Dear Friends . . .

Oh, y'all.

I have not been sure how to address this, so let's go for it, head on: I stupidly, unintentionally deleted one of my most favorite posts I have ever written. Titled "Pretty Baby" . . . some of you may have read it.

It was so - transparent. It was so - me. And it was so - not saved anywhere else.

So - what now?

This has bothered me ever since that {*thing*} happened [btw- I almost just said ... since TGD so if you read my older posts, you know why that is funny . . .and how it puts Real Stuff into perspective] . . . my words were gone! My thoughts taken! My feelings . . .

Oh, shut the hell up, CN. 

Let's break it down . . . for real and with the same honesty as that post I wrote that made me proud to have written.

My face is - mostly- back . . . 

What could I complain about - a little bruising still under my cheek?

What can I complain about? Nothing. I can complain about  nothing. And that picture was from August, so I have had months since to keep getting "better."

I still have a  bit of bruising on the cheek that was almost destroyed - but only just enough that a customer at work the other night thought it was just a little smudge . . .

And so: this is really a precursor to the post that's been formulating in my head for a bit now.

I hope, as Thanksgiving (my least favorite holiday but possibly yours) approaches, you are thinking of what makes you grateful.

Because a job can be lost, a face ruined - even temporarily as I am so grateful for -  a life of a friend lost too soon, a . . . but I am grateful to still have a family, dear friends, a face, a . . .life.

More in my next post, once formulated in my head . . .

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal 

Turkey-licious

Those who know me well know I really dislike Thanksgiving.

It's not the "thanks" part - definitely not - but it's the food part. Put simply, (sparing my Grandmother's absolutely amazing creamed corn and, truthfully, never dry turkey) I have traced my dislike back to a couple of specific incidents in my early and mid teens (one involved a tureen of pumpkin soup . . .).

But, I do endorse this animal as an edible delight in certain forms. Yada, yada, the holiday turkey is dry, blah blah blah another turkey sandwich for lunch is boring - whatever.

The following recipe is a riff on one I came across, which you should make for a few reasons: 1) I am suggesting it; 2) the original version is from Food Network Magazine (Ok, I do prefer Cooking Light, and yes, I do know magazines are supposed to be in quotation marks, but I like them better in italics, and this time FNM won out  - check out the site for tons of great ideas, like this more effort-required version of the one I got from the actual magazine - http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/food-network-kitchens/skillet-lasagna-recipe.html); 3) you make it in a skillet - no baking required (!!); 4) it is SO. EASY; and 5) it is delicious. Should I go on?

So, if you like turkey, and lasagna and a version of turkey lasagna sounds good . . . try this (I wouldn't suggest with, say, that leftover holiday turkey - just get a good package of the ground stuff at your favorite store):

CN's Un-Fancy Awesome Turkey Skillet Lasagna

Ingredients:
(original recipe would serve 4-6, so adjust for amount and whether or not you want to have leftovers - I make enough for two adults, with a couple of leftover slices, using about 3/4 lb turkey)

1lb (or adjust for servings) ground turkey
No boil lasagna noodles - 4-8 depending on skillet size and number of servings (I like Barilla)
Olive oil (I have been using Colavita, but pick whichever you like)
Marinara sauce (I like Rao's but pick your fave)
Shredded mozz (I use 2%)
Ricotta (I use part-skim and I know DIY is better, but I buy Sorrento)
Salt, pepper and oregano to taste

Directions:
Heat appropriate sized skillet to med, med-high
Break apart ground turkey into "crumbles" (I do by hand - not a perfect science, just so you can brown it); add salt and pepper
Cook meat till just browned - should still be a little pink inside
Set aside

Choose your pan size of choice, depending on how much you want to make - best if you pick one that is oven-safe, so you can pop under broiler at end for that nice crisp crust

Layer: sauce, lasagna noodles, turkey, ricotta and mozz, another layer of noodles, sauce, and top with mozz; add salt and pepper and oregano (I love it so I add a lot of it!)

Cover and cook on med-low for 20-30 min - peek and check on done-ness between 15-20 min; I have found that with the ricotta and turkey added to the original recipe, the added moisture (vs. just cheese) requires a little more time. A little liquid on the sides is fine as long as noodles have sort of rolled up on sides of skillet, peeking out under the sauce.

Put under broiler on high for 1-3 min.

Serve. And don't do what I did the first time, and remove the skillet from the oven with a kitchen towel, only to place it back on the still hot burner and singe the towel. Just sayin'.

It's delicious, and easy enough I can make after work one night (and have leftovers), or you can too, or if you've got a family to feed. Maybe add a little Caesar salad and that (light) Texas Toast, and done and done. Even boys (ahem, men too) will like it all.

