I finally figured out how to transfer all of these posts to the a new blog:  www.thepittsburghdiaries.wordpress.com.

If you’re interested in hearing my anecdotes from Pittsburgh – where I will try pierogies, curse the snow and likely get my ass kicked by a Steelers fan – click on the link to the new site and subscribe so you can receive updates via e-mail (in the right column).

Aside from dreadful cravings for Tex-Mex, I will miss all of you so much.  And to my dysfunctional, yet incredible family (I love you all!), and my amazing friends who are like family (K&F, J&C, L), I can barely stand to say goodbye.

Wish us well!

Anyway, my nightmare was actually a mini-series of nightmares.

It started with me in a lake, swimming alongside my oldest sister.  Huge waves, obviously unnatural for a lake, kept coming at us, slamming into our faces.  Because I’ve spent time in the ocean I could sense a pattern and prepare for the next wave, but my sister couldn’t.  She kept getting hit over and over again until we finally made our way to a safe area.

Next scene.

Still in the lake, which I now recognized from my grandparent’s house in Kansas.  I was floating in a red raft near the dock with my parents and my other sister.  We looked over to our left and saw an alligator swimming towards us.  We were all freaking out, but Katie decided she could divert the alligator’s attention.  She swam right towards it, darting in another direction at the last second.  As the alligator chased after her my parents and I swam towards the dock and pulled ourselves to safety.  Somehow I knew Katie was okay.

Next scene.

Walking up a set of green, grassy stairs I saw a snake.  It reached out to bite my ankle, but I fell backwards screaming.

Next scene.

I caught a man peering around a pink shower curtain, hoping to catch a look at a blonde woman showering.  When I confronted him he pushed me to the ground and told me than neither one of us could leave.  I freaked out and when he came after me again I grabbed an iron and used it to hit him in the head repeatedly.

The end.

Last night we were looking for a cheap dinner before going out with friends.  We decided to grab some banh mi from Les Givral’s, but then we remembered Red Pier.  We’d take a quick peek inside and see if it was worth trying.

When I pushed the door open I was instantly dazzled.  The long wall on the left is a fun piece of art.  White ropes hang at different angles, but the effect is not at all like Sushi Raku.  Less burlesque and more zen, complete with a rock garden along the bottom.

But it was the  incredible smells from the open-kitchen that enticed us to stay.  There would be no banh mi in our lives that night.

Instead there would be Bun Bo Hue Chay, a nearly vegetarian version (chicken broth) of the classic spicy soup from Hue.  The broth is lighter than what I’m used to, due in part to the fact that the “meat” in the soup was all soy-based.  This was absolutely positively damn good stuff.  The herbs, bean sprouts and jalapenos were all fresh, fragrant and delicious.  I added them to my bowl along with a squeeze of lime and some sriracha.  While eating I broke into a sweat, enjoying the slow burn, fantastic flavors and different textures.

Lucas ordered a rice plate with BBQ Pork, Egg Cake & Fried Egg.  One thing I really like about Red Pier is that they seem to value beauty.  The restaurant is tastefully decorated and they also present their food with consideration.  On top of that they follow through with some great flavors, because that BBQ Pork was some of the best I’ve tasted in awhile.  Nice and crispy on the outside with just a hint of sweetness, I retracted my previously insane notion.  For a moment that Bun Bo Hue Chay made me think being a vegetarian wouldn’t be all that bad.  Yes.  It.  Would.

Everything else on his plate was delicious – the egg cake was simply good (I’m partial to Huynh’s), the fried egg was everything it should be and the vegetables on the side were nice and crisp.  I was surprisingly impressed by the rice.  Silly me, I know.  I’m a fucking rice fiend.  This was perfectly cooked stuff; nice and sticky, not even remotely overdone.  The likes of which you typically find at a Korean restaurant.  Okay, maybe not quite that good.

We had a chance to talk to the bartender and he told us that Red Pier is a sister restaurant to Les Givral’s.  That’s a pretty exciting tidbit!  Les Givral’s has been around forever and I love their banh mi.  So much that I’ve never tried anything else there, but I”m over-joyed to try more dishes from this amazing family.

