The Eternal Question

If you write and then you post and no-one reads...are you really relevant?

Yesterday in History

Yesterday was a very big day in the world of pop culture with the funeral of Michael Jackson.  Just like when Princess Diana got married and then later died, the whole world tuned in to watch the ceremony of laying the king of pop to rest.  While I could watch the events unfold live along with the rest of the world, the one whom I adore had to work.  So to ensure he didn't miss anything I live updated him throughout the 2.15 hour event.  

Following are excerpts written to the one whom I adore.  While I realize someone has died and the world has lost a great entertainer, none of my comments are meant to minimalise that.  All comments are simply my observations of the memorial - things that struck me as interesting...or odd...or both.

2:06 PM

It's a star-studded line-up of celebrities that will honour Him. Kobe Bryant? WTF?
Also, Lionel Richie will lead a big chorus of We are the World.  Cool - I've always liked that song.  I'm sure it will be very moving.

2:14 PM

Smokey Robinson is reading condolence letters from Nelson Mandela and Diana Ross

2:35 PM

A gospel choir is singing and they just rolled in the coffin. The pallbearers are all wearing one white glove.

The casket is gold.

2:37 PM

people are screaming out "we love you Michael" while the pastor is speaking. Very uncouth.

2:40 PM

Mariah Carey is singing "I'll Be There" 

And not very well, either, if you ask me.

2:46 PM

Queen Latifah is speaking now...representing "the fans". She's doing the "robot".

Odd

2:51 PM

Actually Queen Latifah was pretty good...she read a poem Maya Angelou wrote. Now, Lionel Richey is singing....some song about Jesus is Lord - he won't let you down

2:56 PM

here's this gospel choir singing back up for Lionel. Two things: it's an all black choir EXCEPT for the platinum blonde in the front row who stands out like a platinum blonde in a sea of black people

Plus, there's a guy in the back of the choir who looks so angry he looks like he'd just as soon hit  someone.

Now some guy with a lisp is speaking. Oh, it's Berry Gordy - isn't he the former mayor of Washington who was just served with a stalking supoena? Oh, no, he's the head of the Motown record label - my bad.

I'm bad. Who's bad?

Interesting side note. Jermain Jackson has a son named Jermajesty. I shit you not.

3:04 PM

Berry Gordy went on and on and on about how he made the Jackson 5 what they were. Maybe he did make them stars...but really, is this the time to make that point?

And he kept saying Michael Jack-thon (lisp). The undithputed king of pop...a kid who fulfilled his wildeth dreamth.

They just panned to a wide shot of the Jackson brothers - all in black suits with yellow ties and red rose boutenniere and dark sunglasses inside the dark arena.

Now they're running a montage of his videos and the crowd is going CRAZY.

3:10 PM

They're running this thing commercial free - that's gotta be costing a pretty penny to the networks.

Stevie Wonder just came out. At least it makes sense that he's wearing sunglasses inside the arena.

He really should just shave off that mullet of dreads he's sporting. He's singing some song he wrote that Michael recorded but I've never heard. He's singing out of tune. 

3:17 PM

God that Stevie Wonder song was LONG and depressing. More like a dirge than a song.

Now Kobe Bryant & Magic Johnson are speaking about Michael being a humanitarian.

According to the folks at NBC News Kobe and Michael were "great friends".

Jesus Magic Johnson is one big mo-fo.

3:20 PM

I guess Magic was in an MJ video "Remember the Times". Who knew?

According to Magic, MJ loved eating KFC. 

So yeah, you and Michael have The Colonel in common.

3:24 PM

Jennifer Hudson is singing one of his songs now.

When Kobe and Magic were done speaking the Jackson 4 got up to give them a big hug. The camera got a shot of his kids - they're a little odd looking.

The background choir is step dancing and signing the words of the song. Shit, now they're dancing in a circle around Jennifer Hudson while a voice-over of Michael plays in the background. Creepy!

He may just pop out of that coffin yet!

3:28 PM

According to Al Sharpton Michael was a civil rights god. A leader in breaking down barriers.

I might have to remove myself to the bathroom instead of listening to this.

3:30 PM

Did you know that because of Michael Jackson Oprah got to be on TV and Tiger got to play golf? And EVERYONE got to vote for a black man for president.

The sound you hear is  vomit exploding from my mouth.

3:36 PM

Now the only white guy to grace the stage so far - John Mayer is playing electric guitar - MJ's "human nature"

BORING.

