LET'S EAT

 



I am not known for my prowess in the kitchen.  In high school I did do a summer stint as a fry cook in a coffee shop by the Newport pier, which toughened me up a bit.  You can’t call yourself a cook until you’ve worked a weekend breakfast shift in a coffee shop.  You’re juggling soft boiled eggs, eggs over-easy, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, crisp bacon, lightly buttered wheat toast and a medium stack, all while kids are running amuck and there is syrup everywhere.  To make matters worse my grill was located in a glassed in enclosure fronting the sidewalk, which made it inviting and easy for my surfing buddies to give me all kinds of grief.    

But I digress.  That doesn’t count when it comes to preparing a romantic meal for you and the wife in your own kitchen.  Not long ago I thought it was time to show her much she meant to me by preparing a meal fit for a queen.

I went to our local bookstore and zeroed in on the cook book section.  All seemed a bit snooty for my taste until I found a section on Rachael Ray.  She had many books but one caught my eye.  The cover had a picture of Rachael standing at a kitchen counter and said “365: NO REPEATS, A YEAR OF DECLICIOUSLY DIFFERENT DINNERS”.  Down at the bottom it said “A 30-MINUTE MEAL COOKBOOK”.  The last part is what sold me. 

Secretly leafing through the book I settle on a meal planned for day 284.  It is called “FOR NEIL DIAMOND: TANGY CHERRY CHICKEN”.  Since I was told by a couple I met on an elevator one time that I looked like Neil Diamond and I love Sweet Caroline, it was an easy choice. 

Glancing over the recipe I realized the ingredients needed were mostly foreign to our cupboards.  This necessitated a trip to the market.  I told Terry she had to be out of the house on the selected day and not to return until dinner time.  Thus the afternoon was free for shopping. 

 

My list included EVOO (my new favorite word which, for those of you not hip, stands for extra virgin olive oil), chicken breast halves, thyme, salt and freshly ground black pepper, red onion, celery ribs, red pepper flakes, freshly grated nutmeg, dry white wine, chicken stock, dried cherries and unsalted butter.  Not being a seasoned shopper I mistakenly bought big sized everything and I walk out with enough to feed a village and wondering how I just blew $112.15.  

With the clock racing I spread out all the ingredients and utensils on the kitchen counter.  I am careful not to place anything more than 1 step away and in the order of need.  Reading Rachael’s instructions is intimidating.  Once the green flag drops there will be many tasks to perform at once, each requiring a precise amount of time.  This is a lot to ask of a male in the kitchen. 

I read and re-read Rachael’s instructions until I had everything committed to memory.  Once the process began with the preheating of a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat with 2 tablespoons of EVOO (twice around the pan) there was no turning back.  It was on. 

First was the cooking of pre-seasoned chicken, 5 to 6 minutes on each side.  Remove chicken and cover with foil, so far so good.  Then things got tricky.  First was to add the remaining EVOO to the skillet then onions, celery, red pepper flakes, nutmeg, salt and pepper and cook for 3-4 minutes.  My head is spinning.  Next, and this is crucial, add the white wine and cook until the pan is almost dry.  FINALLY, add the chicken stock, dried cherries and thyme, cook for about 4-5 minutes, then add the butter and whisk until it has completely melted.  Rachael suggests serving this dish with a green salad and boiled baby potatoes, which I had already prepared. 

 

Terry arrived just as I was pouring the piping hot cherry sauce over the sliced chicken breast.  She was flabbergasted.  She reminded me “I remember you when you wouldn’t even touch lettuce”.  We both agreed that if we did a blind fold taste test using an impartial third party to compare my (Rachael’s) dish with a like dish from Paula Deen it would be a tough call.        

The kitchen looked like a war zone and we could have gone to our favorite restaurant with no dishes to do and tipped generously for about the same money but what’s the fun in that.  I felt good.                 

I just dropped Terry off at the airport this morning.  She is going to a family wedding in Omaha.  Terry’s early roots are in the Cornhusker state and her ties have remained strong.  Most of the cousins and their families would rather spend their valued vacation time visiting with each other than on a beach in Tahiti.

Over the years I have done this a few times, always for very brief trips.  But if I had done it a million times it would not diminish the feelings I get each time when I take one last look in the mirror at her, little blond bun and all, waving good-by. 

We had a CD playing in the car.  Not just any CD.  This was a special one that had been mixed by our son-in-law James for us and had many of our favorites including the Beatles, Beach Boys, Adele, Louis Armstrong and many others. 

As I drove away the song playing was being sung by Jimmy Durante and was from one of our favorite movies, “Sleepless in Seattle”.  The title is “Make Someone Happy”. Please forgive me getting so personal in a thing such as a blog but it has been a reflective time lately.  No words I could write here would express how I feel quite like the lyrics to this song.

Make Someone Happy by Durante, Jimmy

Make someone happy,
Make just one someone happy;
Make just one heart the heart you sing to.
One smile that cheers you,
One face that lights when it nears you,
One girl you're ev'rything to.

Fame if you win it,
Comes and goes in a minute.
Where's the real stuff in life to cling to?
Love is the answer,
Someone to love is the answer.
Once you've found her, build your world around her.

Make someone happy,
Make just one someone happy,
And you will be happy, too.

