Wine for the Thanklessness of Being a Mom

As I recently wrote in my Mother's Day post, moms are often under-appreciated.

I remember my mother one time talking ruefully about the occasional thanklessness of being a mother. She talked about how, with a baby, as a full-time mom, she did everything for

that baby. Ate, breathed and slept that baby; fed the baby, changed it, held it, stayed up all night with it, etc.

And how one day, after putting in all that effort, the baby opened its little mouth to say its first word and what came out was... "Dada"

I am beginning to understand what she was talking about.

I spend pretty much all day one on one with the puppy; I wake up and give him breakfast, I take him for a walk, play ball with him in the backyard, clean up after him, and then do it all over again for lunch. The first few days he was living with us, I slept on the airbed in the office and took him out to pee and poop every three hours.

Not to mention how much time I spend thinking about him, worrying about him, even when I'm not with him.

My point is, I spend a lot of time and energy on him, and yet, when it comes down to it, at the end of the day who who gets all the kisses, all the biggest tail wags, all the uncontainable joy?

Yup, you got it: Dada.

When Steve comes home from work, Tuco throws him a ticker tape parade. He jumps up, he whimpers, he wags his tail so hard he can't remain upright, and he licks every available part of Steve he can find.

This is not to say that Steve does not do a lot with the puppy, too, because he does. He takes the puppy out to pee in the morning before work, and when he gets home from work he doesn't even have a second to sit and relax before he is consumed by puppy madness.

But still, I feel that, as Mom, I often get the short end of the stick.

The first time we gave Tuco a bath, Steve and I put him in the kitchen sink and Steve held on to him while I shampooed him and rinsed him off. When we were finished, I got a towel, wrapped Tuco in it and held him in my arms while drying him off.

Such love I gave him, such cooed words of praise. But did he give me any kisses? Oh no...he ignored me. He would only kiss Steve, only take treats from Steve, only let Steve pat him.

Why, I wondered? What had I done? Steve and I both gave him the bath...in fact Steve was the one forcibly restraining him in the sink, but did he hold that against Steve? Of course not! Somehow, the whole bath trauma was all my fault!

He kept giving me such looks of hurt and betrayal, looks which so clearly said "How could you? I trusted you? I thought you loved me." It was just unfair.

It was even worse when we sent him to daycare the first time. He came home and wouldn't come near me, even going so far as to run away from me when I approached (this picture is, in fact, of him hiding from me under our coffee table), again giving me looks and, with his big brown eyes, silently calling me a doody-head.

Once again, Steve was exempt from the blame. Daycare was clearly all Mama's fault, all Mama's idea. I can only imagine how he's going to look at me when we get him neutered. Those looks, I can guarantee, will be priceless.

My wine for Mommy Thanklessness is a 2006 Schramsberg Brut Rose. This Napa Valley bubbly is a vintage rose, so is only produced in particularly good years. This Brut Rose is predominantly made from Pinot Noir grapes, with Chardonnay rounding out the flavors and adding apple and spice notes to the cherry and strawberry that tickle your nose and dominate the palate.

It's lovely as an aperatif, with a meal, or savored with fruit and cheese on a hot summer day.

Plus it's pink, so not only is it yummy, it's also pretty. Which makes me feel a little better when my puppy is blaming me for the fact that his tail won't chase him back.

Wine for the Puppy Menace

Let me start off by saying that I love our puppy. Really I do. After all, who could resist a puppy with such ridiculously big ears? But he is, a lot of the time now, an absolute frickin' nightmare.

He seems to be going through a phase where he has decided he is going to test us. A lot. And then eat. And then just go completely crazy for no apparent reason. And then poop (outside, thank God). And then sleep. And then go crazy again. And then eat my socks.

I think I can sum up how Steve and I are feeling during this phase by saying that at the moment we love him most when he is sleeping. And when he has just woken up. Then he is an absolute darling. He rolls over on his back for belly rubs, he licks our hands and gazes into our eyes lovingly...all the while planning his next path of destruction.

