Beat the Mid-winter Blahs with a Bowl of Steaming Borscht

I LOVE soup. Hot or cold (but usually hot), creamy or broth-y, as a starter or an entree - I love soup of all types.

Last weekend I exercised my soup-making talents by cooking up a large pot of borscht. This Russian staple isn't quite as popular here as it is back in the old country, probably because beets have unfairly taken a hard rap. How can that be? Beets are the about the sweetest vegetable there is and as a base for borscht, it is accompanied by cubed beef (and marrow bones), carrots, shredded cabbage, onions and more. When completed, borscht is thick and dense like a stew, and topped off with a generous dollop of sour cream and sprinkling of fresh dill. Add a thick slab of pumpernickel bread with butter you have a hearty meal that will stand up to any manly (or womanly) appetite.

I had made borscht only one time before in my life and liked it a lot, but beets aren't universally loved. I've discovered several "beet buddies" among my friends and if I crave them, I know a few people who might be willing to join me. As for cooking them at home - well, no one else likes them and having to listen to "ooh, yuck" can ruin a meal before you eat it. This weekend, though, the borscht was part of a birthday dinner promised to a friend who also happens to be among my beet buddies. When we discussed borscht, his eyes lit up and so (insert wicked laugh) it was beets for everybody.

And guess what? We really liked it. Even my husband liked it! The self-proclaimed beet hater likes borscht. Ha! Actually, the soup was really good and our local Whole Foods store baked me a fresh loaf of delicious pumpernickel bread to accompany it (thanks, guys!). I'll have to give this birthday dinner gift more often.

What Valentine's Day Really Means to Women

I recently watched a rerun of The Office titled "Valentine's Day." In it, the characters received - or didn't - traditional gifts of flowers and stuffed animals (one gal even received a key to her beau's house). Not every woman on staff received a delivery and by the end of the day, there were hurt feelings and long faces. (My favorite was the gal whose fiance, when challenged why he didn't send a gift, told her that the day wasn't over yet and she was going to get the best sex of her life that night. A note to men everywhere: Women don't think of sex as a gift.) The show was hilarious because it emphasized the major stereotypes of this "holiday made up by greeting card companies trying to sell more stuff and making guys feel like they have to buy something for their wife or girlfriend," as many men (my husband) proclaim.

I believe most men dislike, if not detest, Valentine's Day - not so much because of the greeting card company issue, but because they don't understand the emotional connection women have with the occasion. Furthermore, men are terribly befuddled when it comes to selecting the right gift. Is a simple gesture enough? After all, money is tight these days - is it really necessary to spend $150 or more on an elaborate floral arrangement? How hacked off will she get if you skip giving her a gift?

Fact of the matter is, men and women view Valentine's Day very differently. Women want an affirmation that they are adored; they really appreciate it when their special guy is willing to play by the unspoken Valentine's Day gift-giving rules (even though this same man may feel that the occasion is a bunch of crap). In general, women respond to the occasion emotionally - the day is all about feelings.

Men, however, view the Day in the same logical way they view the rest of their world. To have to get tangled up in all that emotional stuff... oy! What a hassle. Guys would rather ignore it and hope it all just goes away.

Finding a happy medium, where you both feel appreciated, can be tough, but it is possible. It helps if you remember each other's perspective and ensure that your expectations are realistic.

Here's hoping that you and your sweetie had a nice Valentine's Day, something that pleased you both and celebrated the things you love about each other.

A Frightful Sight at the Grammys

I'm beside myself!

Tonight, my husband, daughter and I watched the Grammy Awards, enjoying (or puzzling over) the live performances and asking endless questions of our daughter: Who is singing? Can you really understand the lyrics? What's the title of that song? You know - the usual "Clueless parents try to appreciate something that they're really just too old to watch" kinda thing.

I recognized Robert Plant (you go, guy, winning awards and all!) and Whitney Houston (she's looking MUCH better these days). I had a Lionel Richie flashback when I saw Kanye West's latest hair style. Ha! Things weren't totally unfamiliar.

But then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, here comes Stevie Wonder - I LOVE him! - and then he's joined by the Jonas Brothers. WHAT?! Are you kidding me? Arrgghhhhh!

