My new food love: Crispy spinach candy

Ginger Chicken with Crispy Spinach, originally uploaded by squirrelattakk.

Popeye would definitely not approve. Crispy spinach is not only crispy, it's sweet, permeated with sugar, but I cannot get enough of it. The local Vietnamese place serves a version accompanied by shrimp or chicken in a peanut sauce. I've also had it paired with a chicken in a mostly soy sauce and Flickr shows it accompanied by Ginger Chicken.

Have you eaten crispy spinach? Did you get hooked? Here's a recipe.

Why do servers put their hands on cup rims?

Sometimes on my morning dog walk, I stop by the Van Houtte's coffee shop near my house and pick up a coffee to go. Their filter coffee is better than the stuff at the Starbuck's across the street and they're a Quebec establishment so I prefer to give them my business.

The way it works is that they give you the cup and then you go fill it up at the urns. But almost every time I've been there, the server who hands me the paper cup puts their hands all over the rim and then all over the lid including the sip hole. Now, I am not a germaphobe by any means, but this is just ridiculous.

It's one of the most basic rules for food servers, especially when they're also handling money. And it's not as if it's any more difficult for them not to put their hands all over the rim and lid.

Depending on my state of mind, I either ignore situations like this and suck it up (metaphorically and literally) or, occasionally, I decide to say something. Yesterday, I said to the girl, "Please don't take this personally, but you just put your hands all over the rim."

Well, of course, she took it personally and then looked at me like I was a crazy woman. Clearly, she had never been trained not to put her hands all over the cup.

Since this was the umpteenth time this had happened to me at this particular Van Houtte's, I have decided to blog about it and officially complain to company management. And until, I get a satisfying response, I'm returning to Starbuck's, one of whose good qualities is that they train their Baristas not to do this.

News Alert: I get rid of Fonzie at garage sale

Fonzie with his new master Denis. And yes, Denis was vetted as thoroughly as he would have been if he had applied at the SPCA for a cat. And no, he is not taking Fonzie to an animal testing/torture lab.

Today, I am having a garage sale. And the reason that I'm blogging during the middle of it is because I forgot to double check that the ad actually made it on to Craig's List. And, well, it didn't -- until this morning when I started wondering why business was so damned slow.

Anyway, as garage sales go, I have some decent stuff on offer: boxed sets of 24, tween girl lit, the Sexual Life of Catherine M., handcuffs, a complete set of Harry Potter until someone stole the last two books when I ran upstairs to do something else, a wicker picnic basket, attractive handbags, etc.

And then I have some of the stuff that I've failed to get rid of at garage sales past and wasn't quite ready to give away: an old-fashioned girl's costume from the Shaw Festival, ski boots, some framed flower prints and a framed Tom Thomson, also a print although I have been asked if it was an original.

The flower prints, a gift, are not now and never have been my style. While I still love the Group of Seven, the frame, which I had done ages ago, was a mistake from day one and always bothered me. At this point, all I wanted was to get rid of the pictures and take whatever I could get.

A guy expressed interest but balked at my prices. Remembering that my sale motto was "priced to sell" I finally settled on $20 for the three of them.

And then the guy's friend started admiring my much-despised cat, Fonzie.

"He's available too," I said.

"You're kidding," he said.

"No," I said. "We're moving."

"You wouldn't send him to the SPCA, to death row," said Fonzie's admirer.

"No," I said. "If I were capable of doing that I would have done it long ago."

And then I gave an honest evaluation of Fonzie's character. "He's low maintenance. He needs to go outside. He's not good with children. And he bites," I said just as he bit down on his admirer's hand.

"Oh, that's nothing," said his admirer. "We have a big house in the country with lots of cats."

"He'd be happy there," I said as I pointed at Katya's house. "The woman who lives there has 12 cats and he visits all the time."

"Hmmm," he said.

"I can throw in his cage," I said.

And to his friend, I added: "I'll throw in those pictures. Free."

Negotiations followed. We exchanged phone numbers and e-mails. I took photos which I'll post later. And Fonzie left for a new home in the country where one of his new cat companions was, apparently, picked up at an estate sale a few years back.

"You just never know what will happen at a garage sale," I said as Fonzie and the guys departed.

"It was destiny," said Denis, his new owner.

Farewell Fonzie!

And they all lived happily ever after.

