"Down on your luck? OOT is too this April. Come drown your sorrows in songs of heartbreak and copious amounts of beer! The best kind of therapy we think!"
That's what it said on the website for Opera on Tap (OOT) when I checked it out after experiencing my first such event at the Sidetrack Bar and Grill in Ypsilanti last night. (See the link below.) I'm here to tell you there's nothing quite like being in a historic bar full of patrons, eating a great burger while having a glass of Hopalicious beer, and listening to wonderful vocalists from the area sing selections from various operas, including songs from "Showboat", "Guys and Dolls", and "Kiss Me Kate." The intimacy and comaraderie of the experience made me wonder if this wasn't similar to what it would be like in a pub in Ireland. The performers were enjoying themselves, and imbibing, as much as the audience. We were sharing in our love of food, drink, and music in a way not possible in a concert hall.
Rog and I read about this particular event in the local newspaper in a column that focuses on beer. Who knew? Now that we know about it, we will be taking advantage of future opportunities and think anyone who likes what we like -- good food, good drink, good music, good company -- would enjoy it, too. That we may be able to take advantage of opportunties to share this experience in other cities -- Chicago, Atlanta, The Twin Cities, New York, New Orleans -- well, that's just icing on the cake!
For an example of what I'm talking about, check out the link below:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLIs89Q6Lx0
To learn more about Opera on Tap, check out this link:
http://www.operaontap.com/
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Little Black Dress
So today I went shopping for a simple, but elegant, black dress. One that I could, with the use of the right accessories, make formal or casual. One that would last me the rest of my life. The cut of the dress wasn't important to me, though I had hoped to find one like the one Diane Keaton wore in "Something's Gotta Give". And I had hoped to buy "made in America", a designation that means more to me now.
Now I'm not a real lover of shopping. I tend to favor one stop shopping, rarely taking the time to price compare. I generally know what I'm looking for and have a vague price range in mind when I head out. I don't like spending time poring over racks and racks of clothes. Nor do I like taking off and putting on clothes more than the once in the evening in preparation for bed and in the morning for the day's activities. If I know I'm going to be trying on clothes, I need to go into the dressing room with several items. I won't go to all that trouble for one item. And lastly, I really, really, hate salespeople who hover.
The best place to shop and meet all my criteria is the mall, a place I generally avoid. I started at Von Maur, slightly pricey but past excursions there have been successful. I found several black dresses and selected five to try on.
Tell me, how is it that a dress can look fine on the hanger and on me add twenty pounds? You've got to understand, there wasn't a huge difference from one dress to the other. Most had rounded necklines, some lower than others. Most were of the sheath variety with a slightly fitted waist. Most were sleeveless though a few were three quarter length. One after the other went on and then off. All of them made me look dowdy. Yes, I am 61 but at 5'9", 138 pounds, and more toned than I've been in years, there is no excuse or reason to settle for dowdy. I finally asked the salesperson to get me one of the dresses in a size 8, rather than the 10's I tried. It did fit better but I had to ask myself, would this dress be wearable if I gained five pounds? The answer was no. And none of the dresses were "made in America". In fact, when asked, I was informed that there were no black dresses in the store that were made in America!
Already not in good spirits, I left Von Maur in one worse and headed for the not as pricey but with a slightly larger selection Macy's. After wandering through various sections (clothes were grouped by designer) of the ladie's department, I found another six dresses to try on. One after the other I put them on and took them off, rejecting the unflattering fits of all but one. That one had potential. I put it aside, finished trying on the others and put it on yet again. Did it resemble the Diane Keaton dress I had hoped for? No. Did it fit and flatter my figure. Yes, kind of. It is sleeveless and while I've been working to firm up my arms, they are, after all, sixty-one years old and gravity has done its job. I'd rather avoid sleeveless but not this time. I figure I can add a colorful shawl to cover the arms. The length was slightly above the knees, a length I can live with. Was the dress made in America? No. Made in China. Did it meet my price range? Yes. After some internal debate, I decided to get the dress. Though not perfect, it will do. I know, I settled, but like I said, I really don't like to shop.
So, there was a time when I could find attractive clothes in numbers that far exceeded my budget and my need. Most of these clothes not only fit but flattered. Or at least I thought they did. Truth be told, many were not particularly comfortable or practical, but I accepted that as part of the cost for looking good and being stylish. The most uncomfortable or most difficult to care for didn't last past one or two wearings and that, too, I accepted. I didn't consider the money I wasted. Neither did I consdier where my clothing was made. Now I wonder. Did they really fit and flatter? Or was I fulfilling a different set of criteria, seeing with a different set of eyes? A set that saw being in style, wearing a name brand, owning what I thought everyone else wanted to wear the most important criteria. Did that define flattering? Maybe then, but not now. At sixty-one, my clothes have to be functional, lasting, flattering, priced right, and easy care. Criteria I can meet with a bit of effort on my part. I'd also like my clothes to be made in America but that may only happen when I make them for myself.
