Play Small-ball

I was born in the Bronx and raised a New York Yankees fan. Some of my earliest photos have me donning a blue baseball cap and pinstripes. Many of the fondest memories I have of time with my Dad are watching the Yankees play ball. I was raised to love the Bronx Bombers much like children are raised to love their siblings which makes my mixed emotions over the past weeks are so hard to admit (and potentially earn me getting my thumbs broken by the Yankees Mob). Watching the Yankees face the Twins in post-season play was much like watching my sister get into a fight with my best friend; I’ll always love my “sister” and stand by “her” unconditionally, but I really like my “best friend” a whole lot.

After living outside of New York for over 16 years I understand that a great majority of Americans hate the Yankees. Whether it is over their payroll, tactics, personalities, or history there are many reasons for non-Yankee fans to hate the Yankees. I completely understand the contempt; jealously is an ugly but natural emotion. Regardless, I struggle with many of the same issues non-fans do as the team becomes more a group of hired mercenaries whose soul mission is to win the World Series each year no matter how much it costs or how that cost effects the fans ability to watch games. To the Yankees defense they are not the only team to put forth a high-bucks business model, they just happen to be poster child for the practice.

As the Yankees now face the Angles I am reminded of another reason I just don’t follow my hometown team, or for that matter baseball, like I used to. After watching one homerun after another I realized how boring homeruns are; there’s no strategy, no teamwork, just one person who spends a lot of time in the gym, maybe with a supplement or two, connecting with the ball. My disdain for the homerun driven game spits in the face of contemporary “scholars” who see homerun hitters as crucial to making the game exciting and filling the ballparks. Big brass in baseball turned a blind-eye on the rampant steroid use for simple business reasons; these bulked up super hitters were saving baseball and reviving interest after the strike in 1994 and 1995 soured fans. What this change in players and the game did was attract a new breed of baseball fan, those who hungered for the instant gratification of the homerun. Perhaps the change was necessary given changes to the US overall and the rise of the “me” generation; those who want it all and want it all now.

Personally, I enjoy small-ball. I like it when players work the count. I remember when the leadoff hitter did everything they could to just get on base so they could then steal second and third. A home run was a special treat not a part of your regular diet. As a special treat the home run was fun and exciting, like a trip to the ice cream parlor or cotton candy at the circus. Today home runs are as routine as breakfast cereal is to an 8 year old. Small-ball requires the whole team to work together to manufacturer runs, not just rely on a few superstars to knock it out of the ballpark. Small-ball is what makes baseball a team sport; today’s game is an individual strength competition. Very few players know how to lay down a good bunt anymore. Teams are producing as many stolen bases combined as some individuals used to. The base running blunders we’ve seen in this year’s post season have much to do with the lack of base running practice players get these days; it doesn’t require much skill to jog around the diamond after a home run.

I still love the Yankees, I just don’t like them as much as I used to. I would prefer it if they were a team of players and not just individual guys doing their own thing who happen to wear the same uniform. I still like baseball but don’t enjoy it nearly as much when it was a team sport that required strategic thinking and various skills from each player. Today’s baseball teams are like a band of nothing but tubas; lots of strength, but the sweet music offered by the other instruments is fading away.

Quote of the Week

Surrounded by people who love life, you love it too; surrounded by people who don't, you don't.
- Mignon McLaughlin

I'm Still Standing

I’m back. I think. I am plotting my return from a self-imposed writing hiatus brought to yours truly by something more debilitating than plain-Jane writer’s block; word block. I am no stranger to this odd communication phenomenon. It is so familiar I can tell the signs of its impending arrival much like a tickle in the throat sends us to the pharmacy for some vitamin C and cold medicine. My mind goes blank in mid-conversation, I can’t remember simple words like “dog,” “car, or “beer.” The names of people I see everyday become completely foreign. Simple conversation becomes painful as I struggle to find not just the right words, but any word. I develop a stutter and shut down to hide this inarticulate stranger I become. My most recent struggle with word block was especially painful because I thought I was doing a good job managing what brings about these symptoms, stress, but apparently was not doing as well as I thought.

For most Americans stress-management is as foreign as eating sushi for breakfast; it’s just not done here. Americans could easily be categorized as stress-junkies. Our culture pushes people to take on more; more responsibilities, more debt, more projects, more stuff. It is common-place for people to brag about how busy they are, as if who can fit more into a single day is the ultimate badge of honor. Enjoying a lazy day of doing nothing is tantamount to treason. Who is putting in more hours at work? Who is skipping on vacations and time with family and friends because there is far too much to get done? Who is over-volunteering for a club, a charity, or organization when they barely have time for themselves?

