NeroW

Thanks for the responses again! I don't know what I'd do without you folks awbrig et al: beer is all taken care of. But . . . (swissmiss?) what wine goes with nachos? I find myself uncertain when purchasing white wines in general. Wine and nachos! Will I be shot in the foot for even thinking such a thing? Jaymes, my nachos are probably more of a production than the nachos most of my friends make. I do the homemade guac and the homemade salsas (I believe I will fry the salsa as you discusssed in a talk about carnitas a few months back), and I do the homemade spice mixes (as opposed to little-yellow-bag spice mix), the quality beef, the quality chips, etc, etc, etc. They are very "substantial." They are somewhat of a meal in themselves, as swissmiss said, but I have minor presentation issues with just plunking the platter of nachos down on the table and calling it a night. I serve them with limes, chiles, scallions, etc. Is there a soup that would accompany this? I think a salad is out Bond Girl, yes, we are technically still friends. And I was thinking of doing frozen margarita popsicles as a dessert. But . . . then we would have to watch each other eat popsicles! Come to think of it, I have minor presentation issues with that as well And he is taking me out afterwards. To a brewery. Help!!!!

Capital-Ex Boyfriend coming over for dinner tomorrow night. Of all the laborious cooking I've done for him, he requested my nachos . What does one serve with nachos? Soup? Dessert? Crow?

Natch.

That's an IDEA. Who would comprise the judging panel?

This begs the question of how restaurants attract female diners. Giant phallic symbols masquerading as architectural columns? Fresser, you WOULD think that.

I hate that too. I also hate "medley." What is California medley?

Oh yes they do. I live right next door to one. I can see its neon glow through my bedroom window at night. One more month of that. In light of Rail Paul's comment on meeting single women at the CF, I just spoke with the boy who made the vulva observation (an ex-boyfriend, so that was a big stretch). After explaining the reason for my call (try explaining eGullet in a one-minute phone call to someone who has no idea what you're talking about), he observed, penetratingly, that this MAY have been intentional! It may be the decor that prompts these young males in Rail Paul's workplace to be on the lookout! To me, this is on the same level of sinister as old-time movie theaters pumping the buttered-popcorn scented gas through the vents to make you purchase popcorn. At any rate I've never eaten at the CF, so I guess that's all.

You rock.

My drinking mate's comment on the Chicago Cheesecake Factory was: "wow, this place looks like vulva!" at which point we were asked to leave. Didn't get a chance to eat.

Why, oh why, don't I ever get to be present for dinner theater like that! It's probably because you eat in better places than I. However, this particular restaurant is considered very high-end for my town. Go figure.

i currently do something similar with redi-whip. wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wha...nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah [please note that the ensuing effects are very hard to put into typing] tommy--is that a Caddyshack reference? I eat worse than all of you. In fact, yesterday I ate Oriental-flavored Ramen noodles, a store-bought bagel (mmm. Lenders Onion), and WOW chips. I have a Curry-Chicken-flavored Ramen package in the cupboard at home, but don't have the balls for this yet.

I'm glad I'm not the only one who was mapping out the ice cubes, bits of bread crust, and small tomatoes.

Youch. This one, last weekend (I am ashamed of myself): During the last bit of prep, had a dish of melted butter to brush a baguette with before throwing it into the oven. Also had a dish of Krunchers BBQ chips set on the bar nearby (not dinner-related, just in case anyone wanted to munch). I leave the room for one second , and return to find my friend's boyfriend dipping the BBQ chips into the melted butter! The look on his face was one of pure joy. "Oh sorry," he says, "I thought it was . . . uh . . . lobster." I will admit that I DID try it. I was no lobster, but it didn't completely disgust me. Oh wait! I thought this was the PMS thread

Wow Jaymes, you're much nicer than I was. Hot water? Frozen bras? What about magic marker all over the face, or my personal favorite, a flashlight shone directly into the sleepers eyes, while everyone still awake screams "TRAIN! TRAIN! GET OUT OF THE TRACKS!" I've noticed that in the week before, I really, really crave fish and seafood. Last month it was roasted salmon one night, pan-seared tuna the next, and then roasted halibut the next. Anyone else experience this? And this weekend, my best girlfriend and I have a lobster dinner planned. Her live-in boyfriend has not been alerted to the existence of this thread, but she has, so we've planned our Saturday meal accordingly.

