Son of Freedom Fridays

Last night as I settled into our cozy bed, I must admit I felt giddy anticipation of our imminent Freedom Friday #5. I knew we would be visiting Clementine, a little cafe in Century City that boasts the best scones, muffins, cakes and cookies this side of the Pacific. Those of you who know me know I am a sucker for scones, melt for muffins, and kvell for cakes and cookies. Basically anything bread-related makes my heart beat the faster. So I was all atwitter this morning when we returned from dropping off our boys at their respective schools. We hit the road at 9:15, hit a bit of traffic, but no matter; this was our time. Time spent laughing and holding hands and playing Punch Buggy and acting like we did before our daily dialogue became "Honey, did you pack the diaper bag?"

We didn't have anywhere important to be. We just had each other.

We arrived at Clementine a little after 10, and it's just the cutest little place! It's located on a side street, quaint and romantic, complete with sidewalk tables and a colorful array of customers. We had already agreed we were going to sample multiple things, and we brought our appetites. After asking the guy behind the counter what he'd recommend, we ordered: Stan, a mushroom/basil/three cheese scramble with a side of crisp bacon and a hot buttermilk biscuit. Me, a bacon and leek quiche and a blueberry sour cream coffee cake muffin (their specialty), accompanied by a caramel cappucino.

Heaven.

We lingered over our creations at our adorable wooden table, sharing everything. The best thing on our plates was the quiche, followed closely by the scramble. Both incredibly savory, decadent and dee-lish. Stan's buttermilk biscuit was also awesome, especially smothered with butter and raspberry jam. Truth be told, the least interesting thing we tasted was the muffin. It was mighty good, but apparently the LA Times raved about it, and we thought there were other things behind the counter that looked more my speed. Like the gingerbread cake. Thick and dark and amazing. Shoulda gotten that. Next time.

Bellies full and hearts soaring, we made our way back to the valley and stopped at Target. We went in for two things and came out with twenty... but it was bound to happen; our moods were too jovial (note to self: never shop Target when feeling celebratory). We bought Super Mario pajamas for both kids, a Sonic T-shirt for Addie, and a sweatshirt for Tucker that says "Save Ferris". He'll be clueless, but it'll make me happy. We bought Halloween candy and a spooky brownie kit for the kids. We mused about all the women who wear jeggings five sizes too small and then walk around hiking them up every five seconds.

We had a ball. We entered the elevator with our loot and rode in silence up to the second floor, where our car was. For a moment the elevator was silent, then I looked at Stan, smiled and said, "I love Target." The old woman standing in the elevator with us looked at me rapturously and said, "Isn't it WONDERFUL?!"

Then we went to get our boys. All in all, a perfect day. And a great kick-off to our ten-year wedding anniversary, which happens to be tomorrow.

Life is awfully sweet.

Revenge of Freedom Fridays

Today Stan and I stuck close to home, lunching at Charlie's Pantry in Studio City. It's a kind of mini-Dean and Deluca... small marketplace, coffee, muffins, scones and a lovely sandwich, soup and salad menu. I am a die-hard egg salad fanatic, so I tried theirs, and it was mighty tasty. I usually prefer my egg salad minced, so there aren't any huge chunks of egg white... and though theirs was slightly chunkier than I am used to, the seasonings and celery made it scrumptious. It comes on toasted brioche bread with iceberg lettuce. Stan got the Studio Club with organic chicken breast, and that was very straightforward and quite good too. We'll definitely go back; I'm anxious to try more things on their diverse menu! They serve breakfast all day every day, and since that's my favorite meal, I'll be trying their stuffed french toast. They also have homemade matzo ball soup! All of this is served in a very bright, cheery room with marble tables and ceiling fans. Ahhhhhhh.

So far, the grilled cheese truck wins for Best Freedom Friday Lunch so far! Stay tuned. Next week... Clementine.

Freedom Fridays Part Deux

On this, our second foray into the world of Child-free Culinary Cuisine, Stan and I took the food truck plunge and sought out the famous Grilled Cheese Truck! I have been Twitter-following this elusive truck for many months now, hoping to hear it was in the vicinity; well, the Gods must have been with us, for today- our second official Freedom Friday- they were in Sherman Oaks. We got there right when it opened at noon (which I heartily recommend; a half-hour later, the line was thirty deep!), and since each sandwich is made to order, we cheerfully stood aside to wait for our creations.