"If I were in a grave, I'd be spinning!," was all I could manage to say. I wanted to cry. What is going on here? Is it the nearly full moon? Was it because Rihanna and Chris Brown didn't show? Why, why, why? Not even the Motown performances could lift my spirits.

Oh, Stevie, you're too fabulous to let this happen. Sure, those three boys were on the cover of Rolling Stone and have throngs of prepubescent fans. It's crazy fan-demonium for them, but it's not deep-rooted talent that will stand the test of time. Stevie, c'mon, you're just too amazing to be singing a Jonas Brothers song.

I need some rest. It's been a tough evening.

My Herb Garden

Ten years ago, newly divorced with two young children, I bought a nice house on a corner lot with a large yard. It was there that I discovered I could actually keep plants alive. The key for me was to grow the plants outside, not indoors in pots. (I had a 100% kill rate for indoor plants.)

I dug in the soil: Some plants came out, other plants went in, soil was amended with Black Kow. When I needed muscle, helpful neighbors pitched in. The whole place looked better.

My favorite plants were, and still are, herbs. Thanks to the robust soil with its cow manure, they grew lush and fragrant in two large beds outside my backdoor. I cooked with freshly harvested sage, rosemary, basil, tarragon and thyme - after a time, even my children knew which was what and could snip sprigs for me while I cooked. Because I planted herbs more for their appearance and scent than for my ability to cook with them (e.g., tarragon), I sought out new recipes that featured them (did you know tarragon is delicious with mushrooms or chicken? and the blooms on tarragon plants are edible?).

I also used my herbs around the house; in my bath (rosemary sprigs and lemon slices are refreshing, while lavender is soothing) or floral arrangements. They were so plentiful that I could share them with friends. I sold the house and moved three years ago, but still have memories of that wonderful herb garden and the joy it brought me.

I haven't had time for gardening at our new place, except for a large pot outside our front door that I change several times a year. A recent cold snap . killed a poinsettia that I planted in the pot two months ago, but the dusty miller I planted along with it survived. Earlier today I removed the dead plant and began pondering what to do now. Maybe some trailing plants (or an herb like thyme) in between the dusty miller and a tall herb in the center? Rosemary might not be exactly right. Not certain about lavender, either. Tarragon? Hmmm.

I'll noodle this over for a bit, but not too long. Herbs will start appearing in nurseries soon and the memory of my old herb garden inspires me to give it a go. Looks like Spring fever is catching me early this year.

Photos by Zsuzsanna Kilián; top - thyme; bottom - tarragon

It's on the Tip of My Tongue... Oops! Not Anymore

My memory. Where did it go?

No, I didn't join Michael Phelps at a frat party.

On the other hand, I had five major surgeries in 2006 and 2007 and lingering chronic illness that have taken a tremendous toll on my memory. Add to that some menopausal symptoms and the fact that I'm not getting any younger (yeah, I know, I've whined about that already) and, well, here's what happened:

I forgot what I was going to blog about today. I'm serious! A thought-provoking topic evaporated from my gray matter without leaving any impression whatsoever. It happens often.

And don't even bother telling me your name - at least, not if you expect me to remember it. I'm sorry, but I'm going to forget your name; I'll probably remember who you are but that's about it. I might even forget your face - how pathetic is that?! For crying out loud - I was a bartender for years and remembering people (and especially, remembering what they drank) was the foundation of my earnings (drinkers don't tip much if you can't remember what they're pounding down at the bar). I'd go broke today.

Instead of blogging about, well, whatever it was, let me tell you about Dooce, one of my favorite blogs. Heather Armstrong, the author, has a razor-like wit and makes me laugh out loud. The fodder for her dialy musings? Daughter Leta, who is testament to the adage that "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Moreover, Heather is a terrific photographer and showcases some of her photos ("Daily Photo") on her blog. You'll also appreciate commentaries about her dog ("Daily Chuck") and the stylish items she profiles ("Daily Style"). And be sure to peruse the archives.

Enjoy Dooce - it will be good for you. And next time I have a good blogging idea, I'll write it down (if I can remember).

Top photo by Alistair Williamson

What?! They Still Make Bongs?

Michael Phelps, dude, what happened to YOU?

