Getting Sogged

I got sogged today. Twice. You might not know what that means right away, but it's happened to all of you. The bread product of whatever you're eating - usually some variety of sandwich - gets totally soaked by the wet ingredients. It becomes lumpy, doughy paste and is inedible. Tomatoes are often a prime sogger, as are dressings and condiments. And once your food is sogged, the entire thing is a complete waste. So who wants to eat sog?

The first major sog I recall: Many years ago my friend Nicole and I ordered a pizza that had not only tomatoes, but I believe pineapples also, on top. She told me this was a winning combination and I believed her. But the pizza arrived sogged. Soppingly sogged. Those are two very wet ingredients and no attempt was made on behalf of the pizza folks to mitigate that. Not only that, but the cheese had slid off one half of the pizza and onto the next. Did the pizza guy trip coming up the stairs? It was just unacceptable. So we ordered a new pizza, cheese in tact, but still sogged.

There have been many episodes in between that have just put me in a foul mood. I used to get regularly sogged by the deli near Central Park during office lunch breaks. It was the oil and vinegar. No one else in the lunch bunch ever had the same problem...

Today I was first sogged at lunch by a stromboli. The top crust was brown and crispy, and nice little broccolis, peppers and mushrooms were peeping out among the melted cheese. I sat on a sunny bench near the park and got very excited about my lunch. But just past the top layer of crunch and beneath the vegetables was a bottom layer of 100% sog. I was grossed out. Lunch was over. I considered going to the store and getting cookies instead. Guilty party: the tomato sauce. But who doesn't want tomato sauce with their stromboli? Next time it goes on the side and is for dipping and sog control.

Dinner time comes and I am sogged once again. You wouldn't think it's such a frequent problem in a food city like NYC, but anything is possible. This time it was a cheeseburger. Ryan and I met around Lincoln Center after work with the intention of camping out in Barnes & Noble and reading every travel guide they had on Acapulco (in preparation for our upcoming trip!) But we were hungry and went to the first place we could see from the fountain at Lincoln Center. This is PJ Clarke's a satellite of the famous burger-seafood-steak place on the east side that's been around since 1894. Attracts a mix of season tickets-theater-goers, after worksters and tourists. We discovered that most of the tourists appear to be seated on the lower (basement) level while the "New Yorker" types are placed in the front windows open to the sidewalk. Amazing. Back to the sog. I ordered a burger, fries and a beer, was really feeling those three things, and unwittingly got sogged by my burger. This time I believe it was the pickle juice puddled on the plate. Without pause I asked for a new bun and then ate my excellent (if not overpriced) de-sogged burger.

And in the bookstore we learned nothing new about Acapulco than we hadn't already known. It had it's Hollywood, classy heyday back in the 40's and 50's, moved past the gritty, polluted 80's and now is a "diva past her prime", nightlife-oriented non-stop beach scene. I can't help thinking we'll still have fun...and have some incredible eats.

As for the above speech - it's all to keep this world sog-free!

Grandma's Cookies

Michelle brought these to book group and we couldn't stop eating them. You will not get the recipe for Michelle's Grandma's cookies here, because I did not get it either. She is not giving it away. But they are exactly what a homemade chocolate chip cookie should be: moist and chewy, with nice chunks of chocolate. A little salty, a little sweet. Thin, so you think 3 cookies = 1 cookie. I think I ate 7, but Erin ate in the teens, she claimed.

Grandma's cookies are rare in our world of comestibles. I'm thinking about where my recipes come from, and it's normally a good search on the internet. Maybe from a cookbook. I definitely don't have any recipes from a Grandma. Or many from Mom or Dad. For the book group, I made Libby's Funky Bean Healthy Bean Salad, but I have no idea who Libby is, or how she came up with such a funkalicious side dish. I found it on vegweb.com. So what's the emotional tie to food? Grandma's cookies are so wonderful, partly because they are the perfect specimen of cookie and partly because of the story attached. Partly because of the value - the recipe was passed down and is therefore slightly mysterious. Only certain choice people can make Grandma's cookies happen again in this world.

There is Dad's Stuffing - every Thanksgiving he makes two batches - one that is sweet, one savory. The recipe is not a secret exactly; you can watch him make it. But he will not give you a tutorial. All I know is that you end up with two huge foil roasters full of stuffing that are best eaten with either a) a scoop of Cool Whip (the sweet) or b) a ladle of gravy (the savory). (The gravy is a semi-mysterious herbed and flavorful concoction suited to drizzle over the entire plate of Thanksgiving. Also a recipe that is not a secret, but neither is it blatantly advertised).

So maybe I'm not making Dad's Thanksgiving Stuffing now in life, nor am I trying too hard observe closely, but maybe I will later. It's Dad's now. Maybe Grandma's cookies and Dad's Stuffing are less about the food and recipe itself and more about the people who cook it...the food that makes us crave the people we love.