They were worth the wait.

Stan got the Bayou Melt: Habanero Jack cheese, chicken Andouille sausage, sauteed onions and peppers on french bread. I went classic, with the Cheesy Mac Melt: sharp cheddar, carmelized onions and macaroni and cheese on french bread. Did I say mac and cheese inside the sandwich? Oh yes, I did. After all, why have plain old grilled cheese when you can have grilled cheese and mac and cheese all in the same bite?

In order to do it up right, we each ordered a "shot" of tomato soup for fifty cents. Once our sandwiches were up, we rounded the corner, where they had a nice little alcove all set up with paper tablecloths and fake autumn leaves sprinkled on each table. We think this might have been set up for the workplace that ordered the truck, but no matter. Nobody was sitting there, so we stretched out and removed our works of art from their aluminum sacks.

First of all, mine came wrong. There is a "fully loaded" version of the Cheesy Mac Melt, which comes with BBQ pulled pork. I am not a pork person, so I would never have chosen it... but they put it on anyway. At first I was disappointed, but then I figured the grilled cheese Gods must have wanted me to experience my first melt exactly as it came, so I took a leap of faith and dug in.

Oh. My. GOD.

The best thing about this sandwich was that all the things they pile in there- and they have many choices and add-ons to choose from- meld to create one delicious, perfect bite. Nothing slides out the side or drops out onto your sack. The onion, cheese, and noodles were so artfully fused, no texture overrode any other. It was, bite after bite, an absolutely perfect grilled cheese sandwich. I experienced the first half with the pork, then pulled some of the pork out of the second half for Stan to enjoy while I tried to experience what I actually ordered. Both ways were scrumptious.

Stan's sandwich was also excellent. An entirely different, equally delicious melt that was extremely spicy, and definitely needed the tomato soup shots we ordered! The shots of soup were piping hot and had just the right amount of kick. The truck always has a daily special (today it was a cumin chicken, gruyere and basil concoction), lots of different taste treats to choose from so you can create your own if you like. We'll definitely be going back for the dessert melts; they have a s'mores sandwich... marshmallow fluff, graham crackers and chocolate melted into sweet brioche bread. Come ON.

I'm liking this Freedom Fridays thing so far. A LOT.

Tricky

I remember, before I was a mom, thinking that I would be awfully good at answering kid questions. After all, besides being pretty smart, I am also a very reasonable person- meaning that I am quite good at using common sense (something I feel our society is sorely lacking these days). I also knew I'd never talk down to my children or cause them to feel they were less than a whole person, even though they may be half my size.

But boy, it's a whole lot trickier than I once thought.

Case in point: Saturday night, a neighborhood baby shower was thrown for one of my dear friends, who happens to live next door. The party was thrown right across the street, and a bunch of us hired two babysitters to watch the gaggle of kids while we celebrated. Addie has always been very dramatic about goodbyes; he makes sure to hug me at least fourteen times, and then there's the kiss-blowing, followed immediately by the "I Love You" sign with his fingers. This ritual, when done exactly to his liking, can take about 15 minutes. Lately, he's been extra-sensitive about my departures, and thus my exit Saturday night was a three-act Shakespeare play. I had to explain to him that the party was strictly for adults, and that all his friends would be playing with him at our house and won't that be much more fun?

Once I was at the party, however, I noticed that many of the neighborhood kids that were supposed to be over at my house with the babysitter were running around enjoying the festivities. Only the babies were left at our house... and Addie. After about an hour, I decided to make his day and go back home, offering to let him come over and visit the party for a few minutes, since the other older kids seemed to have permission. Addie was over the moon.

Unfortunately, I walked him into the party right when all the men had just been handed their celebratory cigars, and had retreated to the backyard to enjoy them. Addie, scampering about the party with the other kids, saw his father smoking a cigar and came to me instantly, tears welled in his eyes, talking a mile a minute. He gets very philosophical when he's falling apart on the inside.

"Mama." (He says this in his best authoritative tone, hands on his hips.) "Daddy is over there SMOKING A CIGAR. He's going to DIE. He's going to get cancer and DIE. Are you going to let this happen? Wow, Mom. Wow."

