Here’s a hard truth you’re gonna have to wrap your mind around: I am pretty awesome at baking. Keep in mind, I am HORRIBLE at lots of other things in life, but since I am trying to have more confidence as part of “2010 - The Year I Get it Together” I am starting with my mad baking skillz.
Exhibit A: Chocolate Chip Scones
I had an amazing chocolate chip scone last week and have been obsessively thinking about recreating it ever since. Yesterday, I came pretty darn close; thanks to some tiny modifications to Alton Brown’s basic scone recipe. They are dense, ever so slightly salty, and packed with Ghirardelli chocolate chips (thanks for the suggestion, Carrie).
I am not as awesome at preparing full dinners, cooking meats or “throwing something together” from the fridge. But me and my food scale and some flour and sugar can make it happen 8 out of 10 times.
Now, onto to stopping myself from eating them all today.
I’ve been thinking about Johnny Rivers this week. This is him, singing his 1964 hit, Mountain of Love. Take a listen.
That song was playing in Russell’s Restaurant in Salina last Thursday night, while Ryan and I escaped our families and ate our traditional Christmas Eve dinner together. As I listened, I couldn’t help but think a couple things:
1. This is an amazing song.
2. I have certainly heard it in this restaurant before.
As I sat and ate my gigantic pancake, watching the snow fall and listening to Johnny Rivers sing, I kept thinking about the other times I had spent there.
When I was a little girl (6-7 years old) my Grandpa and Grandma Crawford would take me here for dinner when I spent the night with them on Fridays. I remember my favorite thing to eat then was roast beef and mashed potatoes with brown gravy on white bread. Man, it was good. Plus when I was with them, I always got to order my own plate of food and I did not have to order off the kids menu. That was so cool to me. I have no doubt that “Mountain of Love” played at some point when we dined there, as I sat in my tall wooden chair with my feet swinging below me.
Later on, from ages 15-18, Russell’s was the late night hang out spot where you went to waste time and drink coffee. The bonus was that at that time you could smoke in there, and that was always a good cover for why you smelled like smoke when you finally arrived at home (”I was at Russell’s!) when really you had been driving all over town with your friends while chain smoking. I can remember being in there with 8-10 other obnoxious teenagers as well as one-on-one with some cute, jerky boy I was trying to impress with my flannel shirt and badass attitude (full disclosure: I was most definitely NOT a badass). I never really ate there at that point in my life; it was coffee or nothing because eating wasn’t cool or something, I guess. I am sure Mountain of Love made a guest appearance at some point, but I probably thought it sucked.
I have spent quite a few evenings there since then. Awkward dinners with my mom after my parents got divorced (mom LOVES Russell’s and despises cooking), mini-family reunions (my extended family also LOVES Russell’s), even an occasional drunken late night meal or two when back in Salina. And now, Russell’s is all about Christmas Eve and pancakes and some much needed alone time for Ryan and I during the holidays.
As I sat there last week and listened to this song, I felt like it could have been 1984, 2009 or any year in between. That place hasn’t changed a bit, from the counter full of people eating huge plates of food all alone, to the brown tile floors to the music. I like to think that it’s somewhat of a time capsule.
I hope in some alternate universe somewhere I am still six years old, holding my grandma’s shirt cuff as she fills her plate at the salad bar; or sixteen, digging through the sugar packets to find the ones with King Kamehameha, pushing my hair behind my ear and hoping that I won’t say anything stupid.
For now I’m 32, and my grandma is in a nursing home. I’m married, and not terribly concerned with how cool I am anymore. But I am with my husband, and it is cold, and we’re drinking coffee and eating pancakes. It’s Christmas Eve.
And Johnny Rivers is still singing.
______________________________________________
Standing on the mountain looking down on the city
The way I feel is a doggone pity.
Teardrops falling down a mountainside
Many times I’ve been here
Many times I’ve cried
We used to be so happy
When we were in love
High on a mountain of love.
Night after night I’ve been standing here alone
Weeping my heart out to cold gray dawn
Praying that you’re lonely and you’ll come here too
Hoping just by chance that I get a glimpse of you
Trying hard to find you
Somewhere I love
High on a mountain of love.
A mountain of love
A mountain of love
You should be ashamed
We used to be a mountain of love
But you just changed your name
Way down below there’s a half a million people
Somewhere there’s a church with a big tall steeple
Inside a church there’s an altar filled with flowers
Wedding bells are ringing and they should have been ours
That’s why I’m so lonely
My dreams gone above
High on a mountain of love.
A mountain of love
A mountain of love
You should be ashamed
We used to be a mountain of love
But you just changed your name
Way down below there’s a half a million people
Somewhere there’s a church with a big tall steeple
Inside a church there’s an altar filled with flowers
Wedding bells are ringing that should have been ours
That’s why I’m so lonely
My dreams gone above
High on a mountain of love.
High on a mountain of love.
High on a mountain of love.
High on a mountain of love (fade)
1. A class that has to be taken over winter break, thus shortening my winter break by a week and a half.
2. Mass texts on holidays. Thanks, but no thanks.
3. Getting individual health insurance. Don’t even get me started. If anyone reading this is anti-health care reform, you should call me. Now.
4. The fact that the people who built our apartment decided to not create a seal on any of the doors, windows or floors. It is a drafty mofo up in here, yo.
5. Slightly tighter pants after a week of indulgence.
6. The fact that when you buy a Wii, it only comes with one controller.
7. The fact that an extra Wii controller costs $40.
8. Pooping in an excessively warm bathroom that a stranger just pooped in. (ie: in a gas station)
9. Too much free time. This one probably only applies to me and my broken brain that cannot function without structure.
