Amanda and I spent this Christmas with my parents  in Dayton. It was nice to see them and my sister’s family on the actual holiday, because we usually make it down on the weekend after. The fact that both Christmas and New Years gave give the gift of a long weekend this year is very nice.

It had been years since I drove around the city I grew up in. After college at UD I moved home for a while and worked downtown for a financial company before moving up to Cleveland. Armed with a necessary gps, I took Amanda on a few hour tour of the city, showing her what I always considered the highlights.

We drove through the ailing but still attractive downtown streets, seeing no other cars but police officers keeping the peace that Christmas day. The theaters were all still there, the square, some buildings I did and did not recognize. We drove through the Oregon District with it’s cobblestone streets and Victorian homes. Judging by the make of the cars in front of them that neighborhood is still a cool place to live for the well to do, if not brave residents who choose it. (I would.)

The University of Dayton was harder to navigate, as many of the through streets are no more. We drove down Brown and saw the build up that has happened around the beloved ghetto – our student housing neighborhood. I’m not sure it can be called that anymore.

Then up into Oakwood where I used to ride my motorcycle on nice days. Families were walking pedigreed dogs down hilly and windy old-money streets taking in the air and the scenery, just as we were from the comfort of our rental car. If you live and Dayton and have a deep bank account, this is where you want to live in my opinion. Not far through Far Hills past Arrow Wine where I worked as a college student, and by Dorthy Lane Market, which was our Whole Foods in Dayton before there was Whole Foods. (in the midwest at least)

The journey back was less eventful but we went all the way down Stroop to The Green – even Dayton, Ohio cannot escape the lure and grandeur of a high-end lifestyle center with stores and restaurants you wish you could always buy from and eat at.

I’ve been visiting the bubble of my parent’s house for so long without remembering the old haunts I occupied. Even the street names brought back floods of memories, though they showed up vague in my consciousness. I’m afraid I like them like that, the memories I have there – As if through frosted glass and not quite accessible. I’ve changed too much as a person to feel that everything I did or participated in was what I would love now. Everyone learns that lesson I think. Boy, would I do it differently if I had to do it again. But I’d rather not.

The restaurant itself is a gorgeous addition to East Fourth, a soaring space with every bit of the building it’s in properly and tastefully used. There is a lot of seating, but it is separated out into the main floor and a few balcony locations. The wait staff is knowlegeable, laid back and very friendly. As I recently posted, this is the time of year to enjoy this sort of thing. In fact on the walk back, I came up with a plan for this time next year to get the most out of our short, but lovely fall weather in Cleveland. I’ll write it up and post it sometime soon.

[ iPhone ]

It’s my firm belief that fall / autumn air carries food smells better than any other season. Winter is too cold and windy. Spring is wet and conflicting with other scents. Summer is oppresive and humid. But Fall… fall, to me, is the season for restaurants. The fall menus are hearty and  inventive. Red wine is always the perfect temperature because there is a little nip in the air. I happily eat my way through this season wishing it would stay all year round.

This is the time of year I always relapse into my “I wish I were a professional cook/chef” thinking and I start to look at night-time culinary programs. I up my game again and start making stocks, sauces, more restaurant-style dishes. They are simple, relatively fast, repeatable. I try and use in-season, good produce, local if I can get it. It’s all basics and good craft, or at least the best I currently have.

I walk by restaurants after work for the smells, the buzz. I don’t know why I would be jealous of 16 hour days, heat, always working when friends are off, etc. But I am. I always have been. The more I learn about cooking professionally the more I know it’s really, really hard. I’ve known this for years and I still love it. Maybe I’ll just volunteer to do prep work somewhere downtown for free. But who has that kind of time?!

So… I guess I should start posting here again. I’ll be for the next few months it will be alot about food and cooking.

Heading north on 68 through Urbana I realized I used to drive that route all the time in college because I would head up to Mad River Mountain to snowboard whenever I had the chance, usually late at night and always alone. It was raining on and off last Monday but by the time we reached the properties it was breezy and beautiful.

I would not call these structures castles and neither would you, as they are more like stately homes in the design of vague European castle-like structures. But in the late 1800s they must have seemed incredibly grand and unique for the landscape, as they still are today. What an eclectic bunch the Piatt family was, for two brothers to build such  grandiose homes a mile apart.

Ironically they knew right away that their homes were of public interest, because shortly after building them they were opened up to tours for money. The Piatt’s that lived at Mac-A-Cheek sequestered themselves in only two rooms of the home to keep the rest open and available to an enthusiastic paying public. These days it’s still a great visit, the houses and the grounds are beautiful if a bit expensive at $20 per person to see both estates.