3:45 PM

Brooke Shields is speaking now and can hardly control her tears. Very sincere. Very real. She used to give him shit about the one glove thing.

So far her and Magic Johnson seemed the most genuine. Lots of others seem to be there for the show of it.

3:49 PM

Whew. that was emotional!

Okay, next up on the cavalcade of stars is Jermajesty's Dad, Jermain Jackson singing MJ's favourite song "Smile though your heart is aching".

I think it's pretty cool he can keep it together enough to sing at his brother's service.

BTW, in addition to the black suits/yellow ties/red roses all the brothers are wearing one sequined glove.

3:53 PM

Okay, Jermain struggled through that one. Now all the other brothers are giving him the love. They look like the mafia. 

Now up: Martin Luther King III?!? WTF??

4:00 PM

Those MLK children took what seemed forever to get through their sermon. The sister is a better speaker than MLK III.

Surely it's got to be over soon?

Just noticed Gidget shit on the deck at some point. Guess the grass is too long for her little princess ass.

Oh my god, some woman is now speaking on behalf of the Congress of the United States of America!

4:04 PM

That broad needs to  give the stage over to someone else. Maybe time for another song!

Hey, today's our 3 year anniversary!  Happy Anniversary Honey!  Who'd have thought 3 years ago that we'd be doing this today?

4:09 PM

Oh good, it IS song!
Sung by Usher!

Another guy not blind but wearing shades in doors. WTF?

Nice song though "Gone too soon"

Funniest Tweet on Twitter so far: "When will we know the memorial is over and the circus has begun?"

True, so true!

4:13 PM

Usher is singing to the casket. 

He broke down trying to sing the last note. Finally took his damn shades off. Getting the love from the brothers and Janet & LaToya. Then he went to give condolences to MJ's momma. Camera pans to a wide shot where you can see MJ's kids.

His kids looked bored by the whole thing.

Now playing a video of the Jackson 5 where Michael looks like a little pimp.

4:20 PM

If this doesn't end soon, you might not be getting dinner tonight. Plus, it's cutting into critical Y&R time.

Smokey Robinson back on stage reminiscing about how MJ took one of his songs and sang it better then he did. Seems a little chapped still after 40 years.

Ah, time for another song. This time by some 10 year old kid singing some blues song. Shaheen Jafargholi is his name - ever heard of him?

4:29 PM

Kenny Ortega - producer of his upcoming concert tour also put together today's memorial. He's on stage now telling everyone how they pulled it off on such short notice. For F-sake, the guy has been dead for 12 days...

Giving a big plug to the Staples Centre for hosting.

Some scary google-eyed guy singing the opening to We are the World. I think they're from the back-up choir. Oh, no, they're from the cast of the now never-to-be-seen London show.

This is the Big Finale. All the celebs are making their way to the stage to sing along. Big love fest. I notice no one is giving a microphone to any of the remaining Jacksons.

Now a group of children is coming out on stage singing Make this a Better Place. Nice touch.

4:36 PM

It's OVER...except for all the commentating that I'm sure will start at any moment.

Only one teary-eyed moment for me and that was when Brooke Sheilds was fighting back tears.

Guess you'll get dinner after all!

Oh WAIT. The family is taking the mic one-by-one crying and such - yikes, don't think this was scripted!

4:41 PM

Sweet Jesus, they let his daughter speak. Wrenching.

4:45 PM

Some clarity:

Shaheen Jharagolhi (or whatever) was the runner up from Britain's Got Talent and was supposed to be on tour with MJ for the London shows.

NBC Commentators liked Brooke Shields best too.

Theme of many speeches seems to be that MJ was a "victim" ... maybe now "they'll leave him alone".

Not bloody likely.

Thor, God of Thunder

I may have mentioned a time or two that it's been hellishly rainy here on the island in the Northumberland Strait for oh, say the last month.  Today's forecast is finally showing sun heading our way for the next few days, and thank heavens for that, because honestly, if I had to endure ONE MORE DAY in the rain, I was seriously considering buying a tanning bed for the basement, just to get some ultra-violet rays.

Last week the storms were at their worst, culminating on a immense thunder and lightening storm on Thursday afternoon.  It rained so hard in town that the one whom I adore got storm stayed at the hotel while the maintenance team sandbagged the exit to the underground garage where he was parked.  

Out here in country the storm was so violent that internet, satellite TV and electricity were all cut off for a while.  Which made enduring the meltdown all the more difficult with nothing to distract me.