I believe that Red Pier will fill a hole in Midtown Vietnamese cuisine.  It seems a bit more upscale than the other restaurants, but prices don’t reflect this (my soup was $5.95 and the BBQ Pork was $6.95).  The menu is both modern and traditional with something for everyone plus they serve beer and wine.  Happy Hour is $1.00 off drinks with half-price appetizers.

We will certainly be back soon!

I have been incredibly lazy this weekend so when Lucas decided to make Thai Grilled Chicken Thighs with Peanut Sauce for dinner I was determined to make myself useful.  Side dishes it was!  In my opinion lighting the grill without throwing corn on it is a waste of good charcoal.  Perhaps grilled corn isn’t your typical Thai side dish, but it was on sale 5 for $1.00 at Randalls.  Yes, it was added to the menu.

But what else?  I wasn’t in the mood for rice and my feeble attempts at searching online left me drooling …not in hunger, but boredom.   Right when I was about to give up I saw a recipe for fried spring rolls.  The gears started turning and I remembered the spring roll wrappers and thin rice vermicelli I bought weeks ago.  I definitely wasn’t going to fry anything, but some nice, light summer rolls sounded like the perfect way to round out dinner.

We soared through Randalls, grabbing a few things for the week, but I felt deflated upon entering the produce section.  The Randalls in Midtown is smaller than most grocery stores.  You are free to interpret that last sentence as “Randalls in Midtown fucking blows”.  On two occasions I have stormed out of there – leaving behind a half-full cart of groceries – because they didn’t have a key ingredient in stock.  Ginger?  Chipotles en Adobo?  These are absolutely necessary ingredients in my kitchen.   Nevertheless I continue shopping there because its proximity to my home makes the place so damn convenient.

This time they didn’t have mint.  I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m fairly certain that you or me or just about anyone else has never had a summer roll at a restaurant without mint.  It’s a … repeat after me class … “key ingredient”.  Ahh, what the hell?, I decided.  Maybe summer rolls could be just as good without mint.  A new plan was forming in my head.  Latin Fusion Summer Rolls.

Rice vermicelli, lettuce, cucumber, radish, red bell pepper, avocado, green onion, jalapeno & cilantro.

Once home I prepped all of the vegetables, cutting everything into long strips.  I boiled the rice noodles, rinsed them in cold water and then my nerves kicked in.  Apparently most people mess up their first few rolls because the rice paper tears easily.  I calmed my shaking hands and dipped the rice paper into warm water for approximately 30 seconds.  Then I pulled it out of the water, laying it out on a cutting board and began adding the filling.  I’m proud to say that I took to rolling them pretty quickly.  Of the five I made, only one had holes in it (because I got greedy and tried adding too much filling).  The other four were beautiful!

And those Thai Grilled Chicken Thighs with Peanut Sauce?  Heavenly.  That’s what happens when The Chicken King cooks for you.

Injury #1 was a painful reminder that I’m not so young anymore.  I woke up on a Monday morning, limping due to some serious discomfort (read: pain) in my right hip.  It was popping, grinding in the socket.  Hmm.  That’s not normal.

As much as I wanted to push through the pain I knew better than to exacerbate whatever damage had already been done.  So I took the week off.

Right when it was time to hit the mat again my 2nd injury put an end to that idea.

Oh, yes.  The injury that proves how stupid, out of shape and overweight I must actually be.  While climbing a fence (don’t ask) I totally killed my right hand.  My writing hand.  My eating hand.  My everything except wiping my ass hand.

I did not fall off the fence.  Nope.  I was like mother fucking Spider Man.  In control and super-stealthy.  I felt no pain at the time.  Had no clue I injured myself until the next morning, when I awoke to a throbbing, swollen, purple hand.  It was bad enough to warrant a trip to the ER.  X-rays showed no sign of a break and a “Hand Contusion” was the official diagnosis.  Yes, you bastards, I went to the ER for a bruise.

It was nasty enough that they gave me Darvocet, which I took until I realized the medicine was pushing me into a horribly depressed state.  Fucking awesome.  48 hours later and I’m still clawing my way out of that hole.