See, turkey isn't just a boring sandwich or a big fancy thing carved and served on one specific day.

But - it can be a special bird, when served with love. In lasagna form or not.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

Lions and Galations and Jeremiahs, Oh My . . .

*Warning: This post is not so much about actual food, as it is love food. And it's a bit long. Real CN time. Be prepared. 

I think God meant for me to be a Leo. I don't think He's all into astrology and stuff - but I think He has His reasons. Always. He also had me born in the year of the Dragon, if you're into Chinese Astrology (That's like a double whammy. My parents should probably smack their heads and say,"What was He thinking???").

I was supposed, per doctors knowledge, to be born in July, so I would have been a Cancer. And some of that description is true of me. But He had different plans for me and my poor Mama, who had to wait a few more weeks that hot 1976 summer for me to be a Leo. Almost a "cusp" baby but really, almost absolutely, on the Leo side - you know me, right? - like this: 

Yes, Daddy knows I have this tattoo (not the word part - tacky, ha!). It is not where anyone would see it.

 I really meant like this: http://www.astrology.com/leo-sun-sign-zodiac-signs/2-d-d-66944


This summary presents a pretty damn accurate - and mostly flattering- summary of me. I've got the negative parts, true, for sure. I can be vain and bossy and self-centered, and don't hurt my feelings, let me get hangry on you, cross one of my lovies, or . . . my diplomatic side won't come out so much. Just sayin'.

But I like to think back to one of the first times I remember reading my horoscope the birthday month when I turned 12 (we didn't really study that at Sunday School, but "Teen" magazine, for those who remember, sure did) - was this, and I remember it verbatim: "You are a natural, and a friend to outcasts and optimists."

That has always stuck with me. I have, sincerely, considered it a huge compliment on my character from that day, from a silly girlish magazine - and from those who have given me similar ones since. Many have, indeed.

Because that is a great kind of person to be. 

My parents taught me many things, as have so many people since, and I am so grateful for that.

Life has been really hard for this Leo in the past years - it was so blessed, mostly easily and therefore expected, I now see - the grit and the perseverance, well, they come from many places. Sure, whatever, I mentioned astrology. Maybe that has something to do with it.

And this, a song I loved five years ago - well, it was true back when I remembered who I really was - and I've discovered it still is - 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IIK7W9L65k

But, here is what I was really taught - and believe.

"For I know the plans for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future." 
- Jer 29:11

Oh boy, this has been a tough one to trust in these hard years. 

So has this one: "Let us not become weary in well doing, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." 
- Gal 6:9

Growing up, especially as a teen (go figure - no NKOTB posters - and if you know what I mean, you're as old as I am...), I posted Bible quotes and motivational quotes, on my bathroom mirror. I remember a handyman we used to have come regularly for minor repairs once to remark upon that to my Mama, saying "that's a special girl, there."  Notice taken. 

Then, I remember writing my Godfather a thank you note for an extremely generous gift to me for my education - to which he promptly responded it should have been addressed to both my Godmother and him; their money - and relationship - was dually worthy. Lesson learned. 

Then, I remember my greatest work mentor telling my parents, at our annual Christmas party (oh - we blew it out back in the day and *some* of the leftover liquor may have gone *missing* thanks to certain youngsters) . . . "She's my star." Compliment taken.

Then, I remember a recent boss saying . . . "You know why I like you? You work hard. And you're honest." Observation appreciated.

I also remember knowing that it was my precious Daddy who chose that Galations quote to put in the Westminster senior yearbook ad they took out (one of two, mind you - yeah, I was that spoiled).

And that is my truth. I have erred - oh, badly - from such. But that's the thing about God. Whether he wants me slinging wings or working in the insurance world again - or what? - I have to figure out what it will be. I believe He will help. Lord (no pun intended here), I hope He does.

Tonight, I have a beautiful, sweet dog with me, an amazing, loving family not far from me (well, R is a bit further), and Dr Teal's bubble bath if I keep being non-sleepy.

So, life is good. And it's up to me to do the above  - to be that faithful (and Leo!) person I was created to be.

Oh, and I made a good chicken and mushroom concoction for dinner.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

 

Three Squares

New digs, new bedding, new . . . kitchen!

Yes, y'all, I've got a new kitchen. And it is capital B Big! And so pretty.

After moving in a few days ago . . .

How cool are those house numbers?

I got it all set up (well, Mom helped a *little*) -

(Yes, I moved those shoes - and yes, it is a really big kitchen!)

So of course, now that I've settled in and have a couple days off, I have to cook. From eggs, to a lovely mushroom fettucine, then chicken made for a big dinner salad, I broke out and broke in all kinds of kitchen gadgets and goodies yesterday. It was so fun.