[view all photos here] 

A month or so ago Amanda and I made Soppressata, with the help of our foodie friend Troy. (who throws the “Not Luck” parties.)

Armed with Michael Ruhlman’s book on the subject and an inexpensive 5lb pork shoulder and the other necessary and wanted ingredients we ground and mixed our way into six feet or so of lovely Italian sausage ready for drying.

Amanda is social networking klutz. Overheard from the other room just now, “Damn, I think I just friended someone.” This was said with a mixture of fear, disdain and regret. The social networking system doesn’t matter, because the sentiment is the same no matter what.

It seems my girlfriend likes to play the Internet in god mode, being an impassive observer who wants to tag things she likes, but does not want you knowing, commenting or assuming anything about her based on that fact. The idea of emoting, via icon or otherwise, what a person’s mood might be for that given second baffles her as it rightly should. I’m laughing and nodding with her unspoken questions that I often ask as well, so I’ll address them.

What is up with this digital butt-sniffing we currently accept as a window into our souls? How can you, in good conscience, rant about something horrible that OMG JUST HAPPENED to you, and then step away from your keyboard to return a library book and leave your internet public thinking you are still in the same foul, jaunty, flirty, sexy, witty, confused, overwhelmed, happy, really happy, super happy, cheeky mood you were in just a few seconds ago. Who does this really serve other than…well, you?

What is the statute of limitations on how often it’s socially acceptable to update your Facebook status? If you have diligently posted that you are “at work” every day for the last 9 days between 8:15 a.m. and 8:32 a.m. but then on the 10th day neglect to say so are we to believe you are dead, fed up with it all or otherwise trapped under something heavy?

Can we all agree finally that Myspace has run it’s course and is now only a bastion for the attention-craving young person, introspective emo kid, wannabe up and coming band who thinks it’s their ticket to stardom, drudge-necessity of the already established band who does not want to alienate said young attention cravers, and people who’s days simply are not complete without telling someone, ANYone, “Hey, thanks for the add!”

Facebook is sitting on the biggest, possibly most desirable and costly address book the world has ever seen, yet what would it be without Superpoke and Snowball fights? Where do you draw the line between how much information is too much information? Why don’t you just buy yourname.com and start a blog instead, like every other person on the face of the earth? It’s all about the audience. The aforementioned digital butt sniffing. The canine-like-internet that social networking has created.

So, I’m off twitter that this post exists and to remind people on Facebook that I have a real website, and that they should totally check it out.

I hate the blade and razor business. Over the years the supposed innovation of just adding another blade and raising the price has left me completely put-off by Gillette and friends. The Onion parody pretty much sums it up. (strong language)

So about a month ago I bought a new razor and though the original design is Gillette’s it’s been quite a while since the patent for it was awarded… 1901. The safety razor follows the opposite business model that is common today. Instead of a cheap or free device demanding a never ending stream of expensive replacement blades, the safety razor is hefty stainless steel and can cost anywhere from $30 to $100 or more, but the blades cost about 50 cents each and last much longer than cartridges.

Granted I only shave a few times a week at most, given my choice of facial hair. But I will vouch that the Merkur razor I bought gives a much closer, more hassle-free shave than I’ve ever had from a modern razor. For the record I do shave in the shower, using a bristle brush and a cup with soap in it, all of which help. I’m of the opinion that what causes skin irritation are all the things they say are benefits of the modern device. Hair collects between all those stupid blades and is hard to remove, the aloe strip puts scented irritant directly into your pores after the blades go by, even shaving gel is nothing but a big, sticky, over-perfumed jar of gunk.

Do yourself a favor and get a proper razor, a bristle brush and soap to shave with. Go for sandalwood or no scent at all. Take your time, and treat yourself to something good. And while you’re at it grow a handlebar mustache because chicks dig them.

Happy shaving.

When we bought the house there was a sticky note on the furnace for a family-owned, local repair shop that we used two years ago who was honest and timely. Tonight they displayed their good customer service once again, and together we quickly diagnosed the broken blower motor that will be replaced in the morning.

Jackets all around (including the dog) we’re making due with the best we can. Frankly, given our occasional medieval camping lifestyle this is not a big deal at all, and typing this post in a sweater is fine by me.

I’ve always thought that anyone in shorts and a t-shirt during the winter months was a bit wasteful. Eat less, dress appropriately, exercise a bit, be happy.

This club is cold. 55 degrees and counting (down.) Could be worse. . .