Now I'm not a real lover of shopping. I tend to favor one stop shopping, rarely taking the time to price compare. I generally know what I'm looking for and have a vague price range in mind when I head out. I don't like spending time poring over racks and racks of clothes. Nor do I like taking off and putting on clothes more than the once in the evening in preparation for bed and in the morning for the day's activities. If I know I'm going to be trying on clothes, I need to go into the dressing room with several items. I won't go to all that trouble for one item. And lastly, I really, really, hate salespeople who hover.
The best place to shop and meet all my criteria is the mall, a place I generally avoid. I started at Von Maur, slightly pricey but past excursions there have been successful. I found several black dresses and selected five to try on.
Tell me, how is it that a dress can look fine on the hanger and on me add twenty pounds? You've got to understand, there wasn't a huge difference from one dress to the other. Most had rounded necklines, some lower than others. Most were of the sheath variety with a slightly fitted waist. Most were sleeveless though a few were three quarter length. One after the other went on and then off. All of them made me look dowdy. Yes, I am 61 but at 5'9", 138 pounds, and more toned than I've been in years, there is no excuse or reason to settle for dowdy. I finally asked the salesperson to get me one of the dresses in a size 8, rather than the 10's I tried. It did fit better but I had to ask myself, would this dress be wearable if I gained five pounds? The answer was no. And none of the dresses were "made in America". In fact, when asked, I was informed that there were no black dresses in the store that were made in America!
Already not in good spirits, I left Von Maur in one worse and headed for the not as pricey but with a slightly larger selection Macy's. After wandering through various sections (clothes were grouped by designer) of the ladie's department, I found another six dresses to try on. One after the other I put them on and took them off, rejecting the unflattering fits of all but one. That one had potential. I put it aside, finished trying on the others and put it on yet again. Did it resemble the Diane Keaton dress I had hoped for? No. Did it fit and flatter my figure. Yes, kind of. It is sleeveless and while I've been working to firm up my arms, they are, after all, sixty-one years old and gravity has done its job. I'd rather avoid sleeveless but not this time. I figure I can add a colorful shawl to cover the arms. The length was slightly above the knees, a length I can live with. Was the dress made in America? No. Made in China. Did it meet my price range? Yes. After some internal debate, I decided to get the dress. Though not perfect, it will do. I know, I settled, but like I said, I really don't like to shop.
So, there was a time when I could find attractive clothes in numbers that far exceeded my budget and my need. Most of these clothes not only fit but flattered. Or at least I thought they did. Truth be told, many were not particularly comfortable or practical, but I accepted that as part of the cost for looking good and being stylish. The most uncomfortable or most difficult to care for didn't last past one or two wearings and that, too, I accepted. I didn't consider the money I wasted. Neither did I consdier where my clothing was made. Now I wonder. Did they really fit and flatter? Or was I fulfilling a different set of criteria, seeing with a different set of eyes? A set that saw being in style, wearing a name brand, owning what I thought everyone else wanted to wear the most important criteria. Did that define flattering? Maybe then, but not now. At sixty-one, my clothes have to be functional, lasting, flattering, priced right, and easy care. Criteria I can meet with a bit of effort on my part. I'd also like my clothes to be made in America but that may only happen when I make them for myself.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
N'awlins: Post Mardi Gras
What can I say? New Orleans in late March was just what I needed. The weather was warm; the music, hot. The food was intoxicating; the people, friendly; and the drink, flowing. I could have stayed longer and since it's 32 degrees outside here at home, I should have!
When morning came, I had another health bar, an apple, and the last small bottle of water I brought with me. I know it doesn't sound like a lot but I felt full. Knowing I was going to be eating well for the next several days, I thought I was being smart by dieting now. The rest of the journey was uneventful and we arrived at the New Orleans train station as I stated above, within fifteen minutes of our scheduled arrival time. I immediately got a taxi and headed to our hotel. My sister hadn't yet arrived so I proceeded to unpack all the while anticipating a soaking hot tub as it had been over 24 hours since I bathed, brushed my teeth, or washed my face. Add to that my lack of sleep. I needed to relax and rest before heading out for the evening. No such luck as Jeana arrived before I had emptied my suitcase.