My last kitchen (to be honest, all of my last apartment) depressed me. Not just the meager amount of counter space, but the lighting, the not-quite-full-size fridge, the . . . everything. But, now! Now I have the space, the colors (the walls in the kitchen and throughout the apartment are the most lovely pale, soothing blue), the cabinets, the everything that I need to create and chef to my heart's delight.

When I am in the midst of such, it looks like this . . .

And when I am done, like this . . .

These couple of days are a treat - with the hours I keep, I don't get to cook at home nearly as much as I'd like. Now that I have a great kitchen, I will try to do it as frequently as I can (somehow making an omelet at 2am, after work, doesn't sound so bad with my new accoutrements!). Whether just for my own pleasure and fun, or for friends, I am looking forward to getting out those pots and pans, using all my dishes (perhaps a new, full set of casual daily plates and bowls is in order?) and going to town.

This morning, I think an omelet with spinach, Swiss and herbed goat cheese is in order. No short order cooking here, just good things made with love.

Sometimes puttering around in your own space is just what the doctor ordered, for the heart, soul and body.

And way better than CT scans and surgery, I must say.


Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

My Name is Inogo Montoya

Prepare to Die.

Not really, y'all. C'mon. If I'd take you out, it would be way more subtle. And after a lunch of sweet tea, or dinner with cocktails - you know, the Southern way.

But this post is about revenge. Mostly.

This girl has been angry of late.

There are people I know who should be suffering; I hate that I want them to be experiencing such.

There are people I know who need grace - God's, as I do believe in such - and I am hoping it is received.

There are people who do things like . . . break in a car window and take a purse and phone, etc, happy go lucky and all that. [Insert expletive here- it happened to my mama two days ago! Outside the grocery!]

There are people I - see- daily -  who ask others for money and claim homelessness -  yet decline offers of a fresh meal from the restaurant outside, or a trip to the mini-grocery to get some food.

There are people I know who just. . . suck. I'd have placed an adverb in there but it would be tacky and . . . everything I do not want to be.

There are people who you have a hunch won't tip you well - or at all, honestly - then pay with a $20 gift card for a bill of  $22.91 - and leave $23 to cover the whole tab.

This time last year, I was still in my salad days, so to speak, and most if not all  meals were well-covered and much enjoyed, every day.

I took a shower a bit ago, after taking Sir Luke out for a walk, and picking up the application for the apartment I hope I will move into, soon.

And I thought, washing things and all that  when I got home, and picturing such in the new, potential place - I get to handle my own kitchen, my own life, my own dog.

Prepare to "die" in some way, if you dare mess with that.

Just sayin' . . .

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

When the Refrigafrator Lacks

When the Refrigafrator Lacks

Sometimes, a girl runs out of the things she likes best. Or - the things that actually make sense for a meal.

What do you actually do with the ingredients when you have Pimento cheese, one pre-made pizza crust, a little (unspoiled) spinach and a few mushrooms, butter, and a half bottle of OJ? And your "dry goods cabinet" has crackers and two boxes of pasta - oh, and a can of mixed nuts?

I am exaggerating - but not by much. I'm even out of Diet Coke - sure I can drink it for free at work, but what do I do when up at 6-7 and don't work till 10-11 - torture (first world problems I know, but would you want to go without your AM caffeine fix? I didn't think so). When you work 48 hours between the start of Memorial Day weekend and the Tues morning after (seriously, I counted; plus, we get a printout every shift that shows our hours for the week) . . . or the start of Riverbend, Fri the 6th to last night the 9th, a total of 37 hours . . .who has time to shop for groceries, let alone eat something better than wings and fries at work, around midnight (if you're lucky and don't have tables for a minute) because who wants a healthy salad at midnight? That would be no one.

Don't get me wrong - I really do like and even sometimes love working at Taco Mac. Really, the managers and the people I work with are 99% great - more than I have had anywhere else.

But, I like to cook - and I want to eat healthily as much as possible.

My hours are a real challenge, as are the dearth of decent, healthy, and reasonably priced meal options in downtown Chatt - I can get a slice of pizza with one topping for $4 at Mellow Mushroom, if I make it there before 2pm. Which means I had a crummy day working lunch and am done early enough to snag it. I can get something for $3 there  - including hummus and a great balsamic, mixed greens, tomato and mozz salad for $3 if I can wait till their happy hour special after a better lunch - but it's way more for a healthy sandwich at Panera . . .and there is no good grocery store I can get to without a serious walk or two bus rides, as this is a food desert.

With my half-off discount, is it any wonder I eat at work almost once a shift? No.

What do I do now? Well, I certainly enjoy the bi-monthly visits from Mom when she arrives with fortification from Costco (mostly appreciating that damn Diet Coke) and we do a major trip to the store. But the things I love best, and want to eat - go bad quickly; those mixed greens, spinach, tomatoes and melon don't last that long, especially when you aren't home to eat them!