Layne Staley has been bugging me through this whole experience, singing non-stop in my head.  If he wasn’t already dead I’d kill him.

“I’d like to fly but my wings have been so denied.”

We walked into Danton’s and saw that the restaurant is split into two dining areas – the main dining room and the bar.  We peeked into both rooms and realized that in addition to offering a more relaxed setting the bar had a great view of the bridge at Montrose/59.

While waiting for our drinks we looked over the menu and decided that we would start with an order of Boudin and a cup of Seafood Gumbo.  They both came out quickly and I was surprised to see the Boudin served on a plate with a pile of red onion and pickles.  The Boudin itself wasn’t extremely flavorful, but I found that a dash of Louisiana Hot Sauce and a slice of red onion kicked things up a notch.

The Seafood Gumbo had the darkest roux I’ve ever tasted and my first bite reminded me of chocolate.  As I continued eating I decided it wasn’t chocolate afterall.  I swear they put coffee in their Gumbo!  The shrimp were incredible, not at all overcooked and easily out-shined the crab and oysters.

As we were finishing up our appetizers the entrees were brought to our table.  Lucas had ordered the Shrimp Po’ Boy with a side of Red Beans & Rice and I chose the Debris; slow cooked pot roast, covered in some of the tastiest swiss cheese to ever find its way into my belly, served open-faced on French bread.  With a side of Okra & Tomatoes.

We cut our sandwiches in half and traded so we would get to enjoy both.  The Shrimp Po’ Boy might be the best I’ve ever had.  The crispy breading wasn’t at all greasy and the shrimp were plump and fresh.  There are a lot of restaurants in this city that could learn how to cook shrimp (without overcooking them) from Danton’s.  The French bread had a crispy outside and soft interior, but the sauce is what made me swoon with each bite.  I cannot even begin to describe the sauce.  Just go try it.

The Debris.  Oh my, the Debris.  How do they make pot roast taste so damn good?  I just don’t get it!  And the cheese.  I can’t seem to shut up about the cheese.  That sandwich made it onto my Top Five Favorite Sandwiches list.  Amazing stuff!

You know?  I have to admit that the side dishes were pretty basic and completely overshadowed by the sandwiches.  We both ate all of the Shrimp Po’ Boy (wouldn’t make good leftovers) and saved about half of the Debris.  I was ridiculously stuffed.  And in love with Danton’s.

This morning Lucas heated up the rest of the Debris in the oven.  Fried an egg.  Threw it on top of the Debris.  What a kick ass Sunday Brunch!

I should probably clarify that when I refer to Ramen I mean the instant noodle packs, not the Japanese style which interestingly enough originated in China.  Someday I’ll travel to Japan for real Ramen and visit the Shin-Yokohama Raumen Museum, but in the meantime I’m content eating Maruchan Ramen.

Did you know that instant noodles were invented in 1958 by an awesome guy named Momofuku Ando?  He’s one of my heroes, and apparently the Japanese agree since a poll in 2000 named instant noodles the greatest invention of the 20th century.  Yeah, yeah, instant noodles are not health food.  They are high in carbohydrates, fat and sodium.  All of the good stuff like fiber and vitamins are basically non-existent.  But I ate them for an entire summer and lived to tell the tale.

My Ramen cravings always strike when there is no Ramen in the house <– insert sad face here.  So after my morning shower I dragged myself out of the house and drove speedy fast to Fiesta.  I picked up 6 packs of Lime Shrimp Ramen, plus some absolutely necessary cilantro and green onions.  I waited in line behind a lady who paid with food stamps and another who paid with a check.

Seriously?  Who still writes checks at the grocery store?  I’ll tell you.  Old people.  Now I’m really sorry if you’re reading my blog and thinking to yourself “I still write checks at the grocery store”.  Perhaps you should take a look at your birth certificate and recognize that you now fall into the “old people” category.

Whew!  I’m sorry you’re witnessing my ADD/psychosis.  It’s Saturday and I’m still riding the Ramen high.  Must be all that MSG.

