You can't go to Eddy's again

I spend a lot of time thinking about food.  It's possible I spend more time thinking about it than I do eating it.  And, like other areas of life, it would seem the Chinese restaurant experience of my youth is quickly disappearing from the American landscape. 

I miss Eddy's Place, the weekly destination of my youth.  Eddy is a family friend, as is Rosie, his long-time waitress.  I very nearly proposed to Lori there, but got nervous when we walked in to find my parents sitting at a corner table.  (I did ask, and she accepted, later that evening.)  We have an afghan on our sofa that Rosie gave us as a wedding present.  Since Eddy had been pushed into closing by his landlord, he and Rosie came to my sister's wedding, and it was a joy to see them again.  This is not a typical restaurateur-client relationship, and I'm okay with that. 

Eddy's was not exactly unique in my childhood.  There were four or five other Chinese restaurants of the same sit-down variety that made their way though our dining spectrum, and only one little delivery place.  There was no such thing as the 'Super Happy Steam Buffet of Overcookedness' in my childhood.  I always got a placemat that told me what my zodiac sign meant, and strangely, it's pretty dead-on for me.

There were always egg rolls and egg foo young, and later, dozens of potstickers.  (Due to that family friendship, I have a dozen or so of Eddy's potstickers, frozen for later consumption and made by the man himself in his own home kitchen as a gift to my parents.)  There was custom ordering, combinations that didn't exist on the soy-stained paper menu.  When we were children, my sister would order milk, and since she was, apparently, the only customer who ever ordered it, Eddy would have to send someone across the street to the tiny grocery store to buy some.

As time has passed, I've watched those sit-down restaurants disappear.  In their place, buffets of questionable quality and tiny carry-out places have cropped up.  Lori and I tried yet another buffet last night, hoping for something of higher quality than we got.  So awful was this place, with multi-colored light bulbs, and a scratchy PA system that broke out into the traditional 'Happy Bursday To You' at one point (yes, bursday.  Really.) and the too-common steamed beyond recognition food, that we'll never go back. 

With few exceptions for the high-priced Chinese-Restaurant-As-Fine-Dining places, most of the sit-down places have fallen to disrepair, fish tanks empty or covered in algae, ceiling tiles falling down from unattended roof leaks.  Now, most of the places that will sell me carryout belong to families or corporations that have purchased the Chinese restaurant kit, advertised as 'New York Style'.  These places, in Wisconsin, Florida and Ohio (and I'm sure...your state has them, too...) have the same menus, the same pictures of pre-staged dishes, the same chairs with fan-patterned vinyl, usually green but occasionally pink. 

What they don't have is the same charm of the neighborhood restaurant, a casual family-owned place where the kitchen is hidden, where traditional music is streamed through bad speakers, and where I might even get an odd mix of Chinese-style and American dishes, like a plate of carrot sticks and olives, or the option to order a hamburger.  I've never ordered a hamburger at a Chinese restaurant, but it was comforting to know it was there.  (I spent years with our daughters ordering chicken strips at the Mexican restaurant, so a hamburger at the Chinese place would have opened up our family dining options a little more before their palates grew.)  

When I Google Eddy's Place for nostalgia's sake, the restaurant now comes up with his home address.  I can even see it on Google Stalker View.  Maybe this means I can go to Eddy's again.

He won't mind, I'm sure.

If it weren't for disappointment, I wouldn't have any appointments

Hey, kids!  Still busy, and back in Ohio this week.  And sadly, I feel that you deserve far more than a cursory 'slice of life review' here at CDS Enterprises. 

Prepare to be disappointed, because 'slice of life' is all I've got today.  Nothing new to share, nothing witty, urbane, or uber-nerdified.  Just a few things to share with you this morning, brighten your day, keep the ol' NFG in your frontal lobes.

I may have mentioned, once or twice, that until recently my job called for lots of travel.  As such, you've been blessed (or subjected as the case may be) with my ever-popular rental car reviews.  This era is coming to an end, nearly has, as this week's rental car will be the last rental car I drive for some time, if I have anything to say about it.

Enterprise has always been quite kind to me.  Usually when I swing a free upgrade, or an upgrade to an upgrade, I'm quite happy with the result.  Over the years, I've driven SUV's and sub-compacts and may things in between.  However, this week's 'upgrade' is great only in that I know I dodged a bullet.