Love - well, this post is about loving myself, with what I put in my body.

And, I have a conundrum (who uses that word, anymore?) I have yet to completely figure out. How do I look cute in those shorts and semi-tight football-jersey-but-girl-sized shirts when I am eating fries at midnight?

Oh, and Lukie has to eat, too. And I can't feed him that leftover turkey slice that we got at the last store run . . .

I buy what I can, when I can. That I know I will use without going bad. I make sure I have plenty of dog food. I eat out as necessary and economical. I sometimes split up L's dinner if I know I am leaving for work at 4pm and won't be home till 10pm or after. I try to eat lots of veggies and protein, and force myself to want (50% off) meals at work. Without fries.

And, I deal. And most of the time, the refigafrator is full.

But this all isn't me; it isn't what I want.

So - I ponder the alternatives, food- and other-wise. Nothing immediate, other than Mom's visit later this week to help me out - but . . .how do I feed myself, in any way, in a healthy, pleasant fashion.

Well, let's find out. Stay tuned.

PS . . . that slice the nice owner of Mellow Mushroom had me try, from the summer menu they are starting next week and testing out - that may be dinner for tonight.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

HOME

Home

It's where the heart is, so they say.

Yeah, it actually really is. I went home yesterday - gosh it was a quick visit, with a lot of things on the to-do list - but it was . . .

So. Absolutely. Good.

Sometimes, "good" is an underrated word. But the past 36 hours have been just about the best I've had in quite awhile. And, somehow, so very "good" is what comes to mind.

Daddy got me, and we had to get back to Atlanta to deal with doctor stuff. He was shocked and impressed that Luke was so calm and content in the backseat (his Grandmom likes to make him ride in the crate in her SUV but there's no room in Grandaddy's car) but I just assured him that's how we roll in Chattavegas, and all is good.

Home . . that has meant a lot of things for me in the last few years. Places I've lived, or my parents have lived, or we've lived together: note, don't have a tree fall on your apt and have to move in with your parents that night, dog in tow. . . to  - heart stuff, like thinking I'd found the love of my life, or saying goodbye to someone, or friends moving, or...

I haven't been to our beach house in too long. When we go there, together as a family, for Thanksgiving or Easter - we outsource the cooking. Not sure what's up for this year, but it being summer and all - the beach makes me think of home since it has long been such a big part of our family's life.

I don't know if I will get to the beach this summer - I hope! -  but I got to go home last night. Whatever the actual domain is, where my family is, that is home. Daddy was down in his office watching Fox News, I was upstairs with "Scandal" playing on my laptop; Luke ventured somewhere in between while I checked on my (SIX loads of) laundry, and . . .all was good, and for a bit, right in the world.

We had dinner last night at the Club, and I was so happy that a precious friend of mine could come, and meet my Dad for the first time. I had a chicken Caesar, nothing exciting (though I had plenty of those damn good buttered saltines I have never been able to duplicate at home!) but Em loved her pork chop, Dad loved talking about her skills as a professional bbq contest judge... and I was happy, because I was with people I love, and all was - "good."

Sometimes, it is the little things that are so big. A friend making time in her schedule to meet you on the only day you are in town in six months. A dad who picks you up and takes you back to your city, after other stuff, like dr appointments and lunch and dinner and . . . saying "good night" when it was time to tuck in.

I have said this before, but I know  I have taken it for granted at times -  I am a lucky, blessed girl. Despite some challenges, life - and salads or crackers -  are . . .good. And with a dose of home this week, I feel fortified. That is  - well, beyond good.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

#YesAllWomen

I love me some boys. And, for the record - all men are boys on some level, hence my use of the word; I don't object to us being called girls.

That aside, I am pissed.

This whole . . . tragic debacle with Elliot Rodgers has got me thinking. Hard. And about me, and my friends, personally and specifically. Then just translate that to all women and there you go: I am super angry. And now I will be honest.

Am I weak? No.

Am I quick to judge or assume? No.

Am I afraid to do, be, try, etc? Hell, no.

But here's the thing.

What all these articles and web posts and tweets and - everything - have brought up . . . it is all So. Damn. True.

We, women, do get silenced. We do get interrupted. We do get harassed in big and small ways. We . . .

It wasn't till all this tragic stuff happened that I paused to think about the possible reality of such in my life. But, sadly, I realized that it is a reality. I will give you five examples of how something denigrating, devaluing, or dismissive has happened to me - in the last (wait for it) week.

1 - A customer talked over me when I was introducing myself to the table and trying to say I'd be their server, and said "honey, I'll just have a water."