A quick bath, a fresh set of clothes, a clean face and teeth and off we went. Our first stop was the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone. A glass of Chardonnay for me, a beer for her. Chips were provided but knowing I was going to be eating chargrilled oysters soon, I avoided spoiling my appetite. As we caught up on each other's news, we sipped our drinks. I began feeling a bit odd but then, the Carousel Bar revolves and my own sense of spinning, I attributed to that. Once our glasses were emptied, we headed to Acme.
As has generally been the case for the Acme Oyster Bar and Grill in the afternoon, there was a line, a short one but a line nonetheless. As Jeana and I continued to chat, I felt a bit disoriented, feeling vertigo, and needing to stablilize myself. I reached out to the wall. Try as I could, the growing sense that I was about to pass out could not be denied or avoided. As I lowered myself to put my head between my knees, I had visions of myself sprawled on the filthy sidewalk, viewed as just another drunk. How humiliating! As I slide down to a squat, my sister reached out to me noting with alarm that I was clammy. I asked her to get me some bread or crackers or something to put on my stomach. Bless her heart, she jumped right to it and before I was out, I was chewing on crackers. While I seemed not to have any saliva with which to soften the dry crumbs, just having them in my mouth seemed to fortify me. I pulled myself up, all the while chomping on crackers. Almost as soon as I was standing, our name was called and we were quickly seated at the bar. I was better but not yet normal. As I lay my head on the bar, I told the waiter I wasn't feeling well. With good humor and a knowing smirk, he asked me if I was drunk. See? I knew that was the conclusion anyone would draw upon seeing me in my condition. I stiffened my back, raised my head and looked right at him and declared, "I'm hungry and dehydrated, not drunk!" A glass of water and a basket of crackers quickly appeared.
Half a dozen chargrilled oysters and three pieces of French bread dipped in the drippings later and I was back to normal. The lesson here is that health bars and two small bottles of water in 24 hours followed by a glass of Chardonnay is not a good idea! Believe me, I did not repeat that on the trip back home.
Saturday Jeana and I explored the Quarter after having a large brunch on Jackson Square. At 2:00 we joined a number of other people for a Historic Culinary Tour of New Orleans. It started at Antoines and then moved through about nine other restaurants while we also received commentary on others that we walked past. At each stop, we were given samples -- gumbo, shrimp remoulade, red beans and rice, pralines, muffaletta, gelato, jambalaya, and others. Absolutely no chance to repeat my physical fiasco of the preceeding day! At La Davina we had the best chocolate gelato I've ever had, Aztec. A bit of cayenne, cinnamon, and lots of chocolate. Yum! They also served what the guide called an improved version of the muffaletta. I have to agree that adding cheese, a different kind of bread, and toasting it like a paninni was much better than the original I had back in November
.
While I made it to Cafe du Monde three times before leaving New Orleans, I assure you I did not join this line on this day. I find that getting there earlier in the morning, say 6:30 or so, and later in the night, say after midnight, makes getting cafe au lait and beignets much faster and better.
While Mardi Gras was well over, there was evidence of the festival festooning some on the buildings.
On this trip, I noticed more street performers than I had in other post-Katrina trips. More importantly there were more street musicians. The group below is fantastic. I had heard Doreen, the clarinetist, during a pre-Katrina trip to New Orleans but this was the first time I found her performing since. It was a joy to hear her and to see the crowds form as she played.
In addition to the great music, we found new places to eat. The Green Goddess was our culinary highlight. Off Exchange Place, it is just a very small hole in the wall but the food is to die for! I had "bangers and mash", a wonderful duck sausage sided by mashed sweet potatoes blended with orange and spices, covered in a sauce that was both sweet and carried a spicy punch. The dessert menu was equally enticing but I was far too full to take advantage of it. A kind of New Orleans, Carribean, soulful food of complex flavors -- I could have eaten there every day and wish that I had. Unfortunately for us, we discovered it on Sunday, had reservations at Snug Harbor for Monday. It was closed on Tuesday. We left on Wednesday.
To learn more about The Green Goddess, check out this link:
http://www.greengoddessnola.com/
Down the alley from The Green Goddess was the Somethin' Else Cafe, a great place for breakfast.
This jazz band and vocalist, along with Doreen, filled most of my daytime hours. I could have listened to them nonstop.
In the evening, we headed to Frenchman Street and more good food and music. The Three Muses proved to be especially appetizing in both areas. They specialize in jazz and small dishes. Feta fries, pork belly, mojitos. Hmmm....
Didn't get to check out the wares or sample the food at Hot Chocolate! but sure enjoyed looking at the window display. Sweets, chocolate, and sex toys! What a combination!
Spent quite a bit of time sitting at the bar in the Napoleon House. Struck up a conversation with the gentleman next to me. From Chicago and dealing in books, we had enough in common to keep us both interested while I had lunch.
