Grilled versus Steamed

We went to the fabulous Maine Diner today. Set on Route 1 in Wells, I can honestly say it is the best diner I have ever eaten at. I challenge any diner, any where, to take on the Maine Diner for fresh, delicious true diner food.

And they have their famous lobster pie.

The kids have, willingly, waited up to an hour at times to eat in the Maine Diner. Over the years, we have collected tee shirts, baseball hats and more kids cups than can be counted.

Today, Zachary got a meal with mac and cheese, cole slaw and a huge hot dog. The dog was grilled, as all dogs should be.

It tastes like it's steamed, he said approvingly. I like it.

It's grilled, I pointed out.

Yeah, I know but I only like steamed hot dogs.

You're eating a grilled one.

But it tastes steamed.

I rolled my eyes. I do not understand where they get the love of steamed dogs. When they were little, I took the Julia Child approach- cut the dog in half, and fry, with a heavy lid on it, flipping once to be sure it's nice and crispy on the outside. Put on a grilled bun and ... that's a hot dog.

Yes, Julia Child did in fact talk about how to cook a hot dog.

And if the weather is nice enough? Well, on the grill it goes, until it's got some serious black lines on it. Mmmm.

My kids like Hebrew Nationals- spicy, good texture- or Ball Park's- excellent chew and more "normal" flavor.

They like them steamed.

Except today. Yes, I need to be right about this. It was a Pearl hot dog, it was bunless, and it was grilled. Yes, I am precise about food. I don't like it when people salt food before they taste it- except my sister in law Cheri who uses so much salt there is no food in the world that is salty enough for her. I don't like it when people say they don't like something they have never tried.

And a hot dog should be grilled.

Delicious, Zachary said.

Tomorrow, I am going to have a battle of the dog. We have, on different occasions, had blind taste tests. Root Beer- we found A&W to be the best and surprisingly a store brand to be second best and the most expensive IBC? last place. Peanut butter- Jiff won and even Walter who insists Skippy is the best picked Jiff.

It's a fun way to learn about packaging, marketing, and what you really like about a food.

After years of steaming hot dogs against my will, I'm throwing down the gauntlet.

Who knows, maybe I'll pick a steamed dog.

And I'll say, hmmm, tastes grilled.

Brothers Home

Ben missed his brothers terribly. He went out in the car and minus one big explosion upon walking in the door, there was a lot of love going on.

Brothers home. All is good. They all go outside- Ben says, let's not waste the sunlight...

Ben comes back in.

Can I have a ladder?

Huh?

Do we have a ladder- bigger than the step ladder in the kitchen.

Why?

Do we?

Why?

Where is it?

Tell me why...

Well... we thought we would all climb on the garage roof.

Why?

I dunno. Just because. Where is it?

Needless to say, no ladder was sprung. All boys disappointed they did not get to... um... walk on the garage roof.

There you have it. Brothers home.

Four More Days...

From early May to the last day of school in June, life in suburbia runs at a frantic pace. Between little league, class parties, final camp decisions on top of everyday life- dentist/orthodontist, laundry, groceries, school, house, cars- I don't know how I get anything done.

The weekend was Pride, Jake's final baseball game and picnic, a birthday invitation delivered at that game for later that day, an exploding bottle of Diet Coke, friends for dinner- and that was Saturday.

Sunday was Father's day- which meant getting the boys to actually make cards for Walter and Allan, let alone help with the 'brunch' they decided to have for them. When I told Zachary he had the fork on the wrong side of the plate, he started rolling on the floor, yelling that he couldn't do it! After brunch, Zachary's playoff baseball game, drop Ben off and pick him up from a friends house, take Jake to tryouts for fall soccer- yes, fall soccer.

And then the regular work of Sunday before the week- laundry, garbage out to the street, clean the refrigerator, cook dinner and discuss the playoff game loss with Zachary.

Don't forget the Celtics game that started at 9PM.

I'm whupped. I'm so tired. Four more days to go and a million more miles, it seems. Each day, except today, has a school event of some sort- or two. The kids are wired for sound, bouncing up and down at 7:50AM this morning begging to go to school- the doors don't open till 8:20AM.

I need a day without a schedule.

I need a day without dentists, or concerts, or baseball games.

I need a day without having to remember who belongs where and what time they have to get there, when they need to be picked up and what they have to have with them.

I need a day where we can all hang at the dinner table without somewhere to go.

I need a day where I don't have to get in my car. And not have to order pizza as a result.

I need a day without laundry or towels or sheets or something dirty that must be cleaned for a game or event or just because it's been so hot it smells bad.

I need a day.

And I'm almost there.

Vacation Week

Did I mention this is vacation week for the kids? That's why we were at the Red Sox in the middle of the day yesterday, although I have been known to take one or two of them out of school to go.

In this city, you take your kid out for the Sox, everyone nods their head and encourages you to have a great time. Take your kid out a day early to get out of town before the vacation rush? You get the long look and admonishment that school is far more important than avoiding being stuck on the Mass Pike for 18 hours.

Today, I had arranged for a bunch of appointments- dentist, doctor- all stuff that needs to be done that I'd rather not take them out of school to do. While Ben was in one appointment, Jake and I scoured the South End for a good slice of pizza.



We found one.

The sun was out and we wandered around, going from stoop to stoop, sitting in the sun. At one point, he wanted to ride on my shoulders and I have to admit, I can't heave him up there anymore. Not only is it the clean lift of 70 pounds of squirmy boy up over my head, it's the 70 pounds sitting there.

He's too big and I am starting to accept there are things I can no longer physically do anymore.

I haven't had a chance to read all the blogs, newspapers, yet today. I did glance at the Wall Street Journal earlier to read that even after a 79% pay cut, the CEO of Countryside still made 10.8 million bucks.

Then sold his company to Bank of America because it was going in the toilet.

Nice, huh?

The War, however, made it's way to the front pages of the NYTimes, WSJ, and Boston Globe. While some moron who oversees a company that extended credit to high risk applicants all in the name of profit at any cost makes 10.8 million (did I mention the 121 Million in exercised stock options, too?), we are still at war.

Ben Bernanke can cut interest rates as much as he wants, as often as he can, and as long as we are still at war spending 12 Billion dollars a month it will make no difference.

It's the war, people. We can't afford it. Just like those folks who signed mortgages who could never pay the ballooning interest rate with their salaries, we cannot afford this war.

People are worried the fighting between Clinton and Obama is damaging the Democrats ability to win the election in November. One look at the war that Johnny Prozac McCain wants to keep going for 100 years and I know there is no way he will win.

No way.

Our economy is tanking, we are spending money faster than we can print it, and the War continues to spiral out of control. We have to look at the reality of the budget sheet the same way we do the VISA bill when it comes in the mail.

Even on school vacation week.