Because it's Friday...

...I made this Wordle that goes back to RTK's roots. If you feel like it, make one and send it to me or send me the link. But be warned, it's addictive.

My cat hates me as much as I hate him

My blog post about how I hate my cat Fonzie draws regular traffic from others who hate their cats. And some of them, it seems, have it a whole lot worse than me.

For example, Penny wrote:

My daughter left Mushue with me while she was moving and promised she would pick him up in 2 weeks. That was 10 years ago. She won't take him back. He is 15 lbs of pure black and the meanest thing I have ever seen.

He is so very picky about his food. The bowl has to be filled all the way to the very top edge for him to eat it. If it gets below the rim He stands there and meows till you fill it back up. And don't even think of moving him out of your chair where he has plopped his fat butt. Or else you are going to get your face torn off. He has bitten me while I was asleep because he wanted to sleep in the bed and wanted me to get up.

When he decides he wants to lay someplace he will knock everything out of his way. He has pushed my dishes out of the cabinets before.

I actually moved when he was about 2 years old and this cat found me after 3 months he just showed back up. I can't give him to any one else as he is evil and no one wants him. I can't take him to the shelter because he is not adoptable.

I have layed in bed and thought up ways to get rid of him. I have thought of stepping on and squishing his head. I have thought of feeding him anti-freeze. You name it I have probably thought of it. I have suffered so bad for the past 10 years. I just don't have it in me to actually harm him.

And Debby, another cat hater, wrote:

I absolutely can not stand my cat either. I got her over 8 years ago from a shelter. I called them a month into it saying it just wasn't going to work and they made me feel like a low live animal hater, so I kept her. They told me her nervousness was because she was a shelter cat and it would go away in time. It hasn't. I can barely pet her, and if I tried to pick her up she'd take my left eyeball out. She's ruined all of my furniture, because I thought declawing was cruel.

I've made the decision to find her a good home this year, but I still feel really guilty. But I just can not go on like this, she is driving me crazy. I have another cat (another rescue cat) that I got 18 months after and she's fine. I've had pets all of my life and never had a problem like this.

It's good to know there are others out there that also don't feel the love for their cats.

So looks like my hating is helping others in need, enabling them to step out of the closet and confess. Time, then, to up the ante.

Last month, the black cat next door, who often gets confused with Fonzie, was attacked by a vicious off-leash dog, whose owner just shrugged it off and walked away, leaving Yuki dying in his front yard. My neighbours rushed the cat to the vet where he was put down. The hit-and-run dog has never been found.

But when I heard this disturbing news, all I could think was, "Damn, why wasn't it Fonzie?"

In fact, Fonzie has pretty much left home this summer, and forged relationships with the two of the craziest women on the street. He's moved back in with Katya (a pseudonym), where I'd forgotten he'd temporarily stayed once before. And, even worse, he's taken to hanging with Emilia (another pseudonym).

Emilia is the one whose ex-boyfriend smashed the car with a golf club in the middle of the night last summer. The social workers are over at her place constantly, but what's she most worried about? Not her poor daughter , nope. She's concerned about the welfare of my cat and the fact that nobody loves him. Today, as I stepped out the front door, she was sitting on my porch feeding him.

It's partly my fault since I had hired her to keep an eye on him while I was away for a few days last week, sparking gossip among the neighbours about how any pet owner could be so irresponsible as to leave her animal in the care of the most dysfunctional family on the street.

But Emilia's cheaper than the vet, Fonzie's happier than he would be in a cage and it gives the neighbours stuff to talk about. If only I could offload with Emilia's family forever when we move.

The problem is my reputation would never recover. Looks like Fonzie is taking revenge on me.

How to exit a limo -- the old-fashioned way

Hello everybody -- if there's anyone still out there.

Since we've been gone, one of the most searched for RTK items has been this photo of Ethel Kennedy and all her kids.

Well, recently I stumbled across this Jackie Kennedy photo and thought how perfectly it illustrated changing times so I'm sharing it with any of you who remain.

Sorry Y'All! We're Taking a Little Break!

Hello everyone:

First off, my heartfelt apologies for the lack of posting lately. Both Tearfree and I have found ourselves snowed under with various work commitments; I am working on some big projects and haven't had time to pay attention to this beloved place, but rest assured that I am fine, kids are fine, life is slowly looking up. And thanks to all of you who sought me out in concern to make sure I was OK. I am -- just working, spinning, loving my children, and toiling away on a lot of side projects that may bear fruit soon.