He has decided that when he is in the backyard, rather than playing with the ball or little plastic puppy pool, what he really finds most enjoyable is eating mulch, clumps of dirt, and rocks. Oh and grass of course, lots and lots of grass.

He then comes back into the house and makes various hacking and acking sounds, but clearly is oblivious to the fact that he could avoid these delightful moments by just skipping the dirt-rock-mulch-grass combo. When we try to explain this to him, however, he just looks at us like "what?" and then chews on his foot for a while.

He has also decided that I'm not allowed to talk on the phone, or, for that matter, to anyone but him, and when I do, he starts growling and pulling on his leash and jumping on me to get my attention.

Today, as I tried to talk to my sister on the phone, he grabbed a paper towel off the coffee table and then went tearing around the house with it while I tried to catch him and take it away. Let me tell you, that sucker is fast, and can wedge himself into spaces where he knows I can't grab him, and he was changing direction and scooting past me like lightning, leaving paper towel shreds in his wake.

When I finally put him in his crate and closed the door, he gazed at me with those innocent, soft brown eyes, sweet as can be, one last white paper-towel shred hanging from his tooth, wondering, I'm sure, why Mama was so red-faced and sweaty.

It's not all bad, of course. We had a delightful moment this morning when he was sitting on his mat in our living room. I was trying to get him to lie down, but he wouldn't. He just kept sitting there with a slightly odd look on his face.

All of a sudden, a fairly expressive toot emanated from his rear. He seemed quite surprised by the whole event, and turned around to stare straight at his bum-hole, as if to ask "Was that you?"

Indeed it was. And let me just say that before that toot my hair was curly. Now, not so much.

My wine for the puppy menace is a cocktail that I made up at the restaurant one night when two diners really wanted an apple martini, and then asked for me to make then something fruity and kind of sweet when told that we can't make apple martinis.

The descriptive name is a mandarin grapefruit cosmo, but in honor of this post I will now call it the Mandarin Menace.

Here is how you make it:

In a cocktail shaker combine:

3/4 ounce mandarin vodka

1/4 ounce grapefruit vodka

1/2 ounce cointreau

1/4 ounce Luxardo Maraschino cherry liqueur

1/2 ounce fresh lime juice

1/2 ounce cranberry or pomegranate juice

simple syrup to taste

add ice and stir. Strain into chilled martini glass.

Garnish with Maraschino cherry and a few drops of the red Maraschino juice.

It is fruity and refreshing, but watch out: it's got bite!

Wine for the New Addition

Please welcome the newest member of our family: this little guy named Tuco.

We got him from Border Collie rescue about 3 weeks ago, and he's now 11 weeks old. In true puppy fashion, he has completely taken over our lives.

I have wanted a puppy since before i could talk, and when we weren't able to get one, I used to make my mom take me to a local pet store, and then would proceed to hold the puppies and cry.

Steve and I have been talking about getting a dog from practically the moment we met, and it took us 10 years to finally get one. You'd think that would have given us plenty of time to fully be prepared, but it seems to be one of those things in life for which one can never really be prepared.

The moment we got him home, we immediately felt at a total loss as to what the hell to do with him!

How much food do we feed him, and how often? How often does he need to pee? Poop? How often should we exercise him and for how long? What are all the vaccinations he needs? How much interaction can he have with people, places and other dogs before he's fully vaccinated? How do you control the desire to play tug of war with his leash, bark at us and eat my socks? What the hell is "crate training" and how does one do it? How do we take care of his coat, paws, teeth and ears? What the hell have we gotten ourselves into??!!

But gradually, as with everything, we have taken baby steps together and started to find our way.

The crate has turned out to be everybody's best friend, as the puppy seems to immediately relax and settle down the moment he goes in it, though the first few days were tricky, since the moment we walked away from him in the crate, he immediately started such a cacophony of whining and gibbering, you would have thought we had about fifteen different animals living with us instead of one.

This whining ranged from the chattering screech of a Gibbon in heat, then would give way to a sheep's bleating, and finally would settle down to a shivering quavering sigh, which would have been right at home on the fainting couch. He was like an episode of Wild Kingdom.