Those of you who've known me the longest know that I have a thing for landyachts.  Grampa cars.  Tanks.  Some of you may remember as far back as the big blue Impala I named 'Baby' back in 1992.  Most recently, the car was a modest Buick Regal, that I loved and took for granted for nine years, and it repaid me the way few cars do, by starting every day and running like a champ.  A few months ago, I got the itch to get something different, and after facing grave disappointment at the hands of a base-level Chrysler 300, I drove a Grand Marquis.  Once I got past the overwhelming grandmaroma, it was a powerful car, much nicer than the 300.  V8 power.  Bells and whistles.  Low miles and a low price.  I was crushed when it sold before I could get back to give it another look.

Last week, I actually bought a car.  But when I hesitated, balked at spending more than $5 in one fell swoop, the salesman offered me a Grand Marquis as a comparison drive.  I was underwhelmed, Lori was seasick.  Obviously, I did not buy the Mercury.

Which brings me to Sunday's adventure at the Akron airport (slogan: we now have a second baggage carousel!).  Out of mid-sized and intermediates, they 'upgraded' me into a shiny black Grand Marquis.

I feel like I need dark sunglasses and a black suit.  Perhaps an earpiece with a little coiled wire trailing into my collar.  Perhaps a Glock.

It is, in fact, a very nice-looking car.  Very regal.  Very conservative, imperial, and big-brother-y.  I want to like it.  I want to adore it, with its eight-body trunk, its 7 MPG, its bench seat.  It should, in theory, be everything I like about a car.

But I don't like it.  It's squishy.  If I had to describe the ride quality, I could only compare it to lying on a waterbed as toddlers jump up and down all around you.  If I adjust the seat so I can reach the gas, the brake pedal is way too close.  Back up so the brake is the right distance, the gas is unattainable.  The V8 seems doggy, like I'm fighting up any hill I face.  I have to lean halfway across the car to change the radio station or turn the volume down, since it seems to get louder as I drive.  And everything is plastic, aside from the leather seats.  Cheap.  I shouldn't have to open the arm on the cupholder by hand, once I pull the combination lighter/ashtray/cupholder from it's unwieldy spot under the dash.  I shouldn't be worried that I'm going to smack my knee on it every time I step on the gas.  Oh, Enterprise, I'm left wondering what might have been.  And I still have four more days of driving it!  At best, I can only give it a 'C', and that's based in part on my desire to see it do well rather than on true merit. 

And, as long as we're on the subject of disappointment, let's talk about Monday's dinner.

Last time I was up, the owner took me to this great little tavern, where I had an awesome burger.  Real beef, real rare, with bacon and cheddar and onions, oh my.  I went back tonight, and since their sign proudly boasts their ribs before their burgers, I figured, hey: signs don't lie, right?

Wrong.  Again, such high hopes.  They smelled wonderful.  Looked beautiful, glistening under their sweet sauce, promises of slow, day-long cooking taunting me as I fought to get the steak knife through the first slab.  Tough, undercooked (for ribs), and clinging to the bones for dear life.  They really need another few hours in a slow cooker.  Some things just shouldn't be rushed.  I couldn't see abandoning half of my meal, so I brought them back to the room with me.  I may, from the privacy of my own hotel room, with wet washcloths and a roll of paper towels at hand, be able to work my way through them.

The Lyonnaise potatoes, though?  Heaven.  Slightly oniony, very buttery, and golden brown.  The potatoes of dreams.

There you have it, dear reader.  Disappointment all around.  I'll try better next time, promise.

Fun Fact Friday - The Tryptophantastic Voyage

Happy Black Friday, everyone! Still feeling it today?

Perhaps you're just finishing up a leftover turkey and stuffing sandwich after slogging through the crowds at 4 am just to get a free gift with purchase. And you know I love me some sandwiches.

Perhaps you're putting up the tree, hanging lights and nursing a sore back from falling off the slippery ladder in the rain.

Maybe you're an unfortunate soul who has to shovel today.

Maybe you're even at work. In the past, I would retreat to the office, since it was the one place I knew nobody would be on the day after Thanksgiving.

Whatever your post-Thanksgiving ritual, I just wanted everyone to remember that the turkey isn't to blame for your sluggish demeanor, that nap you took on the sofa next to Uncle Ed, and your lack of desire to move one inch today.