Tearfree is also pondering some major career changes and trying to get her ducks in order so once again, we apologize.

We are taking a break but for those of you who want to get in touch with me, e-mail Tearfree at deirdre.dashwood@hotmail.com and she will forward your dispatches to me.

Thanks again for your concern and understanding.

The perfect is the enemy of the good

First, Tearfree apologizes. I always hated it when a blog or a devoted regular commenter just disappeared with no explanation.

And then I went and did the same thing myself.

Now, I get why it happens.

It's not that I meant to stop blogging at RTK. It's just that other things took over and I found it harder and harder to find things to post about -- especially given the recent lack of softwood lumber and Rebecca Eckler problems.

And to tell you the truth, although RTK had a devoted core of readers, we just weren't growing, which I attribute to the fact that we were sort of all over the place and not really serving any one niche. Say what you will about Mummy bloggers, they know their core audience and cater to it.

Much as I have indeed been by the recent Crocs scandal and tempted by the new Eckler book, even those two monumental events didn't send me racing to the keyboard.

And yet I still don't want to lay RTK to rest, because I keep thinking that at some point I may want to revive it.

So if anyone's still left, any ideas for a "Farewell For Now" final post?

Another 1970s Classic: One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Seeing as I am on a 1970s movie kick, I opted last night for one of the greatest '70s films of all -- indeed, a movie many consider one of the greatest ever made.

If you haven't seen it, you must. Long before Jack Nicholson became a caricature of himself, he played the cocky resident of a mental institution, a petty criminal who scammed his way into the place because he couldn't follow the rules in prison and figured serving his time in a nutbin would be easier. Unfortunately, he hadn't bargained on the miserable hag in charge of his ward, Nurse Ratched, played with chilling brilliance by Louise Fletcher, who won a best actress Academy Award for the role in the 1975 film.

Nicholson, perfecting the swagger that made him so famous, won best actor, Milos Forman won best director and the film itself won best picture. It also won the best adapted screenplay Oscar.

Cuckoo's Nest is hilariously funny -- among the lunatics we find a very young Danny DeVito and a wild-eyed Christopher Lloyd -- but in the end, it's profoundly sad and disturbing. Produced by Michael Douglas -- yes, that Michael Douglas, who should have stayed on that side of the camera instead of horrifying us with his saggy ass in "Basic Instinct" -- Cuckoo's Nest is a film that will stay with you a long, long time, and one of the most iconic movies of its generation.

An Oldie But a Greatie: The Conversation, Starring Gene Hackman

I am embarrassed to say that I had never seen this amazing film until last night, which was a big loss on my part. Francis Ford Coppola not only produced and directed this thriller about an audio surveillance guru played by Gene Hackman, but he also wrote the almost Orwellian screenplay. This film grabs you from the first first stunning opening frames, and doesn't let you go -- it's classic Coppola. The Conversation is smart, savvy and an example of the brilliance of both Coppola and 1970s film-making before the big action blockbusters showed up and ended one of the golden ages of American cinema.

Look for a young Harrison Ford playing a sinister corporate frontman and Cindy Williams -- yes, Shirley!! -- playing the seemingly doomed young woman Hackman's been hired to spy on.

An interesting bit of trivia: Godfather fans will recognize Fredo in the film -- John Cazale, a young Italian-American actor who starred in only five films before dying of bone cancer. The films -- Godfathers I and II, The Conversation, Dog Day Afternoon and The Deer Hunter -- were all nominated for best-picture Academy Awards. Cazale was dying, in fact, when he made The Deer Hunter, and the studio wanted to fire him when they found out. But Meryl Streep, who was engaged to Cazale at the time, threatened to quit if he was removed from the film. Cazale, beloved for being a very kind-hearted, gentle and generous guy, died soon after.

Even though he has an exceptionally high forehead, I found Cazale disturbingly hot while watching The Conversation.

Most sensible article yet on Spitzer scandal

Since the Eliot Spitzer scandal broke, I've been shaking my head furiously at people's failure to understand it -- the idea that he wouldn't fool around because his wife was hot or unless he was getting the most tantric sex ever. Those things have nothing at all to do with it, as my new intellectual BFF, a former booking agent for high-priced Manhattan call girls, explains.