The word block freight train signals that some stressor in my life needs to be dealt with. Addressing the cause of my communication issues often eliminates the block altogether but this time was different. There was nothing I could pinpoint as causing my block. All the things that historically kept me from reaching my upper-stress limits were actively in place; regular workouts, time to read, quality time with people I love, and red wine. Although I was actively engaged in de-stressors, some stress caused me to lose my normally eloquent self.

Eventually I was able to pinpoint what the cause of my stress was; the world around me. Sure, that might seem like a generalistic copout but you can’t turn on the TV, radio, or computer without hearing about the difficult time we live in. Skyrocketing unemployment, plummeting home values, and raging wars caused me to stress out through some type of media osmosis. Reading the paper, watching the news, sympathizing with out of work friends brought on survivors guilt. I still (as of “print” time) have my job. I still have my home. I still have 3 meals a day. I still have healthcare. I still have stability in a world where increasing numbers of people don’t.

Survivor’s guilt is not the only reason for stress. As many corporate survivors will tell you after a layoff, there is incredible pressure to take on more, do more, and demonstrate more value. Employers demand that “survivors” pick up the slack so they can squeeze more out of a smaller workforce, using tough economic times to get more for less. We are told repeatedly that we are lucky to have our jobs, even if those jobs are no longer what we “signed-up” for. Too many find themselves overworked and under appreciated yet unable to express those feelings for fear of losing our jobs.

To weather my stress storm it is important to keep reminding myself that my life isn’t as bad as the media wants me to believe. My home value is in the toilet but we aren’t planning to sell anytime soon. My 401K is shot but I am decades away from retirement. The industry I work for might change dramatically in the upcoming years but the skillset I have translates well to any and all industries. There are many things I could lose if the economy keeps plummeting, but in the grand scheme of things it is those things that I can never lose that are most important to me; the love of my family, my close friends, my education, and my life experiences.

Memorable Meals

It is estimated we spend 7 years of our life eating. For those of us who love and savor our food, that estimate is probably low. Out of the 60,000+ meals we will each consume in the average lifetime, how many do you remember? Most of us can’t remember what we ate last night let alone years ago, but even as time passes and years blur together certain meals make a lasting impression on us. These meals are often memorable not just because of the food, but the friends, stories, and experience behind the meal. Smell and taste serve as excellent reminders of a point in time, an experience, a pivotal moment in our lives. As a self-professed foodie I can recall many “food moments” because a good dinner is just as memorable as seeing a concert or Broadway show. The list below is a snapshot of my memorable meals. Some were remarkable because of the food, but most were memorable because of the senses the meal satisfied other then taste.

Ivy Cottage “Risotto of the Day” Seafood Risotto
My mother, sister Renee’, and I decided to enjoy the process of choosing a bridal shower location and visited several local restaurants for a glass of wine and a shared appetizer. This allowed us to assess the service and experience the food. We sat at the bar at the Ivy Cottage and ordered a bowl of Seafood Risotto with 3 spoons. After taking a bite we each had the same physical reaction; we placed our spoons down in utter amazement and let the flavors envelop us. While the Ivy Cottage didn’t win our shower business (too small for our group) it did win a place on this list.

Manny’s Scallop Benedict
Perfectly seared scallops, salty bacon, and creamy hollandaise sauce; what more can you ask for in an appetizer?

Cinderella’s Royal Table Beef Barley Soup
Soup is among my top comfort foods and is a staple in my diet. We frequently visited family in Florida and never missed an opportunity to see Mickey Mouse and his friends. After a long day of running from line to line we would have dinner in Cinderella’s Castle and the first course was always the thickest beef barley soup served in a pewter bowl. I hold that soup as the standard for beef barley and have yet to find another that matches its flavor.

Umberto’s Sausage Pizza
Umberto’s of New Hyde Park is one of the last pizza joints in NY who hasn’t messed around with their recipe to save a buck. The crust is perfect for folding the pizza and eating it like a New Yorker. The sauce is rich, thick, fresh, and not over sweet, and the toppings plentiful. I don’t often make it to Umberto’s because Alfredo’s of Westbury is closer and nearly as good, but I will always remember the pizza and Italian food served at our Rehearsal Kegger, er, I mean "Dinner" the night before our wedding. The food at our wedding at The Harbor Club was to die for (the Long Island Seafood Bisque was amazing, but unfortunately the only thing the bride and groom had time to consume that evening). We had plenty of time the night before our wedding to relax with our family and out of town guests and savor the tastes of a fine pizza pie.

Lamb Burgers at St. Leonard’s Vineyard Cottages
Idyllic weather, gorgeous location, amazing company, fresh and local ingredients, and perfectly paired wines transformed an evening meal at a bed and breakfast into a night I will never forget. After a long day visiting the wineries of New Zealand’s Marlborough region my husband and I decided to hit the grocery store and take advantage of the grill outside our cottage (technically the stables if you are interested in visiting these accommodations). The lamb was full of flavor and perfectly seasoned with rosemary, salt, and pepper, served atop a freshly baked bun with tzatziki. Just thinking of that meal I shared with my husband overlooking the countryside makes me smile.