2 - An ex boyfriend messaged me with sexual innuendos (yet again) - even though I have repeatedly asked him not to do so. I thought we could just be friends.

3 - A customer came in after closing and said "My friend threw up in the bathroom. Can I pay whoever has to clean up because it's so gross? I assume that's you?"

4 - When I was waiting for the bus, a guy said "You're so pretty. I bet you have a boyfriend." When I tried not to respond, rather than leave me alone, he persisted - "Why don't you? I could be your boyfriend. What's your number?"

5 - One of my managers at work who didn't hear me answer the question he posed ("Who was here first this morning to open?") but heard the guy (who, for the record, got in after I did) say it.

These are small and mostly inconsequential examples of what is a truly scary thing: women are at risk.

It can be financial, it can be psychological, it can be . . . a lot of things.

When a man approaches me on the street, asking for money, it raises my hackles. When I have to leave the restaurant late at night and get a cab, I wonder what the driver will be like. When I have to smile and banter with a customer who is, frankly, a jackass, I cringe internally. When I . . .

There are so many situations, big and small, in which a woman's voice is negated, voided, challenged, ignored. If you stop and think about it, it's true and it happens all the time.

I've never been one to focus on inequalities or he said/she said politics and what not, but this whole CA scenario has hit home with me. I am a smart, strong, brave, capable woman and I deal with some things every single day that this horrific episode has brought into focus: my Pollyanna side and hero of a daddy and model for men might make me gloss over it, but women get shit in all shapes and sizes, regularly.

Enough. If you have a son, teach him differently. If you have a daughter, teach her differently. The statistics are staggering: men speak 75% more than women on boards, committees, etc on decision making issues, people retweet men's tweets twice as often as women's, and even in movies (!) men have more disruptive speech AND garner twice as much screen and speaking time as women (http://www.alternet.org/). There are many more examples than just these small ones. Did I mention that "everyone" considers women to be the ones who dominate conversations?

Girls need to be strong, be capable, be brave with words and action. Yet, realistically, we have to still be wary, observant and . . . polite, courteous and cautious.

Will this change? Can it? And if so, to either, then how?

More than food for thought - it's Fiber One cereal on steroids.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

Must Love Dogs

That is a simple fact.

For me, and the canine curled between me and this laptop on which I am writing this post - it is a blessed fact.

I do like Chattanooga; love would be a little strong to say, but it is proving to be a good place for me.

But, I have been lonely.

I am a creature of habit: I am a collector and curator of people, friends and more; a frequenter of favorite places; a proponent of finding the good in my surroundings.

And, well, simply - something has been missing in my new life here. My doggus.

Luke came to Tennessee this week and - frankly? - I feel like a mommy with her first newborn! (I'm imagining this feeling, based on what friends say, post, etc) I can't stop gushing, posting, picture-ing . . .

My boy is here. Food? Dog food only, of course. Ok, a tiny bit of chicken that I dropped out of my quesadilla at lunch yesterday. But, real "food"? Real food is love, and sustenance - and my heart is over-full.

A lot of things have happened to me in the last year, and one of the most life-affirming things that has happened to me is having Luke here with me now. To love and to care for (to have and to hold - hee) - and to know that he still knows his mommy, and he doesn't want to leave my side now that he is here . . . I am, well, overwhelmed.

Hungry, not so much. Because I am being fed. With love.

One thing I am focusing on these days is being *present* - and something that is really helping me do that is my dog. When he sits on my lap, and I have to rearrange myself to reach the computer or my Diet Coke or whatever, or when a jingle jangle of tags follows me when I walk around my cute little apartment . . . small, precious, filling moments.

To close, a parting thought from one of my long time favorite actors in a particularly appropriate-now movie:

"You should have seen this girl - she's a mess, she's completely lovely..."

"... And she's a unique constellation of attributes."

And she - this girl - loves dogs.

My heart is full - Luke's tummy is - life, and God - are good.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

Lions and Tigers and Blueberries, Oh My!

There aren't lions and tigers on the menu, of course, but there are blueberries.

And pumpkin, and pear and . . .  various other adjuncts to yeast, hops, barley and water.

Have you tried Sweetwater Blue? A Georgia-made IPA with a distinct but not cloying hint of blueberry. Or Pumpking Ale, an Oktoberfest with a festive spike of pumpkin flavor.

Maybe bourbon's more your style and you'd enjoy a strong ale like the Kentucky Bourbon?

While certain meats aren't on the Taco Mac Sports Grill menu (for those of you not familiar, TMac is an Alpharetta-based company whose original location is in Atlanta's VaHi neighborhood, and with which my Atlanta friends are no doubt familiar; Chattanooga is the only TN outpost so far) - of course we do have plenty of chicken in the form of all kinds of tasty wings, and cow in the American classic form of burgers - we also have over 150 beers, between tap and bottle, at any given time. We have a list updated daily of the "new, gone and running out" options, monthly specials (this month it's a quartet of  three Sweetwater picks and a Road Trip IPA; for Final Four fun we had four Oktoberfests reserved for a thematic occasion).