Housetraining has been pretty smooth as well, though getting up every few hours throughout the night to make sure he doesn't go in his crate, is not very fun.

And we have had a couple of accidents, all of which were our fault, as we let him out of his crate and let him get very excited before taking him outside to wee.

Two of these events occurred when I came home from work and he hadn't seen me in several hours, and the joy of our reunion proved too much for his little body and he wound up piddling on the floor.

I am ashamed to admit that there is a little bit of an ego boost in this: after all, when was the last time someone or some thing was so happy to see you they actually lost control of their bladder?

We have also been through the first vet visit, which started out very well with Tuco and the vet playing on the floor together, but then sadly took a wrong turn when the vet picked Tuco up and squeezed his as-yet-undescended-testicles to make sure they were where they should be.

After that Tuco moved as far away from the vet as he could without leaving the room, giving him a look over his shoulder which clearly said: "Dude. Really. Not cool."

All in all, I will say I think we are off to a pretty good start. Tuco now will sit, lie down and give a paw for a treat. He is clearly most excited about the paw trick, since he has started doing it completely unprompted, to both me and Steve as well as people he randomly meets on the street.

Really, it doesn't get much cuter than that.

My Wine for the New Addition is actually a cocktail that we serve at the restaurant where I work. It's called a Corpse Reviver #2, and it has gin, Lillet Blanc, Cointreau, lemon juice and a splash of Absinthe.

I am not normally a gin-lover, and sometimes the licorice flavor of Absinthe can be too much for me, but there is something about the combination of the ingredients that yields a delicious cocktail.

It's light, refreshing, slightly sweet, and the Absinthe gives it just the right taste of something special at the end.

It's just the pick-me-up one might need after a night of waking up with the piddling Gibbon-puppy, and I promise if you come by the restaurant I'll make you one, but first you have to give me your paw.

Wine for Chasing a Pig, etc.

People will sometimes ask me if I miss acting at all, now that I have transitioned into the world of wine.

I still go on the occasional audition, for local theatre and commercials, but the truth is, for the moment, I really don't miss it at all. I'm sure that at some point in the future, I will get a hankering to be on stage again, but for the moment, I am not missing the endless cycle of waiting by the phone for word of an audition, then preparing for that audition as if my life depended on it, going to the audition and sitting in the waiting room with at least 30 other women who are dressed exactly as I am, all muttering their lines to themselves, just as I am, and trying to steal glances at the competition and come up with reasons why they are better or worse than I am (and believe me, we are all doing that); then going home after the audition and agonizing over what I did or didn't do in the audition, what I should have done differently or better, and waiting by the phone again for the next few days to hear if I booked the job or not. And in this profession, the odds are against it.

Of course, getting to perform can be a wonderful thing, but along the way, there are some bizarre things that one is asked to do as an actor. I did a play in Los Angeles at the beginning of my career, where I had to, at one point in the play, dance around and howl like a wolf. Don't ask me why; I don't remember.

One night, while I was doing this, I tripped over my pant-leg and went flying, howling all the while. I'm not sure anybody else noticed or cared, though this could have been because there were only two people in the audience at the time, one of whom was my sister, and the other was, I'm pretty sure, asleep.

The most bizarre aspect of auditioning can come during commercial auditions, when so much of what you have to do is look a certain way, and have a knack for reactions.

So often an audition will consist of going into a dimly lighted room, standing in front of the camera and having the director tell you to react to various scenarios: "You're setting the table and waiting for your boyfriend to come over"; "He's really late"; "He's arrived with flowers!"; "He's arrived with nothing."; "He's wearing a sombrero"; "He's wearing nothing"; "He's wearing an ape costume"; "He is an ape". You get the idea.

Recently, I got an email with the casting information for a commercial for a company which shall remain nameless. Here is what they were looking for:

A woman who was good at physical comedy, "will chase pig, etc." (They specified that the wardrobe was "casual-chasing after pig, etc."). I love the etc. after the pig references; you can just hear some person saying: "You know, the wardrobe is casual-just wear what you wear for pig-chasing, etc."

