In August, I bought tickets to see Steve Martin in Spokane, at the Fox. Silly me, I thought it was an evening of Steve Martin the comedian – wild and crazy – or some variation thereof. A few hours before we (Paula, Doug, and I) leave for the show, I check online and find out that it’s actually an evening of bluegrass and banjo, and joining Steve Martin on stage is The Steep Canyon Rangers. He’s on tour to promote the release of his first bluegrass album, The Crow: New Songs for the Five-String Banjo (Rounder Records). The album was released in May 2009, and reached #1 on the Billboard Bluegrass Album chart where it stayed for 12 weeks. But it’s still banjo music.

I was a bit disappointed. I send my brother an IM to let him know just in case he was looking forward to a night of Funky Tut and Cruel Shoes. He already knew. And Paula heard Martin interviewed on NPR. And…we’re still going.  Banjos. Seriously? Banjos? I’m not sure I can do it. I throw a bottle of aspirin in my purse.

It’s a lovely theater. Our seats are dead center stage and very, very high up. Paula leans over to me, motions to the ceiling and says, “Watch your head.” Austin and Laura Storm come walking up the aisle and end up sitting next to us. Laura knows it’s a night of banjos, too. How did I miss this important fact? I say to Paula, “Do you think all these people know it’s banjo music?” She laughed and reminded me about the NPR interview. I look around at the crowd and wonder if they are a sampling of an NPR audience.

Well…shut my mouth! It was a fantastic evening of great music. The Steep Canyon Rangers , from Asheville, North Carolina, are very, very talented musicians. In addition to Steve Martin on the banjo, the Rangers are: Woody Platt (guitar and lead vocals), Graham Sharp (banjo, harmony vocals), Mike Guggino (mandolin and harmony vocals), Charles R. Humphrey III (bass and harmony vocals) and Nicky Sanders (fiddle and harmony vocals).

I’ll admit it. I was totally surprised by how much I enjoyed the music. The instruments and vocals blended flawlessly. The performers wore beautiful suits – no overalls, and not a jug, saw, or washboard was played. Steve Martin managed to weave his comedy throughout the performance. We laughed and clapped for eighty minutes. And, after three curtain calls, Steve graced us with King Tut. Born in Arizona, moved to Babylonia, King Tut. He was buried in his jammies.

Unfortunately, the tour is over. If you didn’t get the chance to see Steve Martin in concert…you missed a great evening of entertainment. You can check out his website here. And thanks to lala, you can listen to the album on that little gadget below. The album is good, but the live performance was priceless. I’m happy to report I lived through a night of banjo and bluegrass music, and I’d do it again if Steve Martin or The Steep Canyon Rangers were on stage.

I wasn’t raised in a traditional Greek family, with two Greek-speaking parents; nevertheless, my Mom and her family made it their quest to infuse us with a love for all things Greek. My Dad graciously allowed it to happen, although, over the years, he’s made every attempt to stick a Scottish label on us, but not much sticks to Greece (pun intended). Somehow, I managed to make it through thirty years of life before I realized my “Greek” family originated from Italians. So four generations ago, the grandparents of my grandparents left Italy and made their lives in Greece. And so, I willingly embrace all things Italian.

My Mom did a good job of incorporating American food in to our lives. I’m pretty sure she did it so my Dad wouldn’t starve. And though he loves her cooking, he doesn’t fully appreciate the more colorful aspects of Greek cuisine. Thankfully, I inherited my Mom’s palette and have no food fears. Well, except for lima beans, and badly cooked okra. Oh…and liver.

At an early age, I learned to eat first and then ask, “What is that?” When a plate was set in front of me, regardless of the smell, texture, or look of an item, I was required to take a bite. This small obedience was, as I look back over my life, one of the best gifts my Mom gave me. If not for that little rule, I would have missed out on so many wonderful and exciting flavors from many different cuisines.

When I was eighteen, my family, in different variations, spent the summer in Greece. We lived many days on the beaches of Glyfada, Tolo, and Vouliagmeni, only coming out of the sea for a few hours to eat a delicious lunch. We ate fresh fish, village salads, crispy potatoes, slabs of cheese, lemony horta, and loaves of fresh bread. With wet hair and wet bathing suits, sand between our toes, and sunburned skin, we took pleasure in eating the simple but scrumptious food. Bread was for dipping, lemons for squeezing, fingers for licking, and forks were, well, forks were optional.

The other night I saw an episode of FoodTV’s Chopped: When Chefs Collide (Episode 3.1). In the appetizer round, the chefs were tasked with creating an appetizer out of Manila clams, kumquats, and croissants. The Greek chef, Peter Giannakas, Chef and Restaurateur of Ovelia Psistaria Bar, New York, NY., was eliminated in the first round. He created a dish that, according to the judges, was difficult to eat. They also commented about the flavors of his dish; however, since they were too afraid to get their hands messy, I question whether or not they actually tasted the dish. As the chef was eliminated, he said to the judges, “Don’t be afraid to eat.” I laughed so hard I nearly cried. My Mom would be proud of him.

Thanks to her, and the generations of Greeks who came before me, I am not afraid to taste – even if it means getting messy or trying new flavor combinations. I believe my love for cooking is in the genes, seasoned by my Mom, and whipped in to shape by hours of practice. For that I am thankful and, Lord willing, I will have many more years to eat like a Greek.

For about a year now I’ve been working with a friend in his San Diego based company – in my spare time. I’ve enjoyed learning about a different industry and wearing a different hat. Basically, I work in media services (aka Marketing). With the help of Rachel Hoffman at Orangepeal Design, we’ve changed the “look” of EAB and still managed to keep the boss happy.