It is not about sex; it is about power. And the simple act of ordering up an anonymously pretty 22 year-old girl to do your bidding in the salubrious confines of a luxury hotel suite is an act of power.

My insights into the whoring culture were gained when I lived in Asia and discovered that almost all the men were paying for sex. Going to Thailand and getting laid was the thing to do and even men, who would have never dreamed of using prostitutes in their home countries, went along with it.

Lots of expatriate white women spent tremendous amounts of time and energy trying to figure out the sexual secrets they were sure the exotic Asian women must possess to seduce the foreign men. There were tales of women covered in scented oil who body surfed back and forth over their paying customers driving them mad with lust. And all I could think when I heard these stories was that this was not a practical activity for the average bedroom set-up -- it could only take place in a specially equipped all vinyl room with a dedicated clean-up crew.

Even back then, I just wanted to scream: "Don't you all get it?"

The only secret the sex workers had was knowing that the man with the money had the power and they were there to do his bidding and nothing else.

These kinds of stories are always all about power.

Now updated: Eliot Spitzer, WTF???!!!

Update: Well, I watched the resignation on CNN and there Silda was again, this time wearing a Hermes scarf while she stood by her man. According to the New York Times, she urged hubby not to resign, which makes me wonder if she's not something of an enabler.

The other thing about this whole scandal that's got me completely puzzled is the discretion of these call girls. I can't believe no one dished, especially if it's true that this had been going on for years. Or maybe if you move in that escort crowd, you don't follow the news...

Still, if call girls are this discreet, maybe the CIA could use a few for dirty tricks operations.

And is it just me, but am I alone in thinking, we could use a good Canadian sex scandal?
------------------------
Even more fascinating than the Eliot Spitzer scandal has to be the reaction to it.

I must admit, I had the same reaction as Amy Ephron over at the Huffpost:

Why did Silda Spitzer appear at her husband's side at his press conference today? The picture in the New York Times' is so telling, so sad, so perfectly humiliating. And you just want to ask, why? Why do political wives -- especially when they seemingly have no political aspirations of their own, it's not like Mrs. Spitzer is going to run for office -- show up for their husbands when their husbands have behaved so badly?

The comments on Ephron's are a psychology course in themselves. The favourite answer when I read through was "because she loves him." But even if she does still love him, why would he want her to have to go through that? What possible benefit is it for either of them for her to be standing up there beside him? I don't even see that such a "united front" helps their three daughters, who I pity to the depths of their teenage souls.

And while I'm ranting, the other opinion, that drives me round the bend is: "Wow, his wife is hot. Why would he do it?" You just know that the person who says something like this wouldn't notice if there was a serial killer next door either.

Chute Alors!

Dugan in the snow by victornado

Credit for the brilliant headline goes to the La Presse copy editor who came up with it and for the picture to Scottie photographer extraordinaire Victornado.

How is it where you are? The snowbanks are so high in Montreal there's nowhere to shovel the snow.

Readers in Toronto, how are you all coping?

Funny Little Kid Video

Charlie is a legend. This video already has 9 million hits on YouTube.

This Week's Wonder Product: Tsingtao Beer

It wasn't until I got into my 40s, and started cutting out wine, that I really started to appreciate beer. I didn't even like beer, in fact, until quite recently. Now I am very fond of lagers and ales and try to sample new ones all the time, and I have recently fallen in love with this one: China's Tsingtao.

Is it wrong to love a beer that is produced by a country with an appalling record of human rights violations? Probably. But it's a REALLY nice beer. And the beer-mad Germans, naturlich, did start up the brewery 100 years ago. So I will forgive myself for loving it so much. It's a light, lovely beer with a slightly herbal after taste -- my new favourite beer.

Old Navy Lies, Fat Cats, A Love of Winter

Hello everyone. I have been travelling for the past week and I apologize for my lack of blogging.

Here are some observations:

1. Old Navy lies. Vanity sizing is out of control there. I am currently wearing a pair of Size 6 jeans that I bought at an Old Navy in the U.S. and they are hanging off me. I should have bought a Size 4. And that is a lie, a huge, big, massive lie. Because I am an average-sized woman. Not tiny. Not even very small. I have a bit of a JLo bum. If I were a true Size 4, there would be no way I could wear any Old Navy jeans. I'd have to buy a Size 12 in the kids' department.