Then they were looking for women who were willing to kiss men and women on the lips, and men who were also willing to kiss both men and women on the lips.

Finally, they were also looking for a "Hot Woman" who was busty and looked good in a bikini, who didn't mind doing the whole shoot in a hot tub, and who wasn't afraid of goats.

You think I'm kidding? I wish I was kidding. All I could think when I read this notice was: man, am I glad I spent all those years and all that money studying Shakespeare. It's really going to come in handy when I'm tongue-kissing women, chasing pigs and getting frisky with a goat in a hot tub (all while wearing a bikini and looking busty, of course).

Ask me again if I miss acting.

My wine for Chasing pigs, etc. is actually a beer. A Lindemans Kriek (cherry) Lambic to be precise. A Lambic is a fermented beverage which can only be made in Brussels, due to the wild yeasts that enter the fermentation vats and which only exist in that part of the world.

The Lambic begins as wheat and malt which are fermented along with some hops. After a rather lengthy process, the brew is aged in oak barrels, whereupon various fruits or fruit juices such as raspberry or black cherry are added, sparking an additional fermentation.

At Masa's, we actually sometimes serve this lambic with dessert. It sounds like an odd thing to do, but the Kriek actually bears more resemblance to the sparkling-sweet Bugey-Cerdon we serve with dessert than it does to any beer.

It is slightly sweet, juicy, bubbly, and with enough cherry flavor to pair wonderfully with our chocolate dessert as well as with the rhubarb one. It's been a big hit with customers, and I recommend you surprise your dinner guests with it; they'll have fun being introduced to something new and unexpected.

Plus it's the perfect refreshment for hot-tub time....when you're busty....with a goat....after you've been chasing a pig, etc.

Wine for Mom

Now you may say that Mother's Day was last Sunday, and therefore I am very late with this post. My response to that is that I am either a little late for this year, or I am very early for next year.

Or, maybe I am somewhere in between.

I always find these greeting-card created holidays a little annoying: Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day. Why should it be that I am told when I need to tell my husband I love and appreciate him, or tell my mother or father that? Because let's face it, the day is really not at all about that, these holidays were invented so that people would spend crazy amounts of money on chocolate, flowers, and fancy dinners or brunches.

I have been to plenty of these brunches and dinners in my time, and this past weekend, i witnessed many families who came into the restaurant I work at for a Mother's Day dinner. What always happens at these dinners or brunches is that people snap. It's too much pressure.

So on the day when we are supposed to be taking Mom out to thank her for putting up with all of our crap for the last 40 years or more, what we wind up doing is being annoyed at her while trying to pretend we're not and then feeling guilty about it later.

So I am opting to celebrate mothers on the day of my choosing when there is not so much pressure to do so.

Now I am not a mother myself, but from all of my observations, I can agree wholeheartedly with the cliche that motherhood is a thankless job. Really, so thankless.

The word childbirth should be enough to convince you just how thankless it is. I have witnessed a birth myself, and I will admit it is magical and awe-inspiring, and I blubbered freely into the eyepiece of my friend's camera. But it is also kind of terrifying. If we didn't know that that was how babies came into the world we would be appalled at the notion and would say "I'm sorry, WHAT is supposed to come out of WHERE?!"

Then there are the diaper changes; those alone should make you buy your mom dinner for the rest of her life. These diaper changes go on for years and years. And I'm sorry but that poop is toxic and should be handled only while wearing a hazmat suit.

Have you ever thanked your mother for cleaning up your poop for nine years, or apologized for peeing in her face while you were on the changing table (all you boys out there, I'm talking to you), or for the number of times you spit up on her?

No, you haven't. To be honest, I haven't either, but I'm really starting to think I should.

My mother made us dinner almost every night, and all we did was complain about the various ways in which what she made was not what we wanted her to have made.

She never made us clean up after dinner, or do our own laundry because she wanted us to focus on studying and finishing our homework.