The meltdown I refer to of course is none other than Snickers Cameron.  The boy is traumatized with the mere hint of a rumble of thunder.   And given that old Thor was having a hell of a party Thursday afternoon well, Snickers' meltdown was of god-like proportions.

I really feel bad for the dog.  He cannot rationalize that it's just a noise and that it isn't going to hurt him.  And as this 50-lb beast sat on my lap, quivering like a baby, whining and licking his chops incessantly, there was really nothing I could do to calm him down.  Not even bribing him with Snausages worked.

Eventually, the storm subsided, the power came back on and so did TV and internet.  Thank God, because what would I ever do without my connection to all things Michael Jackson?

Anyway, on Saturday we ventured downtown to see a movie (Sunshine Cleaning, very cute in a Little Miss Sunshine or Juno kind of way) and as we sat in the little art-house cinema, we heard it.  The rumblings of thunder.  Not just any thunder, mind you.  Thunder the likes of which Thursday's storm was considered miniscule by comparison.  There we were, in town, while the one who is a chicken was home to face the terror alone.

When I lived in Vancouver I volunteered every July for the Vancouver Fireworks Festival, which is an international competition held over the course of four nights from English Bay in Vancouver's West End, where I happened to live at the time.  As a volunteer I would leave early to get everything set up for the VIP dinners at the Boathouse and then I would come home very late, long after the last sparkler had flared out and all the revelers were making their way back to suburbia.  Fireworks make the same noise as thunder, don'tcha know.

One night I came home to my apartment to find that Snickers had been absolutely terrorized.  In his quest to escape the sound of incoming schrapnel that is a fireworks show in his mind, he tries to go to higher ground.  Given that we lived in an apartment, the only higher ground that existed was the top of my bed or the kitchen counters.  Which is exactly where he must have been climbing when he cleared the kitchen counter of its contents, scattering everything to the floor, including shattering a bottle of very expensive Balsamic Vinegar.  Realizing he was no safer there, he must have climbed down, carefully placing each foot in the vinegar and then tracking it through the entire apartment, up on every piece of furniture he could find desperately seeking comfort and escape.  

So, you could imagine what was running through my mind Saturday night as I sat in the movie theatre in downtown Charlottetown while he was here, alone except for the Gidge to suffer through a thunder storm on his own.  I racked my brain trying to think of what was on the kitchen counter and deciding that really, it didn't matter because there was nothing I could do at this point.  So I settled in to watch the movie.

When we got home he greeted us at the door in his usual manner, tail wagging and the slipper of the one whom I adore firmly tucked into his cheek.  We thought all was good.  He seemed no worse for wear and even ventured to wonder if the storm maybe didn't make its way out to the OBB.

Wrong.

Upon closer inspection we found the guest room bed which I had just made up the day before completely disheveled, blankets torn back, pillows tossed on the floor.  My office door was almost practically jammed shut with my chair rolled up against the doorknob as if to lock out the noise.  The wardrobe in my changing room had clothes thrown out of it, as though someone were rummaging for a pair of matching socks they just couldn't find.  The windowsill in our bedroom had big drops of saliva on the ledge, as did the mousepad of my laptop.  In fact, there were big gobby drops of saliva all over the house.  Seems he roamed from one room to the next desperately looking for escape, or something that had my scent on it for comfort.  Poor dog.

I mean, it had to be Snickers, right?  Either him or Frieda?  BOO!

When In Rome

Recently, I was writing an article about travel and more specifically, the fact that when it comes to travel karma, I’ve been blessed, or at the very least, very, very lucky.   I was waxing on and on about how despite having traveled the world over I have never had a missed connection, a lost piece of luggage or even a mechanical come between me and a good trip.

Funny the tricks that memory plays on your mind, because, there was that one time in Rome…

Now, this story doesn’t really fall under the category of missed connection or lost luggage, but it does most definitely fall under the category of being very lucky.

I had been on a Mediterranean cruise aboard a beautiful yacht, sailing from Monte Carlo to Rome.  At the  time I was living in Atlanta, and despite my opinion to the contrary, the company I worked for just couldn’t seem to live without me for the full 10 days that my itinerary called for.  Instead I was “allowed” to take this trip on the condition that after 6 days I would return to Atlanta.

So fine, yeah, I was indispensable. 

As arranged, I disembarked the ship 3 ports of call earlier than the itinerary called for.  This happened to be in Catania, on the island of Sicily and I’m here to tell you, disembarking the ship, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it as far as the airport, let alone back to Atlanta.  After submitting to a thorough screening, because who the hell gets of a luxury yacht in Sicily when the itinerary says it’s going on to Naples and then Rome?  Yes, that would be me and without a lick of Italian to aid me, I had to explain why to the customs officers who were rifling my luggage as though I was exporting vast quantities of illegal substances.  Which, just for the record, I WASN’T.