His lip is trembling. He's very shaken up. And why? Because ever since he was old enough to ask about smoking, I have told him that it's VERY, VERY BAD and CAN KILL YOU.

Oops.

Well no, not oops, right?

I realize I am a rather dorky cigarette-drug-and-alcohol-free anomaly in the world. I never liked the way being under the influence of anything even slightly addictive made me feel, and always felt quite giddy and ready to have fun without the extra help. But I also am fully aware that part (not all) of the reason I always stayed away from the stuff is that my mother SCARED THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME. She regaled me with stories of a party she went to, where a high school friend of hers smoked a joint that she didn't know was laced with PCP, fell into a coma and never woke up. That was enough for me. Got it. When I was a teenager, theatre was my high. I didn't need to combine that drug with anything that would put me at risk for indefinite unconsciousness.

When it was clear to my mother that I probably was going to stay away from drugs (sometime in my mid-thirties), she casually informed me that she may have exaggerated the events of the PCP-laced joint. Her friend never slipped into a coma. I think she felt sick and her mom picked her up.

Now, it remains to be seen whether I will fabricate stories of comas with my boys as they get older, but I would be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind. I will do anything to keep them safe. And when Addie's questions started about the people he saw smoking cigarettes, I did not waver when I told him cigarettes were BAD BAD BAD for you. They give you LUNG CANCER and lung cancer can KILL YOU. There was no gray area in my admonition. I can't afford gray areas, especially in the formative years.

Which brings us back to the baby shower. I looked down at Addie's stricken face, and started to try to explain.

"Addie, yes. Daddy is smoking a cigar. Tonight is a special occasion, and this is the only time Daddy is doing this."

"But he's inhaling all that smoke!" Addie pleased. "He's filling his lungs with cancer! You can't even breathe over there, the air is so smoky!"

"I know, buddy. But listen to me. Daddy is not going to get cancer if he smokes one cigar."

As I'm speaking, I'm hearing myself and realizing I am hedging... going back on what I said before, if only a little bit. And perhaps I'm sending Addie the wrong message. It's only okay on special occasions? If you do it once it's okay? But I don't want him to do it, not even once. Once leads to twice leads to Addie dressed up in a leather jacket leaning against a motorcycle without a helmet, cigarette dangling from his lips, flask in his free hand, telling his mom to go fuck herself.

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

How to explain the subtleties of cigar-smoking to a six-year-old, who isn't going to be able to grasp them? I try again.

"You know what, Addie? You're right. What Daddy is doing is bad for his lungs, and you're right to be concerned. But I want you to trust me when I say that when babies are born, it is a tradition for the dad to pass out cigars and for all his friends to smoke just one. It's like a ritual. And one cigar, in Daddy's WHOLE LIFETIME, is not going to give him cancer. Does that make sense?"

Why oh why did I pull him away from the babysitter?!

Addie would not let it go. I didn't think he would. No amount of convincing would deter him. He kept going to check on Stan, coming back and giving me the minute-by-minute update, hands on hips: "Still smoking. He puts it up to his mouth, like, every FIVE SECONDS."

I suppose I feel slightly more comfortable erring on the side of "Well, Daddy might just get cancer from this" than "Don't sweat it, Addie, it's fine"... but I don't want Addie worrying about his father's lungs either. These are the moments when you realize that there is no perfectly right answer. There is only "doing the best you can". Because some of the neighbors saw Addie's upset, they started offering their comfort... but everything that came out of their mouths was only complicating things. One of Addie's friends said, "Don't worry, Addie. It's only for special occasions. You can smoke once, or even twice, or however many times you have a baby. And it's okay."

Shut up kid.

I approach this dilemma, as I do most parenting snafus, with a sense of humor. But it's hard when you can see your kid in turmoil. He eventually calmed down and enjoyed the present-opening. And I know this too shall pass, like yesterday's cigar through the lungs, with hopefully very little damage.

It's just a reminder to me, to take ultimate care with the things that come out of my mouth. As Stephen Sondheim so beautifully wrote:

Careful the things you say
Children will listen.
Careful the things you do
Children will see... and learn

Children may not obey
But children will listen
Children will look to you
For which way to turn
To learn what to be
Careful before you say, "Listen to me..."
Children will listen...