She drove all of us to school, and the other millions of activities we had which were scattered all over the state of Massachusetts.

She made us amazing birthday cakes and Halloween costumes. She came to all of my school performances, violin and ballet recitals. She made Velveeta nachos for me and all my friends when they came over (before you mock the Velveeta nacho, let me just say, they were delicious!).

She put up with all of my teenage horribleness and listened to me cry about all of the boys who didn't love me the way I LOVED them. She typed up all of my school papers and stories and gave me driving lessons, though her facade of calm was shattered by the way she gripped the handle of the door with white knuckles while I was driving our gigantic wood-paneled station wagon.

She suffered through me throwing an absolute fit on the floor when she tried to talk to a friend of hers on the phone, only to have me tell her I didn't want to play with her, I really wanted to play with my sister (I was five or six years old when this happened. It wasn't, you know, yesterday or anything).

She allowed the photographer at my sister's wedding to make her repeatedly remove her glasses for photos, so I'm still not sure how much of the event she actually saw.

And she made me feel better when I accidentally, somehow, popped out her contact lens and freaked out because I thought I had poked out her eye. Again, I was young when this happened. I no longer confuse a contact lens with an actual eyeball.

Let me assure you, my mother was not all perfection: she can take being helpful to the point of hinderance, and she can have the energy of a hummingbird on speed, and she passed along odd old wives tales such as: wearing lipstick would bleach all of the color out of my lips.

And she found miniskirts offensive but had no problem with my wearing tubetops. Go figure.

No, the woman was not perfect, but I got news for you, neither are you (I am, but I'm afraid you're not). She may have had her flaws, but overall she did a pretty damn good job.

And I can say to all of my friends and family who are also moms that I know you do a damn good job, too. Trust me, you do. Even though you only get told that once a year.

My Wine for Mom is a 1995 Niepoort Colheita port. This is a tawny port that is from a single vintage (1995), and has been aged for a minimum of 7 years in small casks. This port is beyond delicious, sweet and nutty with a smooth, rich flavor. Since it's a port it has had a strong spirit added to it, so it has a high percentage of alcohol.

So it's got a bit of a kick, and is sweet and nutty. Just like Mom.

Wine for a New Home

Finally, it's happened. After living in temporary housing since our return to San Francisco in October, with all of our stuff still locked away in storage, we have found a house.

In fact, we have purchased a house, which is something I never really thought we'd be able to do.

And while I am beyond thrilled at the thought of moving into this new space, getting everything we own out of storage and finally feeling like I have a home again, there is also a certain amount of terror, which I think must accompany any home purchase.

First there are the never-ending loan documents and scrutinies, then there is the act of watching all of one's life savings get funneled into a down payment.

These are both followed by home inspections, during which various people inform you of the rotting stairs, the decaying sections of foundation which need to be repaired, and the rotting windowsills which at some point will need to be replaced, as will the small back deck and the fencing around the property.

Not to mention the house is currently painted a rather alarming pinkish-orange, so at some point that, too, will have to be changed.

It can all be overwhelming, to say the least.

But none of that can completely detract from the joy of knowing that we will soon be living in a place that is ours and only ours, and in which we plan to live for a long, long time.

I think a new home calls for a celebration, which is why my wine for the occasion is something truly extraordinary: Richard Hennessy Cognac.

Let me preface this by saying that I am not ordinarily much of a cognac fan. It is normally too much for me; too sharp, too high in alcohol, and, I am embarrassed to say, not sweet enough! I normally would prefer a port or dessert wine to end a meal.

But then Alan, the Master Sommelier at the restaurant where i work gave me a tiny taste of this Richard Hennessy cognac, and my eyes actually rolled back in my head, I was so delighted.

Cognac is a type of brandy from the Cognac region of France, and is made from distilled fermented grape juice. The most common grapes used are Ugni Blanc, Folle Blanche and Colombard, and the fermented juice is distilled two times before being aged in oak casks for a minimum of three years.