Eventually, limping through my Lonely Planet Italian, I was able to make myself understood and was allowed to taxi to the airport for my flight to Rome.  Nothing in Italy ever leaves on time and my flight was no exception.  We sat for what seemed like hours on the tarmac waiting for our turn to take off.  I don’t know what the delay was, but suffice it to say, when we eventually landed in Rome, my fellow travelers were more than ready to get off the plane and they didn’t care who the manhandled to get to the jet-way fastest.

I had only been to Rome once before and that had been on the connecting flight to Nice where we were embarking on our cruise.  I had an early morning flight to New York the next day and so had made plans to spend the night at the Sheraton Roma Hotel, which offered its guests a complimentary shuttle service from the airport.  On my previous visit to the Rome Airport I staked out the location of the shuttle and made mental note that when I came back to Rome I would get the hotel shuttle “here.”

The only problem with my little plan, however, was the fact that the airport has more than one terminal and although I was indeed at Rome's Fiumicino Airport, I had not arrived at the same terminal as I had previously.  Which of course meant that the shuttle that was supposed to be “here” was in fact “there” and I had no idea where “there” was.

Did I mention I had also exchanged every last one of my Lire with one of my fellow travelers before disembarking the yacht?  Did I mention this story takes place in the days before ATMs?  Hard to imagine, I know, but yes, long ago, in a land far away, in the middle of the night, I was stuck at an airport without any local currency and no way to make my way to my hotel for the night.

After wandering around the airport, hopelessly lost, a kind man who had been watching me meander aimlessly took pity on me and with a combination of Italian and English enquired if I perhaps needed some assistance, or at the very least, some directions?  Thank God, because despite the fact that I have an extensive vocabulary and a working tongue in my head, I did not have the confidence to walk up to a perfect stranger and ask for help.   Although, once approached by this handsome, older man who I’m sure only wanted to help out a young woman traveling by herself in the middle of the night, I found my tongue and was able to yes, ask for directions to the shuttle to the hotel.   He gladly offered directions and was even kind enough to escort me to the location where I could pick up the shuttle.  Which was in a dark parking lot, with no signage and only one dimly lit streetlight.

He bid me farewell, assuring me that the bus would be along shortly.  So there I stood.  Alone.  In the dark.  By myself.  Under a dimly lit streetlight.  With no one by my side.  Exhausted.  And more than just a little bit nervous.

I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  My watch told me I had been there for almost an hour and I was beginning to doubt that my kind stranger knew what the hell he was talking about, but then I remembered, “This is Italy.  Nothing is ever on time and what makes me think the shuttle bus that should be along shortly would be on time?”  Silly me.  So I continued to wait.

That’s when it happened.  Suddenly out of the pitch black came swirling blue lights and the unmistakable wail of police sirens.  Four Polizia cars careened out of the darkness to come to a full stop right at my feet.  An outfit of Army officers, armed with machine guns burst out of the cars and started screaming at me…but they were screaming in Italian and I had no idea what they were yelling.  I doubt it was “is this where the shuttle comes?”  It most definitely wasn’t “welcome to Roma”. 

No, it was more like “get the hell out of the way….NOW!”  Except, as I said, I didn’t know Italian and they didn’t stop long enough to think that perhaps I wasn’t from the neighborhood, so I stood there, my eyes locked on their machine guns.  Machine Guns!  I had never seen a shot gun, let alone a semi-automatic machine gun!  It wasn’t until one of them was pointed at my face that suddenly I understood perfectly clearly they wanted me to move out of the way.

I obliged.

As I stood shaking in my sandals, barely able to control my bladder I watched as another group of machine-gun toting officers hustled out of the airport, surrounding an older man whom they loaded into one of the Polizia cars and tore off into the night, sirens screaming, lights flashing.

And then?  Nothing.  You’ve never heard silence more deafening than after you’ve been on the business end of a machine gun, in the dark, in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language. 

I just stood there.  Stunned.  And then it came.  Like a knight in shining armour, except that it was a motorcoach in shining chrome…my shuttle bus had arrived…very lucky indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Blister by Any Other Name Would Still be Herpes

Note to self:

Re:  The correct application of sunscreen

Please be advised that the next time you decide to spend 12 hours in the sun ensure that in addition to slathering your face and other body parts with sunscreen  you ALSO find an SPF protectant for your lips.  You will save yourself the resulting tumor that's now moving across your mouth.