Tryptophan, though long blamed as the culprit of our blessed drowsiness, is present in many day-to-day foods and doesn't have that much affect on us. The issue here is quantity.

Somehow, no matter how much we try, it's very easy to eat a pound of turkey, maybe some ham, a few helpings of mashed potatoes, three of Aunt Ruth's rolls with butter, and of course you need to sample all of the desserts and go back later for more turkey. And there's always room for Jell-O. And more pie. Bears don't eat this much before they hibernate. Your body is trying so hard to digest those 7000 calories, there's little bloodflow left for anything else.

But that's a long, drawn out excuse. No wonder tryptophan gets a bad rap. It's just easier to pass the blame, especially when we're all this tired.

Enjoy the rest of your hopefully long weekend, I'll be back Monday!

Dinnertime - Wrapped around my finger

You have only come here seeking knowledge, and I'm here to help, hopefully.

Beef and herb tortelloni

3 cups roast beef, cooked and shredded

4 oz ricotta

1 Tbsp fresh parsley

1 Tbsp fresh rosemary

1 Shallot

Salt & Pepper

1 - 16 0z package 3" wonton wrappers

Last week, I threw a beautiful rump roast in the Crockpot with 10 cloves of crushed garlic, along with some salt and pepper. While it was quite delicious, it was also quite large. After being roast beef dinner with noodles, it was put into service for sandwiches and tacos, but there was still a giant chunk left, and I didn't want it to go to waste.

I've seen tortellini and tortelloni made before, on television, but my past attempts have been less than pretty, to say the least. However, I have to challenge myself from time to time, and this, strangely, felt like the day for a challenge.

Finely chop the herbs and shallot, and if you just have unseasoned roast beef, add a clove of garlic to the mix. Do not, I repeat, DO...NOT...buy the jar of pre-minced, oil-or-water soaked garlic of unknown provenance and age. You will regret it. Your children will regret it. Shame will be piled upon your family name for generations. Just buy the head of whole garlic. There will be much rejoicing.

Mix the herb-shallot mince with the chopped, shredded roast beef and the ricotta, stirring with a fork to combine well. Get yourself a glass of water (and perhaps a glass of wine) and a teaspoon measure. Place a wonton wrapper at a bias (so it looks like a diamond instead of a square) and wet half of the wrapper from corner to corner with your fingertips. Place a teaspoon of filling in the middle of the wonton*, then fold on the bias. Place the seam on top of your index finger, then pull the corners around to form a loop, stickng the ends with more water. Go HERE for a beautiful visual tutorial, I couldn't have done nearly this well.

Clear a large workspace for yourself, since you'll need to arrange the finished tortelloni so they're not touching. Once you've formed your first tortelloni, you're on your way! Less than 4 dozen more to go. I arranged a piece of foil on a baking sheet for easy transportation.

Once you've finished, you can:

(a) Freeze the tortelloni on the baking sheet before bagging if you're going to eat them later. Because we've been eating this roast for a few days, I think waiting is a good thing. Besides, I have ribeyes to grill yet tonight and Lori made some incredible dill potato salad.

(b) Cook the tortelloni. Get yourself a nice big kettle of boiling, salted water. Because your filling is already cooked, you're just cooking the pasta. Five minutes MAX, when they float they should be done. And nothing's wrong with a little taste test. After all, you just slaved for an hour to make these things. In a separate saute pan, add four tablespoons of butter and a tablespoon of olive oil, along with some chopped parsley. Remove the cooked tortelloni from the water, shake free of excess water and add to the saute pan. Garnish with shredded parmesan.**

Makes four nice dinner portions with a side of grilled asparagus, hit with a quick squeeze of lemon. Also makes eight servings for a beautiful pasta course.

* It's important that you not overfill your pasta. Don't underestimate the edge you'll need to bring these together. Also, make sure you work all the air out of the filling pocket before forming the tortelloni, air will expand during cooking and you'll have a tortelloni explosion. If you have leftover filling, freeze it to add to tomato sauce later.

** Parmesan, or parmagiano, does NOT come in a green shaker can. Those are floor sweepings. Buy a wedge and shred it yourself, or buy the clear tub of recently shredded cheese from your deli. Really.