I know why stores like Old Navy do this. They want to convince fatties that they are slimmer than they are, which will make them happy, which will encourage them to buy more clothes there. But I find it dishonest and wrong. That is all.

2. My cat is borderline obese. Because it's so cold and snowy this winter, he's staying in all the time and is now just eating out of sheer boredom. He used to be a meat-only kitty but now he'll eat anything. He even licked a plate clean last night that had the remnants of lasagna -- tomato sauce and melted mozzarella. Even he looked ashamed of himself. I hope the warm weather arrives soon so he can get back out there and lose some poundage.

3. Even though I have just returned from a warm climate with palm trees everywhere, my heart soared surprisingly when I got back to Toronto and took a cab home from the airport in a minor snowstorm. There is something about the black silhouettes of maples and oaks bending in a winter wind against a metal-grey sky that is beautiful to me. I couldn't live in a place with no winter. I would actually miss it.

Please, someone, explain this to me

U.S. Patent #6,004,186

As someone who both breastfed and pumped -- albeit 13 years ago, I do not have a clue what's going on in this unintentionally hilarious photo of a "hands-free pumping bra." Has the technology changed that much in the past decade? Does this explain why I couldn't sell my breast pump in a garage sale ? Is there anyone out there who can tell me what's going on?

Most Awesome Action Doll Ever!

And you can order it here!

Wonder Product: Lands' End Down-Filled Reversible Coat

I have always been fashionable to the point of stupidity. Freezing cold out? I won't wear gloves if they clash with my outfit. I will insist on a jaunty cap even if it means my ears will freeze. I will wear stiletto boots the day after a snowstorm instead of snowboots. And this winter, I could not bring myself to stop wearing my Kenneth Cole green tweed coat with velvet buttons no matter how cold it got until one day, amid a brutally cold screaming blizzard that practically picked me up off my feet and blew me along a downtown street, I asked myself: "What is your problem?"

So I decided to go online parka shopping. I found some tempting ones on Roots.ca, but they were more expensive than I could afford. So I surfed on over to Landsend.com, and ended up buying this coat.

And can I just say how happy I am with this coat? It is reversible, quilted on one side and sleek on the other, downfilled, totally lightweight and yet utterly impenetrable no matter how bitterly cold and blustery the wind. Last week I walked up a long hill in my neighbourhood in the face of a horrific minus-30-with-the-windchill gusting wind and I didn't feel a thing. I was toasty and warm inside that coat, even though my ears were frozen in my jaunty tweed cap. Plus, it was on sale and I got a great deal on it even with the duty.

One thing to be careful of, however. Lands' End sizes are large. If you're a medium here, you'll need a small. I might have even been OK in an extra-small and I am not tiny.

The second best thing about this coat is how cute it looks when you pair it with a funky scarf and mitts and a jaunty cap!!! Yes, I am still working on giving up the jaunty caps.

The Site Meter Collection: Part XXXXIV

And in Indonesia, they probably laugh at people in Regina looking for instructions on how to cook the rice for nasi goreng.

Happy Valentine's Day Dr. O and a big Mouah for all the traffic you've sent us -- and all the guidance you've given to lovers looking to make an erotic tiramisu. In your honour, here's some Dr Oetker muffin video taken from YouTube, where it turns out there's a treasure trove of Dr. Oetker archival footage.



(Heh, heh, just clicked on the spellcheck for tiramisu and it gave me pastrami.)

Happy Valentine's Day

With or without you by Maya 1 at Flickr

From RTK, the Scottie News and the Daily Doxie.

Was Mommie Dearest okay after all?

Well, let's just say I have my opinion (as usual), but I'm wondering about yours.

This is one of Joan Crawford's other daughter's side of the story.

Wonder Product: Roger and Gallet Soaps

I am big on bathing. I would eat my supper in the bathtub if I could. I'd happily lounge in the bath for hours every day if I had the time. So given my bathing obsession, I have sampled many different kinds of soaps.

But I always come back to these -- Roger and Gallet. These French soaps are hefty and substantial, and they feel like butter on your skin when you lather them up. They are also beautifully perfumed -- the linden blossom one is my favourite because when I was in the south of France seven years ago, the linden trees were in full bloom, and so every time I shower, I am transported back to that beautiful tiled bathroom overlooking rolling hills and olive groves and cypress trees.

