Friday, April 3, 2009

What They Hear

I love you. You can't be hungry again. Rock-a-bye.
Winnie the Pooh goes on the front, unless he's on the inside.
Childproof. Terrible twos.
You are what you eat, my little potting soil.
I hear you lying with eyes in the back of my head.
This hurts me more and it's best for you.
Pick up your dirty socks and clean your plate.
Did you want to burn the house down?
Express yourself appropriately.
I'm not the one who wanted a hound.
Words we don't use in THIS house.
You can be anything you choose, but...
Structured play. Age appropriate.
To protect AND empower you in the REAL world.
Safe sports. Adventure games.
Gifted and practice makes perfect.
I spoke with your teacher.
How many times do I have to tell you?
You are NOT other kids who have a cell phone.
Texting? You're three feet apart!
Imagine, dream, and create on schedule.
Show me again how to use the parental control.
What I meant when I said WATCH your sister...
Born in a barn with starving children,
where money trees grow on junk food.
Trust you, and check your email.
It's NOT all about grades.
Make the right decisions.
With whom? Have a good time, check in, and be home by...
Follow your dreams, and make a living wage.
And when did you plan to bring her by to introduce us?
Wrap you, free you, and why haven't you called?
I love you. I'm proud of you. I miss you.
I did the best I could.

Hail Hunks of Halibut

Several years ago, The bar and grill at the Millenium Hotel served a halibut sandwich that no desert rat (like me) could fathom. Fresh sourdough toasted to crispy buttered perfection, a grilled halibut fillet with a just-touched-the-grill crust and flaky textured full flavored fish that must have just jumped off the boat. Microbrew and seaplanes out the window only added to the experience. I've been back a few times, but it wasn't the same. Chewy or mushy fish is such a disappointment.
Then last night we chanced into the Noisy Goose Cafe in Palmer at the right time. I overheard the waitress and chef discussing patrons raving about the halibut. Vik ordered it with the usual sharing agreement. Breaded and fried is not my favorite fish technique, but I'm here to tell you, done right, good fish is not insulted by hot oil. My patty melt was decent for a patty melt, but fork wounds in my wrist mark my efforts to extract a small portion of halibut fingerlings. They were more like toe-lings short and chunky, flaky and filled with flavor, breaded with a crisp and ever so subtly spiced crust... extremis. Toe-lings doesn't sound so good, they were more like earlings, or thumblings, perhaps. Anyway, they were dang good, and I'm drooling like a bulldog over bacon just remembering them.