Now then, what’s your favorite flavor of Ramen?  Mine is Lime Shrimp, which is why I bought 6 packs of it.  Damn good stuff and I haven’t convinced myself to buy the other flavors for 5 years or so.

Want to know how I make mine special?

Bring two cups of water to a boil.  Add Ramen and cook 3 minutes.  Any longer and you’ll have mushy noodles.  Yuck.  Mix in contents of the (Lime Shrimp) seasoning packet and put your soup in a bowl.

Fry an egg on one side, flip and cook for ten seconds.  Place on top of your soup.  Top with plenty of chopped green onions, cilantro, a dash of sesame oil and a lot of chili garlic sauce.

The egg finishes cooking in the soup and the yolk turns the broth into creamy dreamy goodness.  If you listened to me and put too much chili garlic sauce in your soup you will sniffle and burn through the last few bites, but I swear it’s worth it (this coming from someone who worships the Holy Habanero).

Enjoy!

Every day. 

For a month.

I rolled out my mat on Tuesday night and turned on MTV’s Power Yoga.  This was a new one for me and the 45 minutes flew by quickly.  It was a mildly intense series of poses that left a smile on my face until the next day, which I spent wincing in pain every time I moved. 

Yeah, yeah, I know I did this to myself.  After months of somewhat regular workouts I went on vacation to Aruba and just quit working out when I got back.  No yoga, no elliptical; nothing but sitting on my ass.  I thought it was awesome.

But I could slowly feel my body turning into jello.  As my muscles atrophied I felt more and more like a sloth.  I had become completely apathetic, which isn’t what I want to be.  I want to be strong and lean, balanced and exuberant!  And, ahem … sexy.

So I made that stupid pact with myself.  Yoga every day for a month!  Ugh.

I rolled out my mat again last night (Day 2) and turned on a Crunch Yoga video.  After hitting play I realized I was in for a snoozer, but decided to keep going because I was diabolically sore from the day before.  This was a much slower-paced workout so I worked on perfecting my form and holding poses for longer periods of time.  At the end I realized the video hadn’t been as easy as I initially thought. 

Which was even more obvious this morning when I woke up and couldn’t lift myself off of the bed.  As I tried to push myself up my triceps screamed at me – “Too many Chaturangas!”  Yep, that’s what they said.  I laid there in frustration, wondering how in the hell I’m going to pull off yoga every day for a month. 

Maybe being a sloth isn’t such a bad thing.

I spent my free time feeling energy in the people, plants and animals around me; often wondering if my imagination was getting the better of me or if the things I experienced were real.  Either way those feelings were very real to me and that made them incredibly powerful.  Metaphysical discussions were the norm and when I wasn’t on the front porch smoking a cigarette and talking about the universe I was reading books.  Hell, I even dabbled in tarot card reading until my cards predicted bad health for a girl that miscarried soon after.

When I moved to Hawaii to work on organic farms I felt a huge shift start to take place within me.  I was married at the time, to someone I had been with for13 years.  He had a lot of control over my belief system and I allowed myself to be influenced into believing things that I never really thought through for myself.  I felt vacant and lost.  I was also scared because anytime I voiced an opposing idea it was shot down in a forceful way.  Eventually he became abusive and because of that I lost faith in everything that I believed in.

I remember when I knew I had to leave, but I was so goddamn scared and so incredibly alone.  We were working on a farm, the only WWOOFer’s there, and I don’t understand what set him off.  He threw me from one end of the communal area to the other, while I screamed and sobbed my fucking head off.  There was no one else around.  Nobody could hear me.  And he was in such a rage that I worried he could kill me.  I kept saying I was sorry over and over again, but I didn’t know why I was sorry and knew that all he heard was a hollow apology.

Later he said he saw “bad energy” inside me and was trying to scare it out of me.  When he was satisfied that he succeeded the abusive episode ended.   Whatever it was … this was the moment the blindfold was removed from my eyes.  I saw a sad, disgusting man who used religion and spirituality to account for his cruelty.  On a nice day I’ll admit that there was something seriously wrong with his mental state.