We've got your lambics, pilsners (did you know they are Czech in origin?), and stouts; your ciders, saisons and bocks.

And I had to learn all about it. Got a 100 on that particular bar test, too.

Menus have typically been easy for me when I've started at a new restaurant. I like food, pay attention to detail and have a focused, borderline didactic approach to mastering the good stuff I'm going to sell and serve to you.

Beer, not so much! Never something I really drank, or cared for - certainly not something I ever thought I'd have to learn so much about. Do you know that the ancient Egyptians had gods of beer? Indeed, the Romans weren't the only ones with gods of adult beverages. In the present day, Belgians are the only ones that use wild yeast (spontaneously fermented in the air) in their beer making. And on and on the knowledge goes . . .

I am now a student at Brewniversity (yes, this is a real thing), TMac's branded beer program. It's free to join and you can check it out online if you're a beer aficionado, or just a frequent beer drinker (see www.tacomac.com/brewniversity) for details, to join and for the online app that tells you what's new daily and weekly; perks like a running kept list of your choices and a free extra 25% pour (20oz vs. 16oz) for life once you sample 125 beers, and more.

I have been impressed and, frankly, a little amazed at how many people love this program. And come in, particularly on Thursday nights, with phones loaded to the app and eager for the newest selection - and the keeper stein qualifying students get from 5pm on . . .

So, if you're in Chattanooga, come check it out - all TMac's have extensive beer choices, but thanks to different state laws, we can offer some choices unlike those in our home state. Michigan picks and other local-to-new-states brews coming soon!

I may not be a beer drinker, but I'll tell you all about it!

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

36-28-26 (ps 37 1/2)

I'm feeling a bit out of proportion. For multiple reasons.

See, I think I got  - um -  shod from my last job because I wasn't cute enough or . . . thin enough. Or young enough. That may be a heavy charge to level, but based on what I was told after a month's worth of awesome work - who climbs a ladder to the fourth level to reach the most schmancy, expensive liquors and gets asked out four (five?) times by a customer if she has a fat ass? Who averages a 22-25% tip score between cash and card (measured on every check out slip so that isn't just me guesstimating it) if she's not good at her job - and gets canned after her three week bar tenure? I am calling BS.

The title to this post: my approximate measurements. Based on, yes, bra size (36D), ('spensive) jean size (27-28) and hip size (guesstimating here because my hips are smaller than my waist these days, which does bug me). Oh, and my age.

Me, last fall (too skinny, though I liked it) -

Stress non-eating phase . . .



This was me, last November with my Lucas Dog -

And just before moving to Chattavegas (apparently, that name has more import than I thought when I copped it from my first and dearest childhood friend as a silly joke) -

Forget him (I did) - the point here is how I look.

Getting ready for a date night (sorry for the selfie, y'all but it makes a point here)

(btw, these were actually 26's so I am moving "up" from there)

And this is me, today (literally) -

Pretty hairs, pretty girl - right??

So, you can't see the rest of me, but hopefully you'll run with what I am saying based on my face. (I'd show you a pic of the rest if someone had taken one...)

Fired for not being cute enough or thin enough? Hell, the old part - well, I'm not 22. I'm 37. But the rest of it?

I have struggled with body, food, image, whatever you want to call it for so many years.

I have discovered that while the restaurant world was an unintentional, unexpected and sometimes. . . un-fun (who wants to wait on, whether bartender or server, the parents of your friends from Westminster, deb balls, college . . .in your 30s . . .) - I am really good at it! My personality, my charm - my ability to read people (trust me, I know when she wants the dressing on the side or has 12 more questions about how something is prepared, and he wants his Woodford on the rocks or . . .) and I am good at what I do, right now. Really good at it.

But one thing I have worked on is looking at myself through someone else's mirror - because I still can't completely trust my own. My stomach is not as flat as I would like - but I wear a jean size that is smaller than so many women, so logically I cannot be fat. My legs are proportionate to my body, but long and lean - can I pass the "thigh" test like my crazy-skinny-body-mind wants? Not really, but they are small enough. Do I still think (big) boobs make me fat? Yeah, kinda. These are my issues.

When they enter the workplace - and they cost me a job at which I am damn good - I say NO.

A woman of 37, whom you hired, who is pretty, way more than capable, fit and more than physically acceptable . . . well, here is what I say:

Your loss.

Not mine.