I started my trip at 12:39 pm at the train station in Ann Arbor. The day was glorious, in the 50's, and felt like spring was here. I shared a seat with a retired second grade teacher as we headed to Chicago. This was to become a theme for me. Educators, retired or otherwise, outnumbered any other profession represented by the various people I met on this trip. She lived in Detroit but was hoping to sell her home and to join her remaining siblings in their home country, Canada. Once in Chicago, she went her way and I went to the lounge to wait for The City of New Orleans. While my incoming train arrived late, this train left right on time and as it happens, arrived in New Orleans within fifteen minutes of its published arrival time. On this leg of the trip I shared a seat with another teacher. She had been spending her spring break visiting her mother in Chicago along with her two and five year old daughters. She taught sixth grade language arts in Memphis.
As she and I talked of education and child-rearing, her two daughters sat peacefully playing educational games on iPods in the seats across from us. Before too long it was dinner time. They had cold pizza. I had health bars, an apple, and a small bottle of water. After dark we all settled down for the long night and sleep.
Unfortunately, I slept very little. I wasn't prepared for the cold or the difficulty of sleeping in a less than horizontal position.When morning came, I had another health bar, an apple, and the last small bottle of water I brought with me. I know it doesn't sound like a lot but I felt full. Knowing I was going to be eating well for the next several days, I thought I was being smart by dieting now. The rest of the journey was uneventful and we arrived at the New Orleans train station as I stated above, within fifteen minutes of our scheduled arrival time. I immediately got a taxi and headed to our hotel. My sister hadn't yet arrived so I proceeded to unpack all the while anticipating a soaking hot tub as it had been over 24 hours since I bathed, brushed my teeth, or washed my face. Add to that my lack of sleep. I needed to relax and rest before heading out for the evening. No such luck as Jeana arrived before I had emptied my suitcase.
A quick bath, a fresh set of clothes, a clean face and teeth and off we went. Our first stop was the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone. A glass of Chardonnay for me, a beer for her. Chips were provided but knowing I was going to be eating chargrilled oysters soon, I avoided spoiling my appetite. As we caught up on each other's news, we sipped our drinks. I began feeling a bit odd but then, the Carousel Bar revolves and my own sense of spinning, I attributed to that. Once our glasses were emptied, we headed to Acme.
As has generally been the case for the Acme Oyster Bar and Grill in the afternoon, there was a line, a short one but a line nonetheless. As Jeana and I continued to chat, I felt a bit disoriented, feeling vertigo, and needing to stablilize myself. I reached out to the wall. Try as I could, the growing sense that I was about to pass out could not be denied or avoided. As I lowered myself to put my head between my knees, I had visions of myself sprawled on the filthy sidewalk, viewed as just another drunk. How humiliating! As I slide down to a squat, my sister reached out to me noting with alarm that I was clammy. I asked her to get me some bread or crackers or something to put on my stomach. Bless her heart, she jumped right to it and before I was out, I was chewing on crackers. While I seemed not to have any saliva with which to soften the dry crumbs, just having them in my mouth seemed to fortify me. I pulled myself up, all the while chomping on crackers. Almost as soon as I was standing, our name was called and we were quickly seated at the bar. I was better but not yet normal. As I lay my head on the bar, I told the waiter I wasn't feeling well. With good humor and a knowing smirk, he asked me if I was drunk. See? I knew that was the conclusion anyone would draw upon seeing me in my condition. I stiffened my back, raised my head and looked right at him and declared, "I'm hungry and dehydrated, not drunk!" A glass of water and a basket of crackers quickly appeared.
Half a dozen chargrilled oysters and three pieces of French bread dipped in the drippings later and I was back to normal. The lesson here is that health bars and two small bottles of water in 24 hours followed by a glass of Chardonnay is not a good idea! Believe me, I did not repeat that on the trip back home.
.
To learn more about The Green Goddess, check out this link:
http://www.greengoddessnola.com/
I spent a lot of time exploring the warehouse district. Emeril has a restaurant there. There's a place called w.i.n.o. (Wine Institute New Orleans) that carries over 120 different wines you can purchase by the ounce. A willing staff will tell you more than you need to know about each. The Red Slipper is not far from it and made for a great breakfast stop. Bread pudding pancakes, yummy!
Spent quite a bit of time sitting at the bar in the Napoleon House. Struck up a conversation with the gentleman next to me. From Chicago and dealing in books, we had enough in common to keep us both interested while I had lunch.
It was with regret that I left New Orleans. The weather was perfect; the food, great; and the music, rousing. I returned to Michigan, cold weather, spring just a promise but not yet a reality.
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