SO WHAT'S NEW?

Things going swimmingly for you are they?  Other than the little nuances of day to day living, it’s smooth sailing?  What could possibly go wrong?  Until last Saturday night, that was me. 

I had just stood on our porch and waved good-by to our last guests after a birthday party for Romy.  I tidied up the house a bit, no too much, but a bit, and then went to bed.  I had just watched the opening of Saturday Night Live and the introduction of Zach Galifianakis when I noticed a slight pain in the right side of my chest, near the chest bone.  I had earlier stuffed myself to the gills with Mexican food so I thought I was paying the price. 

 

Over the next 2 hours the pain had spread toward and into the right shoulder.  I was not overly alarmed thinking that all the typical warning signs of heart trouble are signaled by pain on the left side.  I was alarmed enough, however, that I took a full aspirin.  No relief. 

At 2 am I woke up Terry as the pain increased and we drove to Hoag Hospital.  Some 6 hours an EKG, chest x-ray, and cat scan later we were released.  Your heart is beautiful, whatever is causing the pain it isn’t the heart, we were told, “Give it some time”. 

 

It must have been hammered home in med school that doctors must ask everyone “On a scale of 1 to 10, what is the pain?”  I had told them 7-8 in the ER and it stayed that way all day Sunday and Sunday night.

During the day Sunday Forest called and I mentioned how our night had gone.  I mentioned that as long as the heart was fine I was going to ride it out.  He wasn’t buying it.  He called a cardiologist we both use named Dr. Jay Shapira, at Cedars Sinai Hospital in LA.  On a Sunday mind you, the doctor returns the call.  Forest explains things and the doctor said to call his office in the morning and he would see me right away.  Monday morning Terry calls Hoag Hospital to have our records sent to Dr. Schapira and we head for a quick trip to LA. 

 

The first test is another EKG.  Comparing that carefully with the records sent from Hoag, the good doctor noticed a slight difference.  Still a regular heart beat, but slightly different.  Next, a blood draw and then an echo cardiogram.  Everything is still fine.  Lastly, a chest x-ray was ordered.  We were told to go to lunch and come back for a pow-wow.

Gathered in his small office, Terry and I watched the Doctor intently study all the results.  He looked up, stared straight ahead, rubbing his chin, for several minutes.  Then he said, “OK, I want you to check into the hospital right now”. 

 

In hindsight I feel his gut instinct told him he must act.  He told us, however, all results were fine and pointing to something other than the heart but just to rule the heart out completely and then concentrate on what was causing the pain, he wanted to do an angiogram.  This is a lovely procedure where they make an incision in your groin and then run a dye through the heart to check for blockage.  He explained that he didn’t expect to find anything but with the high calcium levels I have had for a while he would rather be cautious.

After a wheel chair ride to our room, during which my pusher kept shouting “chest pains” to make people part like the Red Sea, another EKG was ordered.  Our wonderful nurse, named Ann, noticed the heart beat was now abnormal, A-Fib, as she called it (did I mention nurses are vastly underpaid).  She called Dr. Schapira to report her findings and the tone of everything changed. 

 

We were immediately transferred to another room more geared to heart issues.  A special drip was started to normalize the heart beat and all manner of stepped up blood tests, blood pressure monitoring and other procedures were begun.  Terry, Erin, Forest, Romy and Molly all gathered around my bed that evening giving me immense support.  

         

By mid-morning Tuesday the heart beat had returned to normal.  There was optimism as we were wheeled into the prep area.  The anesthesiologist and Dr. Schapira explained the procedure to us and we started.  Because they want to know if you are experiencing any heart discomfort during the procedure a local anesthetic is administered as well as a mask that puts you in la-la land but you are still awake.  An hour later the doctor walks up to me, leans down inches from my ear and says “We found a blood clot and an artery that was 95% blocked.  We removed the blood clot, the blockage and inserted a stent”.  Well, OK!!!   

It wasn’t until we were being wheeled back to my room and my family was at my side that I found out the doctor had told them that had they not done this procedure that I would have had a massive heart attack on Wednesday.  This was on Tuesday. 

That night, in a darkened hospital room with Terry and my kids, who we call our gang, gathered around my bed, life was starting over.  I have much unfinished business and it’s time to get started. 

After the kids had left and late into the night a nurse wakes me up yet again for another test of some kind or other.  I glance over the side of my bed and there is my soul mate Terry asleep on a rock hard mat on the floor.  In the darkness I can see her beautiful blond bun on top of her head, peaking out beneath her blanket.  From the first day I met her among the gazillion reasons I fell hopelessly in love with her, right at the top of the list would be her beautiful smiling face topped by her beautiful blond bun.

 

Last night I said good night to Terry then sat in my tilt-back lounge chair.  I was thinking how lucky I was.  Terry and each one of our gang had played huge roles in the last few days.  I was lucky for that and I was lucky for them beyond any meager words I can write.  I was also lucky for a series of events that began during Saturday Night Live that could only have been orchestrated by a higher power.  There is no other explanation.  God is good.

Feeling the need to give Terry another hug or, if she was asleep, just to look at her, I went back to our bedroom.  There Terry was, kneeling down beside our bed saying the Rosary with a beautiful crystal Rosary blessed by the Pope that Molly gave her.  That said it all.