And I find another place, that welcomes me - as I did the very next day. Will I have a bigger stomach than I'd like when I first start? Yep, but that's my issue - not yours. Will I do a fantastic job for you?

You bet your ass off I will.

Come see me in Chattavegas and see what you think for yourself.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

Mom, Mt. Vernon and Me

If the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mom-hammed has to come to the Mount. Mt. Vernon, that is.

This week, there was a bit of a significant event. In many families, perhaps, such wouldn't even warrant a comment, because it is so common. In ours, though, it was pretty - notable, and awesome.

The thing is this: I love my mother very much, and she loves me as much, or probably more given I am of her. But our relationship is, to say the least, complicated. 

But Monday, we were able to have an absolutely beautiful, loving and kind experience. Ok, first we moved stuff into my new place (Dad spearheaded this so don't think I am leaving him out) then we had to go to Bi-Lo and...but it's one part of the day, and a dinner, of which I write.

Chattanooga is a town filled with nearly all warm memories for my family.

When we lived here, for a bit when I was a little thing, we had our routines - much like those we would develop in Atlanta - about people, places and practices. And a particularly dear one we had was eating Sunday lunch after church every week at Mt. Vernon.

So when we trekked towards Lookout Mtn to get to the grocery etc (ok, living in Atlanta forever, I am used to calculating distance a bit differently than I have to now in Chattavegas - Lookout and Signal really aren't that far from downtown!), and passed Mt. Vernon, a bastion of my youth and our early family life - all it took was a glance between us and we knew where we'd be having dinner.

This is one of my favorite pictures of my mom and me, ever - 

With my pretty mama, at the Amanas, 2002 (yeah, we favor)

In this picture, we look happy and close. And we were. But belying the pretty (and similar, no?) smiles, there was a lot of tension. Not between us, at the time, but with our surroundings and others with us (this picture was taken the weekend my parents first met my former in-laws - enough said...). And the same things could apply to last Monday as well as to our recent collective family life.

It has been a rough - while - for my family. In all directions between family members, for various reasons on various levels, for . . .well, you get the idea.

But this week, God looked on us with favor, the stars aligned, the moods were right . . . whatever you call it, we had goodness. Moving someone's stuff from storage to a new place once again, driving back and forth a few hours, discussing jobs and rent and . . . all of that took a back seat to a mother-daughter moment that we don't come across often enough.

A meal, taken at a leisurely pace, and without worry of waistlines or calories, Important Topics of Discussion, checking cell phones, or any of the stuff that can easily overtake time together.

And, it was good. So very good. The company was mutually perfect - not a cross word, not a bit of tension (at least to my reticular activating system, as my daddy always calls it, and I hope not to hers), not anything but enjoying each other's company. This, my friends and readers, was a great blessing.

Oh, and the food? Well . . . 

A Southern Chattanooga classic gets modern with a kale salad- yum!!

Homemade pimento cheese (and I just realized - that's the same shirt my mom was
wearing in that pic from 2002! Cute thin woman!)

Meat and Three (er, two) - Ribeye, fried green 'maters and mac and cheese!

STFD, y'all! Not a bite left of their famous Amaretto pie after we tackled it!!

See - I was right, again (hee!). Sometimes, food is love. Or the communion you have over food is love. A place you walk into and immediately become the happy, delightful child you once were, and your mama becomes the wonderful, thoughtful young mother she once was - that is the Magic Kingdom, y'all.

My mother was my age now, the last time I remember being at Mt. Vernon. To say it was a treat to have come back there, together, under loving and happy manner - well, that just makes me think this:

“Ah, how quickly the hands on the clock circle toward the future we thought was far away! And how soon we become our mothers.” ― Peggy Toney Horton


And, more importantly, this: if I am becoming my mother, that is more than fine with me - it is a blessing.

Love, food, family. Blessings, all.


Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

When There Are No Bites Left

What do you do?

That great sandwich - even that last Best Bite that you left to completely savor.

The final bite of the most delicate filet you've ever had, that you almost didn't want to eat because the sensation of it melting in your mouth was so delightful it stopped all thoughts of anything else.

A final spooning of the chocolate chip ice cream you ordered on bottom of the mint chocolate chip in your double cup, because you like it the very best just as you did when you were four.

. . . That - goodbye kiss. The one you may know is just that - or may not. Which is better or worse? And how are food and love so different, really?

The bittersweetness of knowing it's the last, or the thought of how long till you'll have another, bite or kiss - the tenderness of a goodbye touch that you don't expect to be the final one, or the forkful of goodness you think you'll have again very soon . . . 

What's left?

Well, sometimes, you try to make more. Surely, there's another recipe in your self-made cookbook compilation that you haven't tried, and it's bound to be delicious. Whether microwaved or oven-made, hastily put together or well thought-out. Another boy to kiss after a first date - or maybe just because you want to. Whether out of boredom, or out of hope or real interest.