This is not a blog that I post lightly and I do so with some trepidation.  But it’s here, you know?  I’m ashamed to admit how long it took me to move back to Houston and leave him, but when I did so I completely shunned religion.  I hated religion.  I hated spirituality.  I decided I was atheist and honestly felt – and still do – perfectly content with that.

It’s been almost three years and yes, time does heal all wounds.  While I am not a religious person I feel connected to the Hindu faith.  This can easily be explained by what Hinduism does NOT have:  1) a single founder  2) a single concept of deity  3) a single holy text  4)  a single system of morality  5) a central religious authority  6) the concept of a prophet  7) a specific theological system.

But Hinduism does have two things that attract me.  Kali and Yoga.

Kali is the bad ass Goddess frequently associated with death and destruction.  She is often depicted with four arms; one holds a sword, another a demon’s head and the other two are empty (depending on the artist).  She wears a necklace of skulls and sticks her tongue out while standing on top of Shiva.  She’s a frightful sight and yet so powerful and awesome.

Kali means “the black one”, and the blackness symbolizes her all-embracing nature.  “Just as all colors disappear in black, so all names and forms disappear in her” (Mahanirvana Tantra).  Although Kali seems dark and a little freaky, she also represents time – more specifically the end of time – and change (my favorite).  She is revered as Bhavatarini, “The Redeemer of the Universe”.  I can’t speak for the Universe, but in some ways she had redeemed me.

It all started when I read Goddess for Hire by Sonia Singh.  Goddess for Hire is about a girl who is the reincarnation of Kali.  I won’t give away much more in case you’re interested in reading the book, but it made me like Kali because she’s a  Goddess I could relate to as a woman.  And once again, such a bad ass.  It was silly chick fluff and loads of fun, but somehow Kali caught me under her spell.  Oh, it’s not entirely lost on me that my name, Kelly, and Kali sound pretty similar.

Hinduism has such rich stories, told in a beautiful language.  One of these days I’ll learn it, eventually.  In the meantime I just think it is cool that the goals for the world’s third largest religion are righteousness in religious life (dharma), economic success (artha), gratification of the senses (kama – yes this includes sensual and mental enjoyment) and eventually liberation from the cycle of birth, life, death & rebirth (moksa).  In order to reach moksa you must be self-realized … not just some mindless sheep who goes to church every Sunday.  I like that.

And then there is Yoga, which I enjoy on so many levels.  As someone who is flexible, yet a wee bit out of shape, it’s pretty fun to walk into a yoga class and (I know I’m not supposed to feel like this) show off how bendy-flexy I can be.  That flexibility makes up for the strength I am still trying to build, but nevertheless my body hurts after every single class.  And who cares?  I fucking love it!  I like sweating my ass off while honoring myself and the Universe.  I appreciate and adore every time I push past a mental block.  And I have a lot of fun chanting om’s, missing them when a teacher doesn’t incorporate them (those days I om all the way home).

Yes, savasana.  Total liberation.  Sometimes I cry after a really intense practice, but mostly I lay on my Kali Ma towel, relishing my inner strength and loving myself.  And finally, once again, feeling connected.

Namaste.

This morning I woke up in the mood for a fancy breakfast and thought of that puff pastry.  Perhaps an asparagus tart with eggs?  I began chopping a small onion and some garlic, but when I pulled the asparagus from the refrigerator I discovered the asparagus had taken a turn for the worst.  Whoops!

I needed a new plan and a quick look through the refrigerator revealed mushrooms, zucchini and goat cheese.   I still wanted to make a tart, but needed some guidelines to work from.  I did a quick search on the wonderful world wide web and the first thing to pop up was this recipe for a Zucchini, Mushroom & Goat Cheese Tart.  Perfect!

As my puff pastry thawed out I prepped the toppings.  I cooked the zucchini for less time than recommended, added the small onion I had already diced to the mushrooms, used Marsala wine instead of Madeira and created a smaller puff pastry by scaling everything back for the two of us.

The tart had nice crispy edges and a delicious, earthy flavor from the mushrooms and thyme.  The creamy goat cheese added a whole new dimension of flavor and I quickly scarfed mine down.

Easy, tasty and perfect for a Sunday morning!