SPAM ENCHANTED EVENING...

Having already mastered Spam steaks in a port wine reduction sauce, I forged ahead deeper still into my SPAM cookbook. (and a tip of the processed meat chapeau to Traci for thinking of me when this fine literary tome came thru Quincy Thrift…)

After much perusal and indecision I settled on European Old School and made Chicken Cordon Spam served with french fries and a medley of legumes sautéed in butter.

I know, I know… you are all dying for the recipe, right?  Simple, really. You take a couple of boned and skinned chicken breasts and carefully slice a nice, deep pocket in the fat ends of each.  These caverns are then stuffed with a pan fried mixture of onions, peppers, mashed spam, fresh Thai basil and garlic pepper stirred into pepper jack & parmesan cheeses mixed with a little heavy cream.  Once the stuffing is in place fold the opening shut and flop the thin “tail” of the chicken breast up and over.  Logic dictates that you pin all these folds in place with toothpicks… use brightly colored ones and count them going in and coming out to avoid putting your eye out as it were… and let them set for a while in the fridge to firm up. 

Heat up some butter in a cast iron skillet, dust the chicken with flour, dip it into beaten egg mixed with a little salt, pepper and paprika, roll it in bread crumbs and pan fry until done.

Short of picking up an order of popcorn chicken at KFC and eating the Spam directly from the can, what could be easier?

OLD SCHOOL CHRISTMAS

Since I’ve never been one of those folks who see Jesus as a redneck, Southern Baptist, white guy from just south of Macon, Georgia but, rather, what he was… Jewish… this year we elected to celebrate the 25^th in the time honored tradition of Jews everywhere. We went out for Chinese food. 

We dined at the Golden Buddha in Soquel, a delightful and tasty dining experience completely devoid of Chinese zodiac placemats and hideous, shadowboxed, low relief landscapes done in faux mother-of-pearl.  Instead it is a veritable warren of small, low-ceiling rooms rather as one imagines exist in the back streets of Shanghai.  Lots of dark wood and bamboo accents, great service and killer food. 

Tama had Sizzling Concubine and I sampled something called Sunset Prawns… ummmm.  Sichuan/Hunan food so a little spicy, a small sampler bowl of boiled peanuts when we sat down, an appetizer of Tianjing potstickers and Tsingtao beer in the great big bottles… Happy Birthday, Jesus, indeed.

OH THE WEATHER OUTSIDE IS FRIGHTFUL... AND OTHER MUSINGS ON THE HOLIDAY...

Well, okay, not exactly frightful… yesterday we went down to Rio Del Mar beach and parked our chairs at the high water mark for a couple of hours while we sat in shorts & shirtsleeves reading and listening to the waves roll in. 

Today we braved the downtown main drag (again, sans coats…) to gawk at the locals.  Fortunately only one person Tama knew caught us at Starbutt’s using up the gift card Tama got from one of her underlings.

So far, without a doubt, the highlight of this holiday season, at least for me, was to come home today and see, on our street corner, a police officer chasing off a group of young men who had apparently been harassing our neighborhood. As is typical, they were wearing their gang “colors”… the dark slacks, white shirts and ties that all mormon missionaries sport. 

Happy birthday Jesus to one and all,

boltoonski

THE McELVIS

The other day I was casting about the kitchen for sustenance and, seeing that the larder held all the necessary ingredients, I took the plunge and whipped myself up a prototype copy of Elvis’ favorite sandwich… mashed bananas, peanut butter and bacon layered between two slices of cheap, spongy white bread and then buttered and pan fried.  Served hot, a sort of dessert, a tasty delight… thank you very much.

Yesterday we went downtown, wallowing in the holiday spirit, to see what Surf City had to offer.  Granted it was a lot more like Singing in the Rain  than Walking in a Winter Wonderland and the Barnes & Noble Bookstore where we planned to burn a hole in our holiday gift card magically transformed itself into a Borders Books but we had a rollicking good time and the lovely Tama bought me a dandy maroon snap-brim fedora for Jesus’ birthday.

Apparently that Elvis fave stuck to my mind as well as my ribs because, when we lunched late at the Surfrider Café, I threw caution to the wind and ordered their Skippyburger.  Fresh sourdough bun, hamburger, Monterey Jack cheese, bacon and peanut butter… served with shoestring fries and a pint of local beer it was a meal fit for a (the) king.

Now all I have to do is to track down someplace called The Parish Publick House which, rumor has it, serves something called The Belushi.  A burger with bleu cheese, aged Irish cheddar, American cheese, and bacon… assembled and then beer battered and deep fried.  Either that or maybe the veggie burger and a salad.

Fleas Navidad…

A TREAT COMPLETE...

So, with the aid of the plethora of weekly events newspapers, we have been poking around the Santa Cruz music scene now and then.   With some due diligence one can find good music and one can find inexpensive music.  Sadly, of course, they are seldom the same venue.  Undeterred, we soldiered on knowing that the good generally outweighed the bad and that sooner or later we would be rewarded with some extra good.

