Dear Kid,

We’re off to see the wizard!

Not really. We’re heading down to Nashville for the day. Which is ridiculous because who drives 5 hours in order to turn around and drive 5 hours back? Daddy and I do.

We’re headed down for Coffee Fest Nashville. Which makes sense because heading to Nashville for Coffee Fest Chicago would be ridiculous.

It’s just a day trip so we won’t actually get to see much of anything. One of these days I hope we’ll get to Nashville for a long weekend.

It’s been a long week. I’m not entirely sure why—nothing particularly stressful or difficult happened. But I’m dragging.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll sleep in….

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Happy weekend!

Have you ever noticed that there is something different about a weekend cup of coffee?

Probably not because you’re not a coffee drinker.

But I think that weekday coffee is entirely different than weekend coffee.

Weekday coffee (the first cup) comes on the heels of a vicious alarm clock. It has a time limit (got to get out the door!). For me, it is part of a multi-tasking Olympic event of cramming 4 hours’ worth of activity into 45 minutes of clock time. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it is medicinal (yeah, ok, I would).

Weekend coffee (the first cup) is—in some ways—more critical because it generally arrives later in the morning. On the other hand, it is more leisurely. Each sip gulp can be enjoyed, savored, without the pressure of putting on eyeliner. I can make a second cup at any time—now or a little later, it doesn’t really matter because I’m not in (much) of a rush.

The best thing about weekend coffee is not the weekend-ness or the coffee; it’s taking time to relax and enjoy something. Taking the time to appreciate something we so often rush through. Taking time to breath in the aroma and sip the flavors.

Whatever your “weekend coffee” is—enjoy.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Guess what I did last night?

If you guessed “made hamentashen” you’d be correct.

If you guessed “made hamentashen the same way as always” you’d be partially correct.

Because I decided we should have traditional yumminess and innovative yumminess.

So this year, I made hamentashen with regular dough and some with cinnamon dough.

And I made some with apricot filling, some with a raisin-bourbon filling, and some with buckeye filling.

If you are a most wonderful child, we’ll send you some.

Yum.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Continuing my attempt to eat enough calories to feed a small country in a single meal. Yesterday, Pi and I had lunch with one of her friends at a vegan/vegetarian restaurant.

It was absolutely delicious. But vegan does not mean low calorie. Nothing that starts with a mountain of sweet potato fries (with two dipping sauces) is low calorie. Even if it’s for the table to share (because tables don’t eat very much – ha).

Then, because why not, we went to a little coffee café for dessert.

Saying “dessert” in this case is like saying the Atlantic Ocean is a puddle.

We had a sundae that started with two kinds of ice cream (we chose honey and a chocolate loaded with all kinds of stuff), then added chocolate syrup, salted caramel, and whipped cream. And because there is no way that could be considered excessive, it was topped with a piece of to-die-for cheesecake, more whipped topping, more syrup and caramel and nuts. And two spoons.

Again, stopping there seemed too conventional. So we added a piece of cinnamon pecan bread pudding with brandy sauce. And coffee. What’s dessert without French press brewed coffee? Black because A) that’s how I like coffee and B) I’m watching my calories. Watching them go right to my hips, anyway.

Since we were still full from lunch we took our time deciding about dinner, and eventually decided to try a Tibetan restaurant. I’d never had Tibetan food before. We thought we’d have light a light meal. Except not so much.

Dinner came with soup (excellent even though we had no idea what it was) and salad.

Then we had an order of momo (Tibetan dumplings) filled with mashed potato and different kinds of onions, served with soy sauce and hot sauce (the hot sauce wasn’t), and Kham Amdo Thugpa “a hearty stew made with handmade Tibetan noodles, daikon radish, onion, tomato, green onions, and cilantro.” Your choice of chicken, beef, or tofu (we chose chicken) and spice level 1-5 (we chose 2).

It was awesome. The spice level (2) would have killed Dad, but Pi and I thought it was perfect. Spicy goodness, set off perfectly by the not so spicy momos.

Then we rolled home. Can’t wait to see what we’re doing for brunch today…

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Are you familiar with Guanaja (Gwa-na-ha) chocolate? Of course not. Because if you were, you would have undoubtedly shared such information with your mother and I only learned about Guanaja chocolate last weekend in Chicago.

This is clearly a giant hole in my education. And—being the kind of mother I am—decided it would be wrong of me to let you suffer from the same ignorance gap.

So—obviously—I consulted My Friend the Internet.

If you were to head into the Caribbean and stop approximately 43 miles north of Honduras, you might (if you’d planned things carefully) find yourself on the island of Guanaja.

This might surprise you since not many people aim for Guanaja, but there are several excellent reasons to go there.

The first is that the ocean around Guanaja is home to a gorgeous and enormous coral reef. There are also several beautiful waterfalls. Watch carefully for traffic. In 2006 there were only 3 cars on the island, but by 2011 there were 40. By now there is doubtless a traffic jam.

Apparently (pre-traffic jam), Chris Columbus landed on Guanaja. Here he discovered cacao for the first time and immediately dropped peanut butter in favor of chocolate.

All this according to My Friend the Internet.

The thing is, when you ask MFtI for more information about Guanaja chocolate, you are immediately offered opportunities to purchase Guanaja chocolate. When you protest and suggest history, amount of exports, or any other darn fact is what you’re looking for, the Internet giggles and wipes chocolate off its chin.

The point is Guanaja chocolate exists. One usually speaks of it as 70% Guanaja. If you pronounce it correctly you can look smug and superior, even if you have no idea what you’re talking about.

And even though I have no idea what I’m talking about, I can say with certainty: Yum.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Dateline: Chicago.

I’m in a sugar coma.

According to Chicago native folklore (and by “native lore” I mean I saw it on a bag in a store here), the important things to do in Chi-town are 1. eat, 2. eat, 3. eat, 4. see the bean, 5. eat.

Because Dad and I are wild and crazy, we added 6. see Navy Pier and 7. the Field Museum, but other than that, the Wisdom of the Bag prevailed.

After breakfast on Saturday of our anniversary trip (temperature minus 4,783 degrees Fahrenheit—not including wind chill), we began with a visit to a patisserie for macarons. We chose balsamic fig (which turned out to be our favorite), coffee, and Guanaja chocolate. Yum. Then we rode the trolley to Navy Pier where we HAD to have Garrett Popcorn (yum—and orange colored fingers).

Our pre-lunch snack was at the Field Museum (where we also had lunch a few hours later because there is a limit to how much museum this girl can do without being fed and caffeinated).

Dinner (drinks, appetizers, entrees, and first dessert) was at Le Colonial, a very nice French Vietnamese restaurant.

By the time we finished dinner, the temperature had dropped a million or two degrees, so we walked (did I mention the high heels, skirt, and the temperature?) over to the new Water Tower where we planned to go to the Signature Lounge for Dessert 2. After we showed our IDs (yep, we were carded), we went up, up, up but in the lounge there is a limited dessert menu which did not include what we wanted. So we gazed at the view for a few minutes, passed on dessert, went down, down, down, and walked back to the hotel.

Most of the walk was along Miracle Mile. We had to walk there at night because we don’t earn enough to stroll there when the stores are open.

Dad was still dead set on finding Dessert 2. I was dead set on getting out of the cold and out of the 4 inch heels. We compromised by going back to the hotel and getting carryout dessert from the restaurant there. I chose banana bread pudding (shocker) and Dad got chocolate (bigger shock). I would have taken a photo but we pretty much snarfed them.

Tomorrow, I’m ordering a new wardrobe from Omar the Tent Maker.

Love, Mom