Dear Kid,

New ideas can be tricky.

Sometimes a new idea seems great from the very beginning.

Sometimes an idea starts out seeming like a bad idea but then turn out to be great once we get used to it.

Sometimes an idea starts out seeming to be a bad idea but then gets sufficiently refined to be a good idea.

So it’s important to give new ideas a chance, to give them a chance to become more familiar, to give them time to grow on you.

But sometimes new ideas are just not good ideas, and if they grow on you at all it’s more like mold than anything you’d want to cut and put in a vase.

Case in point: the Curling Iron Scrambled Egg.

I like eggs. I like scrambled eggs (as long as they’re made with real eggs and don’t have weird stuff cooked into them). But there is really nothing good about scrambled eggs made with a curling iron except being able to say you did it. (Besides, it looks a little obscene.)

Making eggs with a curling iron doesn’t save time, money, or the all-important number of things to be washed. You still have to buy eggs, you still have to have a dish to mix the eggs in, you still have to open a drawer to find something to mix with, you still have to find a plate to eat on, AND you ruin your curling iron.

Seriously.

Why would someone think this is a good idea?

Cosmopolitan seemed to think it was a good enough idea to film it (here’s the link if you want to watch it yourself). I’m not sure why; I had the sound off for most of the video. But there’s a reason professional chefs don’t include “curling iron” among their kitchen must-haves: it’s dumb.

The only dumber idea I can think of at the moment is using curling iron to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Ick.

Happy Breakfast.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

For lunch the other day, Pi and I stopped at North Market in Columbus.

After we split a macaron as an appetizer (yes, dessert as an appetizer—it was delicious; don’t judge), we wandered around looking for lunch-type food.

Pi chose a combination duck and turkey stew with a broccoli barrier and a chicken-yumminess that was reminiscent of pot-pie filling. Happy child.

I found a Greek place and asked for a delicious looking rice and lentil thing.

Server: You want just the rice?
Me: And the onions and lentils.
Server: But just the rice?
Me (confused): With the onions and lentils.
Server: But no meat?
Me (finally understanding): Ah. No, no meat. Just the rice.

The question she asked (Just the rice?) made perfect sense to her because she was used to people ordering that particular kind of rice with one of their meat selections on top. It made no sense to me because I hadn’t even considered putting a meat selection on top. When she “clarified” by asking the exact same question, I still had no clue what was going on. But when she changed the question, all of a sudden the world shifted into focus and we were communicating.

(If you prefer an alternative explanation, you could say that I should have asked a clarifying question like “What are my choices?” rather than just “huh?”. But I think I’ll stick with it being all her fault.)

It was a delicious lunch (we ate outside since it seemed to be spring in Columbus), followed by an explore. But that’s another story.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

March has me confused. What happened to Spring? Just yesterday it was warm enough to wear a T-shirt and today it is Winter degrees outside.

Therefore, I am doing the only reasonable thing: burying myself under 17 layers of blankets and cuddling up with the Puppy, my computer, and a cup of coffee. Maybe several cups.

Hopefully, you are staying warm. Personally, I don’t plan to emerge until that silly rodent follows through on his promise of a short winter.

Speaking of absolutely freezing cold, it was absolutely freezing cold in Pittsburgh and we still had a marvelous time.

We toured Fallingwater, the home by Frank Lloyd Wright. Interestingly, it was nominated for the 8^th Wonder of the World (but lost to Manchu Pichu—another place I’d like to go).

Fallingwater is snuggled into the environment, right over a lovely little waterfall.

And we ate our way through Thai food, Greek food, “eclectic” food,

Italian food, and (of course) waffles.

Then we rolled home.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

For lunch the other day, Pi and I stopped at North Market in Columbus.

After we split a macaron as an appetizer (yes, dessert as an appetizer—it was delicious; don’t judge), we wandered around looking for lunch-type food.

Pi chose a combination duck and turkey stew with a broccoli barrier and a chicken-yumminess that was reminiscent of pot-pie filling. Happy child.

I found a Greek place and asked for a delicious looking rice and lentil thing.

Server: You want just the rice?
Me: And the onions and lentils.
Server: But just the rice?
Me (confused): With the onions and lentils.
Server: But no meat?
Me (finally understanding): Ah. No, no meat. Just the rice.

The question she asked (Just the rice?) made perfect sense to her because she was used to people ordering that particular kind of rice with one of their meat selections on top. It made no sense to me because I hadn’t even considered putting a meat selection on top. When she “clarified” by asking the exact same question, I still had no clue what was going on. But when she changed the question, all of a sudden the world shifted into focus and we were communicating.

(If you prefer an alternative explanation, you could say that I should have asked a clarifying question like “What are my choices?” rather than just “huh?”. But I think I’ll stick with it being all her fault.)

It was a delicious lunch (we ate outside since it seemed to be spring in Columbus), followed by an explore. But that’s another story.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Sometimes I worry that you don’t speak another language. Today, I am going to teach you how to speak and interpret Standard Restaurant Arrival Banter. Or possibly Sub-Standard Restaurant Arrival Banter.

The other night (let’s call it Sunday), Grandma and Grandpa and I went out for dinner. Let’s call the restaurant DD Flats.

It was an adorable little place with about a dozen tables half of which were full when we got there.

Because you are a smart college student, I probably do not have to point out that this means that half were empty. As in not occupied.

Shortly after we arrived, we entered into the Standard Restaurant Arrival Banter.

“How many?” [Hello]

“Three.” [We’d like to eat here.]

“Do you have a reservation?” [Let me see if you’re on our List.]

“Um, no.” [Um, half your tables are empty.]

“One minute.” [I don’t care if the tables are empty; you have to wait because you don’t have a reservation.]

“OK. Thank you.” [Fine, but who are we really kidding?]

<Pause>

“Would you like to sit outside?” [Economy seating is available.]

“No.” [It’s a tad chilly for that. But thanks for asking.]

“It will be a 20 minute wait.” [Told you you’d have to wait if you don’t have a reservation.]

“Thank you.” [Seriously? Half of these tables are empty!]

<Pause>

“I checked with the Head Waiter and it will be a 20 minute wait.” [I’m just saying what I’ve been told to say.]

“OK. Thank you.” [Yeah. We heard you the first time. And the tables are still empty.]

EEEE-ventually (and I do mean eventually, but that’s a different story), we were seated and had a very nice dinner.

The two middle tables (which were apparently reserved for a party of 8) remained empty. All night.

Love, Mom

Food photos taken by Grandma. Because she’s better at it than I am.