Last Sunday we got all mountainy, and headed up the hill to beautiful downtown Felton for an evening amongst the tall and stately redwoods.  We had a delightful dinner at an Italian restaurant called Casa Bella Act II… an odd little converted house on Highway 9 up by Ben Lomond (next burg up from Felton).  After eats and drinks, bellies full and the night still young, we rolled back down to Felton and an established music roadhouse called Don Quixote’s.  This is a rambling old supper club from the 50’s that has changed into a Mexican restaurant and, in the back room, remodeled to accommodate a stage & sound system; an intimate music venue.

We had gone, on the recommendation of a local musician, to hear four women performing as Honeymoon.  We got there early to guarantee good seats so we had to sit there, drowsy with too much pasta, while the opening act played with the mikes and monitor balances, got their beers and played their set… actually not bad at all… Norway Rat outta Portland.

Then, after a mercifully short pause, Honeymoon took the stage and promptly knocked our socks off and half way back to Quincy.  The back of the stage held a couple of guys playing tight, creative bass and drums but they were completely overshadowed by the four young women who fronted the band.  Between them they played two guitars, a five string banjo, twin fiddles, keyboards, and accordion. Oh, and four stellar voices.  Yeah, this is not some gal with a great voice being propped up by some harmony singing… this is four individual lead singers, well steeped in their craft, who can gracefully pass the lead back and forth while the rest layer in tight and unique harmonies giving the group the sound of a dozen strong choir.

They jumped right in with original work and an a capella crescendo and never backed off.  They performed almost exclusively their own work (and it’s easy to see why...) except for a traditional medley of Wayfaring Stranger & I’ll Fly Away, both in a minor key, which left me wondering why anyone ever bothered to write the latter in a major key.

All too soon they had finished up their encores and we had purchased their only CD offering - a four tune EP release.  If you ever you get the chance to see them, don’t pass it up.  You can check out their website at honeymoonismusic.com and hear some snippets of their EP and you can probably find them on YouTube… but I have no idea how to do that…

The only issue I have with Honeymoon is that we continue to be disappointed by anyone we have heard since… the aforementioned reward of extra good.

A CHANGE IN THE WEATHER...

So, for almost two months now the weather box on my google homepage has looked just like this.  Sunny all week, clouding up on Friday and then rain pouring down like a cow peeing on a flat rock all weekend. Then Monday morning out pops Mr. Sol for another go 'round.  Ostensibly this week is different in that it has been rainy & cloudy all week and is supposed to be nice 'til the middle-o-next-week.  Ha.  This remains to be seen, but hope springs eternal... on the other hand, still no snow.

HOLIDAY CHEERS & CRAP LIKE THAT

JUST LIKE SPARKLE, BUT WITH RUNNING SEAS AND A SMALL CRAFT ADVISORY…

Since we were simply bereft over missing Sparkle in beautiful downtown Quincy, I was thrilled to notice a roadside banner announcing the Santa Cruz Yacht Club’s annual Marina Parade of Lights.  A quick call to the Club’s office bestowed upon me the knowledge that, indeed, on the evening of December 4^th a bevy of masted sailboats would sail into the night, a-glow from stem to stern.  The woman on their end said, “…they line up and sail out into the harbor and go in a circle… any place along the beaches there will afford you a spectacular view of the boats.”

The afternoon began to wane and off we went, steadily on to the marina area.  Of course parking adjacent to the actual moorage was virtually non-existent, so we shot around and down a side street, parked and hoofed it a couple of blocks to the sandy shores of Monterey Bay, on an overlook with an unencumbered view of the lighthouse and breakwater at the mouth of the marina.  The minutes ticked by, the sun set and the skies grew dark with rain.  The offshore breezes carried the odd raindrop and the waves breaking on the beach picked up a bit.  Small clusters of friends and families strolled past in the direction of the festivities.  5:30, the announced start of the event, came and went.  Occasional crowd noises and a swelling of light occurred just beyond the small bluff that hid the marina from our view, but the waters of the harbor remained illuminated only by the lonely beacon of the Christmas light bedecked lighthouse.

Apparently the plan changed due to the conditions out on the water because every once in a while a boat, strung all over with jewels of light, would motor out from behind the bluff, bob up and down furiously on a bed of obviously rough swells in the mouth of the harbor and then turn back and race for the safety of their moorage and the counterpart of the 19^th hole for all fair weather sailors.

By 6:15 the family groups began dribbling back to their vehicles, the rain picked up a bit and we headed back to our parking spot.  As we inched along the bridge that crosses the back of the Yacht Club we could see all of the glory that was to have been the Light Parade… it was almost as bright as all of the auto lights in our traffic jam.

I’m sure that if I move from Santa Cruz, I won’t make an effort to come back for this one either…