The Hennessy Company was founded by Richard Hennessy in 1765, and in 1794 the first deliveries of Hennessy cognac were made to America.

The "Richard" Hennessy cognac was created as an homage to the cognac house's founder,and is blended from some 100 different brandies, all matured in oak to their fullest. Some of the brandies are as much as 200 years old.

The flavor and feel of this cognac are extraordinary: warm and rich, with none of the usual alcohol bite, but rather smooth as can be, with a nose of black tea leaves and dried fruit and a palate of honey, raisins and caramel.

I took one sip and felt my head spin around a couple of times. I think all I could manage to say was "wow". I think I may have actually shed a tear.

I shed even more, though, when I was told the price of this elixer: at the restaurant we charge $150 for 1 1/2 ounces. A bottle retail will set you back $2400-$4000, depending on where you get it.

If you have the means, I cannot recommend it highly enough. I, of course, cannot afford it. I have foundation work and seismic upgrades to pay for, after all.

I will be taking a little break from this blog, but will return in May, once we have moved and settled in.

Until then....cheers.

Drinks to Set Your World on Fire

The restaurant at which i am currently working has a dessert which involves a flaming cinnamon stick.

The dessert is some sort of chocolate concoction which I have yet to try, but the presentation involves the pastry chef sticking a cinnamon stick in the dessert, lighting it on fire, and then blowing it out, so that a hazy, super-fragrant cinnamon smoke hovers over the plate.

The reaction to this cinnamon incense is invariably one of delight, and it reminded me of how much we all seem to enjoy any food item which includes the use of flame.

BBQs are a prime example as are campfires: what pleasure we derive from building a massive fire and then throwing large hunks of food on it. And I think anyone who has ever tasted a steak or chicken breast, even a simple hamburger, hot dog or ear of corn, that has been cooked over an open flame will agree that everything cooked this way just tastes delicious.

S'mores are also always a great crowd-pleaser; who doesn't have memories involving those delicious, sticky melting marshmallows, or remember with a certain delight the moment at which your marshmallow suddenly caught fire?

How about Bananas Foster or Cherries Jubilee served tableside? People take pictures of cherries and bananas that have suddenly gone up in flame with oooohs and aaahhhs coming from every surrounding table.

And let's not forget about birthday candles: staring down at the cake while the candles shine up in our faces; trying to blow them all out at once. What about those candles that refuse to blow out? Sure, now we find them kind of annoying, but when they first came out, the squeals of surprise and joy all around the table...candles that won't blow out!!! Burning on my cake!!! Hooray!!!!

Good, clean, firey fun.

Since we have such fun lighting our food on fire, how about our beverages?

There is a whole catalogue of flaming drinks recipes out there, and I thought to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, we might share some of these toasty treats with each other.

I found the following recipes on drinknation.com

A note on flaming drinks: be careful!!! Don't let the drink burn too long; close any open bottles of alcohol before lighting the drink; don't add alcohol to the glass once the drink is on fire; never, never drink the drink while it is on fire, blow it out first!!!

Cookie Monster:

1/2 ounce Irish Cream

1/2 Kahlua

1 tsp. 151 proof rum

Layer Kahlua, then Bailey's, then rum in a glass. Ignite. After a few seconds blow out flame and drink with a straw.

French Toast:

1/4 ounce Bailey's

1/2 ounce Butterscotch Schnapps

1/4 ounce Drambuie

2 pinches ground cinnamon

In a shot glass, layer first Bailey's followed by the schnapps and Drambuie. Ignite the Drambuie layer and while the flame is still burning, sprinkle the cinnamon into it. Apparently the cinnamon creates sparks! Blow out flame and enjoy.

Mid-Air Collision:

1/4 ounce Amaretto

1/4 ounce Bailey's

1/4 ounce Kahlua

1/4 ounce coffee liqueur

splash of 151 proof rum

Mix all of the ingredients except the rum and pour in a shot glass. Top with rum and set alight. Blow out and drink.

Let me know if you try any of these, or if you have a favorite favorite flaming cocktail recipe of your own!