Café Runtz Pork Roast with Sauerkraut
Parisians take their food very seriously; even a one star restaurant serves meals to write home about. Not that Café Runtz is a hole in the wall, but it is a very modest establishment and not mistaken as one of the city’s glitzy and glamorous restaurants. Serving specialties from the Alsatian region of France, the German influences on the food make the meal a much hardier affair then the smaller dishes in many cafes. The Pork Roast melts in your mouth and the sauerkraut is expertly prepared to complement the meal rather than overpower it. If you are visiting Paris make a point to visit this restaurant; you will not be disappointed.

The Natural Resort in Ko Phi Phi
I can’t remember what we ate, but nonetheless this was a meal I will always remember for the setting. Ko Phi Phi is a remote island off the coast of Thailand and we stayed in a little bungalow at The Natural Resort. One evening the wait staff set a private table down on the beach right on the waterline for us, complete with candles and tiki torches for mood lighting. The servers anticipated our every need and went about their business virtually unnoticed, leaving us to focus completely on the moment. Whether we had the Pad Thai or the Thai Dumplings doesn’t really matter; no meal will ever top the romance factor of that dinner on a beach in the middle of no where.

Amy’s Café Paella, Leicester Square Market, London
I don’t know if it was at Amy’s Café or if it was just a stand set up outside the café, but we entered the market and could almost taste the paella in the air. Head downstairs at the market and don’t be shy to order the large size. My husband and I could argue about the best paella ever (the now closed Café Havana in Minneapolis being his favorite) but the paella in the Leicester market is not only delicious, it will be fondly remembered as a dish enjoyed while sitting on the ground that saved me and my friends from an impending hangover disaster.

Coin de Mer Mussels Gratin
Upon entering the Coin de Mer in Brussels, Belgium we began thinking we might be suckers who walked into the first restaurant that offered us a free drink on the Rue Des Bouchers (aka Beenhouwers Straat). Our fears were quickly diminished upon the arrival of a tray of mussels under a sea of molten cheese; two of my favorite things! The rest of the meal (consisting of more mussels!!) was incredible, but nothing compared to that tray of cheesy goodness.

Amy’s Flank Steak with Tarragon Potatoes
My friend Amy has a signature dish, one that she expertly executes for her friends and family. The meal is simple but delicious, but these dishes are remarkable because they are always eaten with a glass of fine wine in a room filled with the chatter and laughter of loved ones.

Sunday Dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s House
My Grandfather made meatballs with so much garlic and onion that even those with the most iron constitutions would suffer indigestion. Grandma usually served pasta swimming in tomato sauce with a side of ricotta cheese (cavatelli my favorite). Crusty Italian bread accompanied the meal for slopping up the sauce or making meatball sandwiches. This same meal, with some variation on the pasta course, fed my body every Sunday for the better part of my childhood. Through the years I have managed to recreate those meatballs (secret ingredients: paprika and lard) and even managed to perfect the tomato sauce (gravy to those of us with Italian roots). But alas the meal was special not just because of the food served, but because the fun we had playing games, laughing, and spending time with our family. It makes me sad to think how little people appreciate the importance of a slow, traditional meal with their family; I would not be the same person I am today without these Sunday dinners.

Dad’s Beef Stew
Loosely based off of James Beard’s Beef Bourguignon recipe, this meal was a winter staple in the Trombetta household. My sisters and I would help Dad by peeling potatoes and carrots and dumping them practically whole into the broth to simmer for hours and hours and hours. This soup that eats like a meal is best served by the crustiest loaf of bread from Cardinali Bakery in my hometown. I told my father all I wanted for a wedding gift was the recipe and I have tweaked it slightly to make it my own (change number 1: actually cutting the vegetables to bite size!).

Mom’s Thanksgiving Stuffing
American Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays and much of that is because it is the one meal a year where my Mother opts to cook rather then call for takeout. Every stop is pulled out and it is an amazing meal shared with our family complete with well over 10 different dishes. The standout dish on the table for me is the stuffing (aka dressing). Mom inherited the recipe from her mother and it is not only delicious but is responsible for a few family members being born right after the holiday (can gas build up actually blow a kid out?). There have certainly been other memorable Thanksgivings in my life. A 5 star chef in Luxembourg cooked an elaborate American Thanksgiving meal for me and my co-workers since we were away from home (and not remembering the name of this fine establishment started my habit of taking a photo of the sign of every restaurant I eat at on vacation). I once celebrated Thanksgiving in Sydney, Australia with a meal consisting of nothing but pie. Last year I hosted a gourmet Thanksgiving for 24 with my husband and Amy. However, nothing beats giving thanks with my family over a plateful of Mom’s stuffing.