Or not.

Maybe, the groceries or the energy to try aren't . . . there. Or maybe you try and it's not so tasty, or the attempt falls flat.

Do you put your apron back on, or fix your lipstick, and try again? 

Food for thought.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

Feed Me, Chattanooga!

Feed Me, Chattanooga! 

[Note: I am writing this with one of my Jupiter Coyote faves, "Crazy Women" in the background. Seems apt.]

Spending a little time in this lovely town - boy has it changed since the years I was here as a little girl! - has so far been quite interesting.

Let's stick to the topic of food, for now. Y'all know I love to dish about that!

Since I've been here, I've been exposed to the bad (actually, the absolute worst) of "cuisine" here - refer to my last post, *shudder* - so let's move on from that. The good news is that I've subsequently found some good, great even, eats as I've explored the city, especially downtown, whether for my own sustenance, just out of curiosity to observe, or eating some place where I might want to work (the restaurant world may lure me back again during my time in TN...). Examples (in no particular order except yumminess):

The awesome (and huge) club salad I got Tues and was able to re-chef ingreds into an omelet Wed!

Egg-in-a-hole at my current awesome digs, Crash Pad Chattanooga!

Delicious "Russian schachi" soup at my  new fave food store, Enzo's!

Grilled pimento cheese with bacon. Enough said.

And of course, the grilled cheese truck of love!

MMM, good, as Campbell's would say. Speaking of which - 

It's actually copied from Progresso, but I adore stoving up Chickarina soup, adding spinach....

Oh, and have you ever had duck prosciutto? I hadn't till the other night - 

With a little arugula, crostini and a sharp, grainy mustard? Awesome.

So, my culinary adventures are on the upswing. I've learned there are a lot of yummy options here in Chattanooga; I've also learned to get by when just a fridge and microwave are at my disposal (I will never, I repeat never, eat in a cafeteria like *that* one again, so I'll work with what I have). I've also gotten even better at observing other people's dishes when I am not partaking myself, which actually adds a new third-person type view of the dining landscape.

Food - good, necessary, interesting. As I'm getting wiser on my little relo time, my stomach is finding a way to stay happy.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

Grilled Cheese, Microwaved Eggs, and Snow Days

Grilled Cheese, Microwaved Eggs, and Snow Days

Sigh.

Vegetables? Not much luck.

Healthy food. Pretty much ix-nay on that, either.

Scrambled eggs made in the microwave?? Yep.

I simply hate being cooped up and this damn weather is driving me nuts. Peanut M&M's bought for Valentine's Day in hopes of fun days ahead (ok, at least more pleasant days) eaten before lunch because I am so bored, do not a healthy diet make.

So far, my little jaunt to Chattanooga is really turning out not to be so fun. That darling little food truck with glorious grilled cheeses of all kinds that I found the other day? Definitely down for the count during this weather. A microwaved grilled cheese just isn't the same as one from here - 

Super William's awesome grilled cheese truck in downtown Chattavegas.

Forget the amazing frozen yogurt I got the other day, too. Too cold for it to even wander downtown to see if my favorite spot is open (guessing that would be a wild longshot, anyway).

I was back on the track of eating so healthily before I left home, and really can't put into words fit for print the misery that has been my edible options here. Sharing a fridge, too, is for the birds. It's not for this bird, at least.

I am writing this from the nearby Whole Foods - I braved the sunny but iced and snowed over and simply frigid weather to get to the closest WiFi - and, frankly, it's almost worse looking at all the healthy (hell, at this point the not-as-healthy options sound better since comfort food is all I am craving, honestly) things I can't cook (no stove or even toaster) when I stroll around one of my typical happy places when I have a real kitchen with which to work.

Do I sound really cranky yet? Indeed I am.

This is what I am dealing with, weather wise:

Yes, Atlantans, I feel your pain - except there are NO salt trucks here and Chattanoogans are worse than Atlantans when this kind of weather hits . . .

And this is the kind of stuff the cafe in my building serves on any given day:

Seriously? Not a chance this is passing these lips.

Which makes me feel hangry and like this:

Never thought I'd relate to South Park quite like this...

As I try not to throw a complete, juvenile (even if mostly warranted) tantrum, I ponder what kind of healthy soup I can concoct in my microwave . . .While dreaming of a meal like this:

Ahh, arugula salad with Parmesan and my lemon and olive oil vinaigrette . . .

Oh, the sweet thought- and many things  I could do - with a rotisserie chicken . . .

Alas.

Can I please go home now?

Sigh. I should sign this "Angry Carrie Neal." I will show some restraint - for now at least and say . . .

Yours,
Love (really) Bites,
Carrie Neal