Are you kidding me? You win a gajillion Olympic gold medals, your family watching from their seats and Mom was crying and so thrilled, then you became a super-human superhero role model, the idol of children (and adults) around the world - and you go and toke on a bong at a party. Did you forget that every cell phone in the world has a camera these days? Did no one tell you to watch out because celebrities (and you're one of them) get caught exhibiting inappropriate behavior all the time (scandals are about the only thing that can sell newspapers and magazines anymore; getting a story and photo evidence mean big money for the person selling it AND the media that gets the scoop); sadly, people are watching you like a hawk. You're going to be under a microscope so you have to be squeaky clean all the time. It's the cost of that ol' double-edged blessing, fame.

I'm shaking my head, wondering how to discuss this with my kids. How believable is it to say that drugs are bad for you, then try to use an Olympic record setter as evidence ("oh yeah, Mom, pot turned him into a slacker"). The only thing it did to you was make you stupid (the munchies aren't the only thing pot does to ya). Speaking of which - how many people, teens included, will blow off the "don't do drugs" message by retorting that "it was only bad because he got caught, 'cause almost everybody does drugs, especially the cool people." Bad choice, Michael, but you know that now and you're paying the price, with people screaming at you, sponsors wailing and endorsements on the line.

In a related matter... people still have bongs? Really? I imagined that they surely would be extinct by now, but I obviously don't monitor the world of drugs and drug paraphernalia. But bongs? The last time I saw a bong it was probably in the possession of some long-haired, mustached hippy guy (maybe similar to the guy in this photo). So these guys still exist, too?

Damn, I'm old.

Photo credit: Kris Krüg

Bruce, Dude, What Happened to Ya?

Say it ain't so, Bruce.

You got old, dude. Last night's performance at the Super Bowl halftime was pretty good, as halftimes go. You're obviously still in good physical shape; actually, great physical shape, given that you'll turn 60 later this year. But dude, you got all breathless.

I saw you live, in concert, 23 years ago in Miami during your "Born in the USA" tour. It was spectacular. You were at the top of your game; selling out every venue, always on the radio, an average guy from New Jersey who made it big. My roommate at the time was from New Jersey and although I thought I was a huge fan, Colleen REALLY loved you. Bruce Springsteen was God in our apartment (and Colleen was Catholic, so she really knew how to worship). Being at that show was a highlight from my concert-going days.

But you got old. So, that means that I got old. Damn.

And anyway, would a regular guy from Jersey like Bruce Springsteen really play at a Super Bowl halftime? It's not that you don't have the chops (in spite of your breathlessness), but considering the cost of admission to the gig, isn't it a bit elitist to be performing there when hundreds of thousands of people are losing their jobs? At least it was televised so we could watch from home.

Ah - who am I kidding. Elitism isn't the issue. I'm just hacked to think we're getting old. You're turning 60. I'm turning 50. Damn.

A Passion for Travel: So When Is It My Turn to Win the Lottery?

I love to travel. Maybe it started when I was young, when my family moved around the US because of my father's job (I'd lived in 11 different places by the time I was 12).

Though I got to see a lot of the US while crisscrossing the country on family moves, I didn't see much of the rest of the world. There were two trips to Mexico (the first one, crossing the border to Mexico on a boozy day-trip, doesn't really count; the second trip lasted a full week and was fascinating). I went to the Bahamas and Jamaica, but only Jamaica "counted" because I needed a passport to go.

Then, when I turned 45, I joined my husband on a business trip to Prague. Wow! Amazing. The following year we took our kids to Germany and Belgium, and last year the hubby and I traveled to Ireland. I'm hooked.

We need to win Lotto before more trips like those. In the meantime, I'll dream about fabulous places. But once I get the bucks, I'm outta here. And these are some of the spots I look forward to visiting:

* Paris
* Edinburgh, Scotland
* Italy (too many places to list separately)
* Alaska
* Morocco (Casablanca, of course, and Fez, where a cooking class for traditional Moroccan fare is offered)
* Japan (to visit my husband's "people")
* Maine
* Calgary
* Old Faithful
* a volcano (I'm fascinated by plate tectonics and such)

Any suggestions to offer about some of my dream destinations? Leave a comment and let me know.

Photo note: We took the top photo of the Porta Negro, or Black Gate, in Trier, Germany