And Jinmyo, I need to stop reading your posts to this thread during lunch! Drool. If you don't mind, could you elaborate a bit for me on the onion gratin?

That's a really, really good idea. Damn! I wish I'd thought of that.

tommy, my sister lived in Portland for quite some time. I will be sure to ask her recommendations, if she doesn't see this thread on her own, and post later.

Foodman that sounds great, I wish I had that to eat right now! What's Arak?

But I LOVE it when the accordionist stands on the bar and stomps around.

Temps have topped 40 here in Michigan, so, a grilling weekend. Saturday: Grilled chicken breast Grilled pork ribs Red potatoes, zucchini, onion, red/yellow peppers Green beans (not grilled) Sunday: Grilled sirloin Grilled shrimp (2 days out of the Gulf, courtesy of my always-thoughtful aunt) Portabellos, cherry tomatoes and onion on the stovetop Green beans (not grilled)

For the record, I was going to tell Mr. Greg and Mrs. Nancy (not their real names) to put up or shut up, but then they became poignant.

Whoa. You guys all need a whisky.

newguy, you're not insane, cantaloupe has bothered me for my whole life. Same with watermelon. ANY melon, really. I get little sores in my mouth and if I've handled the fruit extensively, I get them on my hands. Honeydew melon used to give me stomach problems as well. This is bad because I love melon.

But I LIKE mariachis. See how you feel after working in a restaurant for a few months. Muahaha. What, are mariachis a common fixture in most restaurants? Does this mean I will eventually want to revamp my mariachi-centric wedding plans? My biggie is the slobberingly drunk couple at the very next table, about half a foot away, who haven't touched their food--they just continue to order martinis, which the waiter dutifully continues to bring (without clearing away the empty glasses, as if we needed a further visual reminder of their drunkenness), although it is CLEAR they are disturbing at least half the diners in the room and should have been cut off three empty glasses ago. And then the woman, who is providing us all with an increasingly lovely view of her cleavage, leans her head on the man's shoulder and bursts into tears, and the man, whose bald head grows shinier, more mottled, and more eye-catching with every sip of gin, slides his arm around her and squeezes ( more cleavage, my male dining companion kicks me under the table and this is my signal that it's getting dangerous ). And then the man at the next table raises his free arm, fork in hand, tines shining upwards unto the distant firmament, and says: Man: "Do you know how much I love you? Answer me! Answer me, Nancy! Do you know how much I love you?" (He waves his upraised fork in a way that is almost threatening. He suddenly, in all his sweating public drunkenness, gains a certain dignity in my eyes--he seems an almost god-like figure with his enormous rare-cooked untouched steak before him, and his fork raised high--albeit a sad, old, accountant of a god). Woman (tearfully): "No, no, I don't, Greg, I don't know." Man: "I love you . . . I love you . . . like the stars in the sky! Look up! See those stars? Like those stars up there! That's how much I love you." (He moves her head so that she can see said stars. He waves his fork again, triumphantly, drops it, and watches it confusedly as it whistles its way down to the tablecloth). Woman: "Oh Greg! I've got to go to the bathroom." That's my biggie.

Yesterday night, a friend of mine was over at my house. He works in a (delicious) pizza place. He casually mentioned that for him to go to work, whip up a (delicious) pizza, have a whiskey, and then come back (with the delicious, fresh-hot pizza), would only take him about 35 minutes. I jumped off the couch (from a completely prone position) grabbed his shoulders, and screamed: "PIZZA!" So, I guess I'd have to add "pizza" to this tally. Edited: to say that this was 30 minutes after eating two bowls of Honey Nut Cheerios with 2%. So I'll go ahead and add that, too.