Wade’s Chili
My husband’s chili is never the same twice but it is always delicious. Sometimes he uses buffalo, sometimes beef, but his absolute best batch ever was completely vegetarian. My sister visited us and wanted to taste some of this award-winning chili but didn’t eat meat. Wade took time to read every single ingredient and make a completely meat and fish free batch. The chili is award winning and disappears so quickly my Mother gifted Wade with an 18 quart slow cooker so he could make larger batches!

The Food Network ran a special on favorite foods which sparked the interest in writing on this topic (as my husband references in his “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” article). To me favorite food and favorite meal are two totally different things. My favorite food is subject to a different set of criteria than my favorite meal. A favorite food is something that one never tires of, can be eaten every day, and is always satisfying. If someone asks the question “If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be” the answer would probably not be some random food item from a meal on some vacation but something both satisfying and familiar. My favorite meals above range from simple to somewhat elaborate, but my favorite food is something so basic almost every American child (barring an allergy) has subsisted on it at one time or another; the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Organic, natural, smooth peanut butter. Strawberry or blueberry preserves. Whole wheat bread. Delicious!

Vita Brevis! Carpe Diem!

There are so many topics on my list of things to write about; celebrity obsession, the effect of children on marital happiness, my pesky last 12 pounds to lose. But right now everything I do for a living, write about, think about, and act upon seems so terribly trite. My life, my “problems,” and my musings on American culture feel less important following the untimely death of a college friend. Staring at the glowing screen of the laptop, all I can think about is how healthy I am. How happy that my body can run, jump, lift, dance, and sing. How fortunate I am to have a mind that is sharp, analytic, and balanced. It is a shame that it takes horrible life events to put things into perspective and remind us how lucky we are to be alive.

Wendy, a year younger than me, was a fellow Political Science survivor at Mary Washington College. She somehow possessed personality traits that are often mutually exclusive; shy and outgoing, polite and sarcastic, sophisticated and naïve, anxious and tranquil, silly and serious. Wendy would be the first to challenge a professor, to voice her opinion (to which she had many!), and to take action on a cause she believed in. That same woman who had no trouble going toe-to-toe with our professors would clam up in the presence of a cute guy. Her warmth and charm, evidence of a good Virginia upbringing, made her quick wit and sharp tongue beyond hilarious. Wendy could worry about political strife in the world while kicking back with an adult beverage at a Jimmy Buffet concert. She could communicate volumes and change the world with her smile alone. Wendy could somehow laugh, hug, tell a joke, flirt, answer a question, project her opinion, or get herself out of a pickle just by flashing her pearly whites; the best part was she was so terribly modest she had no clue of that power.

Her life after college followed the path I thought my own would take; job on Capitol Hill, apartment in Alexandria, traveling with friends, and involvement in her community. Wendy was brave enough to follow her dreams, even if those dreams started with a very low paying job as a Congressional aide; I will always be in awe of her sticking to her guns. While her life was short she accomplished more then many could claim in a lifetime twice as long.

Wendy was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer mere days after I received word that a co-worker from my first “real” job lost his battle with the same disease at the young age of 52. Both Wendy and Dave were non-smokers who followed the prescription for a long and healthy life; eat well, exercise, develop friendships, laugh, and love. They did everything we are supposed to do but both received a diagnosis usually reserved for people who make less than healthy life choices. Some people smoke all their lives and die of old age, some people manage to avoid the cancer sticks and die in their 30s. Not that I am advocating people taking up a 3 pack-a-day habit, but sometimes even an ounce of prevention isn’t enough to combat cancer if it is in our genes. To quote another friend “life is so hideously unfair.”

Wendy battled her cancer the same way she tackled life; head on with equal doses of humor, strength, courage, and sometimes anger. Despite her poor prognosis she continued joking around with her friends and family, even naming her cancer Earl after a Dixie Chicks’ song; that Earl had to die, goodbye Earl. We followed her blog religiously as Wendy kept us up to date with the ins and outs of her life and her cancer treatments. Her candid honesty was sometimes brutal, but more often brilliant. We cheered when there were signs of tumor shrinkage and cried when her cancer spread. She opened up about her struggle with hair loss and in turn received a boat load of hats from far and wide. We shared her excitement about her upcoming trip to the Dominican Republic and felt immense disappointment that she couldn’t enjoy her passion of travel one more time. Through it all Wendy was not a cancer patient but still her opinionated, open-minded, bacon loving self who happened to have cancer.

Earl ended up being far too strong and aggressive, taking Wendy from us after only 32 years of life. Her Facebook page, which now serves as a make-shift memorial for all those who miss her, includes a powerful reminder for all of us. Wendy left for us a quote from the movie Shawshank Redemption; “Get busy living or get busy dying.” Her legacy will live on in the spirit she so generously left to her friends and family and her reminder that life is short. Seize the day!