensils; not to mention all of the small appliances and kitchen gadgets. I have a ricer, melon baller, garlic press, apple corer(?), egg slicer, microwave egg poacher and at least 20 other "whatchamacallits" that I bought, used once and they now sit in drawers. I have enough plates, serving dishes, platters, glasses and bowls to open my own restaurant. Somewhere in my life I learned that you can never have "too many" sets of china.

My family was, and is, a bunch of foodies. We gather at kitchen and dining tables; coffee tables and picnic benches. I was fifteen years old before I realized that I could actually go to the beach without ten pounds of potato salad, a grill and 25 people. Some people went to the beach for the sun and surf, we went for the "beach food". We each have our specialties: some are wonderful, some are not very good - but, we expect it to be served on whatever holiday, setting or feast it has been designated to be served.

Easy as pie. Smooth as butter. The best thing since sliced bread. Sweet as sugar. It's all gravy. Pie in the sky. Crack the nut. He's a crunchy-granola, old hippie. Food defines us. I'm a low sugar, low sodium, carb free person (not really, but I'm told I should be). My sister is allergic to cheese and shell fish. One of my nieces won't eat canteloupe. My friend's husband will only eat canned peas and corn. I used to serve salad with cucumbers and tomatoes on the side so my father wouldn't have to pick them out. This one doesn't eat meat; the other one won't eat fish. Food preferences can make a simple visit a huge production. Because. . .we MUST eat something together; it's what we do.

With that said, I think I'll make something to eat and then make my grocery shopping list. Hmmmm, what will I eat for dinner?