All of the fragrances have their charms, however, including the lettuce and carrot varieties from the Roger and Gallet nature line. The lettuce is grassy and delightful, in fact.

In Toronto, you can get these fabulous soaps at the Bay and at Holt's. Seek them out if you can -- you won't be disappointed and your skin will be satiny and fragrant all day long!

An Ode to An Old, Great Song: Haunted When The Minutes Drag by Love and Rockets

For the past 20 years or so, I have deeply loved the Love and Rockets song "Haunted When The Minutes Drag." All these years, however, I believed it to be a heartbreak song, a lush, dark, angst-ridden tune about longing that I used to think was sung bitterly. But I listened to it in a different frame of mind today on my iPod on my way to spin class, and I realized with a start that it is, in fact, a love song about two people who are together in all meaningful ways, except physically. Perhaps it's just that my definition of love has matured with age.

Love and Rockets was a great British band from the 1980s that emerged, in part, from Bauhaus and was in the same vein as the Jesus and Mary Chain and other dark goth bands. They were accused of selling out when they had that one big album in the late '80s with that hit single on it, "So Alive."

But "Haunted" was recorded five years before that. I love the acidy, trippy bass lines in the song ... it still gives me the shivers every time I listen to it, especially when the psychedelic instrumentation takes over and the bass picks up and ... well, I just can't explain what else goes on there, but it is beautiful. And the lyrics are killer.

I turned someone lovely onto this song today, and now I feel a need to pay tribute to it. It's a brilliant, brilliant song. Download it!

"Pimped Out" Scandal

This is a pretty interesting story about an MSNBC Washington correspondent who's been suspended for saying on air that the Clintons were "pimping out" their daughter Chelsea in Hillary's battle to win the Democratic nomination.

Others may feel it's a terribly sexist and offensive thing to suggest about Chelsea Clinton, but to me, I don't get what the big deal is. The verb "to pimp" or "to pimp out" is common slang, it's totally in the vernacular, there's even a highly rated TV show called "Pimp My Ride" -- the word has utterly lost any sting it used to have. As so often happens with language, "to pimp" has evolved to mean something really quite innocuous.

Urban Dictionary even describes the term this way, meaning it really bears very little resemblance to anything prostitute-related:


Pimp out: A term used to describe massive modification of something to make it standout and look attractive.
The term is derived from the way pimps modify their cars with various colors, lights and other hardware.

Drummer to Pianist: "Damn, your keyboard is totally pimped out! What's all that LED lights and glowing buttons!"

Geek: "I've pimped my computer out - Now it has a transparent side and florescent lamps inside it."

The suspension is already causing people to accuse MSNBC of caving to pressure from the Clintons. If so, apparently the Clintons are both 70-year-old church ladies who haven't paid any attention to pop culture in the past 20 years.

I know the subtext here -- the Clintons are always accused, usually unfairly so, of being insanely manipulative and ambitious in their bid for the nomination, and perhaps they just got fed up and felt it wasn't fair to Chelsea and so complained. But on the face of it, this seems like fair comment to me from someone who used a modern-day bit of slang to describe Chelsea's often well-timed and well-planned appearances on the campaign trail.

UPDATE: Thanks to a commenter who sent us a link to this very funny photoshopped picture:

Britney Spears, Again: I Don't Even Know This Woman

You'd think I was a close personal relative of Britney Spears this week if you could see how I am reacting to her troubles.

When I found out the hospital let her out last night, I almost cried.

The girl is in a psychotic state! She was deemed to be too out of it to understand a court proceeding just the other day, yet two days later they let her out and over the advice of her doctors? And she's immediately back to her old tricks, going to the Beverly Hills Hotel, talking in an English accent, looking dazed and confused?

I feel we are watching someone die, and enabling it by watching, and yet are unable to tear our eyes away. I don't know why I can't stop watching, but I can't. Perhaps I am waiting for someone to swoop in and save her. Like the Scientologists, for example. Wasn't Tom Cruise boasting on that tape a couple of weeks ago that only Scientologists can save people? Paging Xenu! Paging Xenu!! Britney Spears could use your help, you arrogant headcases!