Oh to be so sun sensitive!  I spent an entire day last weekend in the sun and while the rest of me was adequately protected, sadly I neglected to do the same for my lips and am I paying for it now.  I have three, yes THREE, full blown cold sores, two on my upper and one on my lower lip.

As soon as I got home I knew they were coming.  There's no mistaking that pre-cold-sore burn and sure enough, come Monday the blisters started rising.  In my vain attempt to ward off a full outbreak I broke out my Witch Hazel which is said to have healing elements to reduce or eliminate the full blown effects of a cold sore.    I was too late.  They had already set up shop complete with their own coffee makers and  internet accounts on my face.  

Rather than face the world with this seeping, oozing, blistering growth that is my mouth, I chose to hide out in the house the last couple of days.  First to save any shred of dignity I have and secondly to conserve gas.  But on Friday?  Friday I just had to go to town.

You miss a lot when you don't go to town on a regular basis.  Like for instance, the little house that sits beside the Oyster Bed Bridge store?  Yeah, they jacked it up and moved it two fields over and one field back.  Now there's just a hole where the foundation of the house sat.  Also?  The sweet little Cape Cod house that just sold last year is up for sale again!  In less than 6 months after it was sold the last time!  And another thing?  It's strawberry season here on the island and our neighbors down the road who have their own berry patch had the sandwich board up and were selling this year's crop.  Which - by the way - is delicious and so much better then last year.

So off to town I went.  I had errands to run in three different locations and while I know I'm overly self-conscious of this facial growth at the moment, I know with full certainty that not one of those customer service agents could look me in the eye.  No, they were transfixed on my lips.  With the oozing, seeping blisters that are so big, they flash their GPS coordinates in neon lights.  Oh sure, I tried to camouflage the wounds, but really, Chanel Roux Sienna Lip Pencil & Mac Nude Lip Glass can only hide so much.  Neither could hide the big red scab that is the area above my upper lip.  I'm so pretty, oh so pretty!

Thank God cold sores only last 10 days, which means I only have 5 more to go before I can leave the house again.   

In Case of Emergency...

I have a friend who years ago confided to me that she only reads cookbooks or cooking magazines.  I remember thinking at the time, well isn't that kind of sad?  I mean to intentionally cut off all other types of literature and trashy books  to solely focus on one genre...how limiting.

She missed out on the delights of biographies, travelogues, business building books, self-help books and let's don't forget all those Harlequin Romances!  Okay, even I don't read those books...but...you get my point.  To only read cookbooks or cooking related magazines...BORING.

Or so I thought.

I've spent untold hours over the years thumbing through cookbooks myself, but I didn't really consider it "reading" per se.   I discovered the joys of a lazy morning spent perusing dog-eared cookbooks or the latest edition of Canadian Living with its seasonal and Canadian-focused recipes, searching for inspiration for that night's dinner.   Then, I discovered on-line recipe search engines.   Then, I discovered that place where you can put in  your main ingredient and come out with an entire cookbook of recipes that you can make with that one featured component.

Thursday it was all about coconut.  I had been hankering for a sweet treat ever since the homones started raging earlier in the week.  I waged a hard-fought battle, but yesterday morning, I just had to give in.  I searched for the words "coconut recipes" and through the power of the internet found  a website dedicated to all things coconut.  Coconut shrimp.  Coconut cream pie.  Coconut chocolate bars.  Coconut frosting.  Coconut ice cream.   Coconut macaroons.

They had me at macaroon.  And hey, I just so happened to have all the ingredients in my kitchen.  It must have been fated.  I was destined to make macaroons.  And so I did.  They turned out p.e.r.f.e.c.t.   I have never made a macaroon so easily that tasted so damn good.  

Which of course presented the next problem.  If I'm diligently on the no crap for Kim campaign, somehow coconut macaroons don't fit into the daily meal plan.  

Unless, of course, you allow yourself ONE day a week to indulge in something besides vegetables, high fibre foods and lean meats.  I decided this week, Thursday would be that day.  And so I had one.  Okay, I had two.  Really, it was three.  But then the adult, responsible side of my brain regained control over the adolescent, want-to-eat-each-and-every-last-one-until-I-am-almost-sick-from-the-sweetness  of my alter-ego.   I put the rest in the freezer.  

And that's where they sit right now.  Oh sure, I squirreled away a couple for the one whom I adore to enjoy when he got home last night.  But the rest?  They are safely tucked away in the deep freeze, only to be released in case of an extreme emergency.   

**********************************************************************************

Update.  

This morning upon waking and discovering that the sun that was promised was not shining for the 15th day in a row,  thus today's weather constituted an "emergency"  I had one for breakfast.    It was left-over from the stash I squirreled away for the one whom I adore, but still.  Macaroons for breakfast.  Even I can't justify the health benefits of that.

Love Is..

“They say” the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and until about 3 years ago, I seldom had the occasion to test this theory.  However, over the course of the last 36 months, I’ve had an abundance of opportunities to run this one up the flagpole to see if it flies.   Ladies & gentlemen, I am here to tell you, it flies like a flag caught in a westerly PEI wind.   

In fact, I now know this so well, that I am secure in the knowledge that the one whom I adore is going to keep me around for a while, if for no other reason than the dinner I served him last night.  He’s still talking about it.  According to he, “it was a flavour-fest”.

Once upon a time, back when I was less skilled in culinary arts,  back when I had zero appreciation for the skill, creativity and love that went into preparing a meal...I used to like to go out for dinner, but honestly, and I don’t mean to brag here,  I’m a pretty damn good cook and really? … really?  Why go out and pay $120 for dinner for two when we can stay home and eat something I’ve created (which will be delicious) for far less?  You don't need a recession to tell you that that just makes good sense!  

You don’t need to be Julia Child either.  I consider most everything I make to be simple fare.  And tasty.  And all of it home-made.  Last night’s menu:

Fresh PEI Mussels with fennel & lemon

Crispy Cabbage Salad

Greek Salad

Home-made Herbes de Provence Bread

Really, the bread took the longest and that’s only because you have to knead it for 15-minutes (by hand) and then let it rise twice.  But really, it’s the easiest recipe for bread I’ve ever encountered. For me making bread from scratch is almost as restorative as taking a yoga class.  The very fact that you’re required to work it by hand for as much as 15 minutes at a time, the act of making bread becomes a bit of a zen-like experience.  I work the dough between my fingers and imagine all the different ways I could make the loaf – a boule (shaped like a ball), braided (like a challah) or a simple easy-does-it loaf.  Last night I braided it and it looked pretty.  It tasted even better then it looked.

I don’t actually eat mussels and if that isn’t a testament to the one whom I adore, I don’t know what is.  Who else will make an entire main course for their husband and then eat the previous night’s leftover pork tenderloin?  Me - that’s who!  This way we're both happy - he gets his feed of mussels and I don't have to eat them.  We’re a full 45-days into fresh seafood season here on the island and up until yesterday I had served nary a mussel, lobster or scallop – so a seafood feast was long past due.

If you’re lucky enough to have fresh seafood near you and you’d like to try last night’s menu here are two recipes for you!

Mussels with Fennel & Lemon

3 tbsp olive oil

1 red onion, finely diced

4 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

2 tbsp fennel seeds

1/2 tsp red pepper flakes

1 cup white wine

1/2 cup freshly chopped parsley

2 lemon slices (1/4” thick)

2 lbs mussels

Clean and de-beard mussels, set aside.  Sautee onion in olive oil until soft.  Add garlic, fennel, red pepper flakes, 1/4 cup parsley, lemon slices & wine.  Bring to a boil and add mussels.  Cook until mussels open, approximately 6 minutes.  With slotted spoon remove cooked mussels, being careful to remove any that have not opened.  Garnish with remaining parsley.  Return broth back to stovetop, bringing to a boil.  Once broth has reduced to about a cup (approximately 3 mins), pour over mussels and serve.

Herbes de Provence Bread

1 package of instant yeast

1 tsp sugar

1 cup luke warm water (116 – 121 degrees F)

1/4 cup olive oil

2 tbsp herbes de Provence

1 tsp salt

2.5 cups flour (more if needed)

Mix yeast, sugar & luke-warm warm.  Let stand 10 minutes until yeast has become activated.  In large mixing boil combine olive oil, herbes de provence & salt.  Add the yeast/water mixture, stirring until well combined.  Add flour 1/2 cup at a time, mixing after each addition until you have a firm dough.  Move to floured surface and knead in remaining flour.  Continue to knead dough for 15 minutes.  Set aside and cover with either a tea-towel or cling wrap and set in warm place until dough has doubled – approximately 45 minutes.

Once dough has doubled, punch down and shape into a loaf or boule and let rise another 30-minutes.  Place in 400-degree oven and bake for 25 minutes.