I’d just finished reading a book by Steve Krug entitled, Don’t Make Me Think: A Common Sense Approach to Web Usability (New Riders Press, 2005, Berkeley), when the boss said it was time to give the website a fresh look. Actually, I’d wanted to get my hands on the website from day one, but I was patient. Hey…I was. The idea was to create a website with minimal words that still manages to communicate the essence of our business in a professional and fresh way.

While the website was under revision, I had the opportunity to sell my first car – a Land Rover Freelander. It turns out the experience was extremely  beneficial. I got a chance to understand the whole process from start to finish.  And, as a result, I saw the website with new eyes.

My first client, my niece Amanda, loves her new car. The loan officer at the financial institution was so shocked by the low price, he thought the car was salvaged. Far from it. She paid slightly over wholesale and it’s a beauty.

If you’re looking for a pre-owned car in excellent condition, give ExecutiveAB a try. We’ll ship the car, free of charge, right to your front door. Use my marketing/ad code: LucyZoe on the Quote Form, on the website…and you’ll get a discount.

Meanwhile, I’m in my slippers, watching TV, working on Phase Two and the next email campaign, and resting my feet on the coffee table. Life is good.

This season Bravo TV premiered a new show, Top Chef Masters. There are many television food shows with "chefs" competing against each other: Bravo’s Top Chef, Fox’s Hell’s Kitchen, FoodTV’s The Next Food Network Star, Chopped, two versions of Iron Chef, Throwdown, and more.

I’ve learned quite a bit watching the chefs compete: timing, bravado, teamwork, back-biting, creativity, failure, skills, and great taste combinations. You take what you learn, duplicate the good and make every effort to avoid the bad.

And then along comes Top Chef Masters. It’s ALL good. What a refreshing difference. The competitors are all professional chefs with proven skills and over-the-top talent. It’s truly inspiring to see the good-fellowship, humbleness, deep respect, and courage they display for the competition and each other.

If you haven’t watched Bravo’s Top Chef Masters, you’re missing a great experience. The competition has just passed the first round of the final challenge, so you still have a chance to catch a few more shows. You’ll be glad you did.

In Season 2 – Episode 7 of In Plain Sight, entitled Duplicate Bridge,” Marshall Mann walks in to Norman Baker’s house and there’s an album on the turntable. Marshall holds up the album and I recognized it right away:

Count Basie off the album Count Basie’s Finest Hour (Verve), and the cut is Li’l Darlin’. Just in case you were wondering. Scroll down and listen to it.

Tonight is the Season Premier of Law & Order: Criminal Intent. My Mom came over and watched last season’s finale in preparation for tonight. Goren’s back and I’m a happy girl. I’ve missed him.

And this season, we’re getting a taste of Jeff Goldblum on L&W:CI. This should be interesting. I’m hoping there is some interaction between the two characters.

Goren’s back! He’s older and perhaps slightly more imbalanced and quirky. After all, he’s the son of a serial killer. I don’t care. Welcome back, Mr D’Onofrio. It’s time to get your Goren on.

While standing in front of a deli counter at the Granville Island Public Market in Vancouver, B.C., I fell in love with sopressata. The deli guy handed me a piece of the dark, red meat and the lively aroma reached my nose even at an arm’s length. It was thinly sliced and I couldn’t resist the desire to hold it up to the light to peer through it – a red and white stained glass window. The flavor exploded as it landed in my mouth: pork, garlic, red pepper flakes, and a crunch of peppercorn. I licked my fingers and ordered a pound. And there began my fascination with sopressata.

The dried, cured sausage is soft, not hard, somewhat like a pepperoni and often called a salami. In Rome, a cheerful, old butcher told me that in some parts of Italy it is known as a “poor man’s” salami – made from the leftover cuts of the pig. So far, my favorite “slice” came from a little storefront shop on Corso Italia street, in Piano di Sorrento, in the south of Italy. It just so happens that the best focaccia I’ve ever tasted came from the same shop. The memory of those flavors is still vivid.

Though I often recreate the meals I’ve eaten in restaurants, I’ve not yet had the courage to try my hand at curing, mostly because poisoning my friends and family with botulism is a very real possibility. On his blog, Notes from the Food World, Michael Ruhlman posted a recipe adapted from his book, Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking, and Curing, for making sopressata. Ruhlman, a food god, is also the author of The French Laundry Cookbook, that I previously blogged about. Like a professional athlete, Ruhlman makes it look so easy. But I’m a smart girl and I know my limitations, so for now, until Ruhlman wants to invite me over to make it with him, I’ll stick to buying sopressata wherever I can find it.

As I carried the tree in the house, Kaitlyn stood inside the back door and said, “T’mon Judy…you tan do it.” I had to set down the tree because I was laughing so hard. I cleared a path of furniture to the tree’s designated resting place and then carried the tree through the house. A few of the frozen needles fell off and left a path on the floor, which Kaitlyn insisted I sweep up right away. She helped by pointing them out to me.

Down in the basement we found some Christmas decorations and a few boxes of lights. I plugged in the string of lights to test them which caused Kaitlyn to “oooooh and aaaaaah.” I draped them on the tree and then connected the star. Needless to say, the effect inspired four or five verses of “Oh my goodness, Judy. It’s so bewtiful.”

It was getting a bit late so we decided to leave the rest of the decorations until morning. Caressa and I easily convinced Kaitlyn to get in bed by stringing the last box of lights over the window trim in her bedroom. From his crib, Jeremy’s eyes twinkled and a great big smile broke out on his face.

I’m so thankful to be sharing Christmas with Caressa and the kids. It’s a blessing I never expected. My heart is happy and I feel like Buddy the Elf does about Christmas. I like smiling. Smiling is my favorite thing. I serve a gracious God who always manages to add a little something special to the story of my life.

“When I find the perfect house,” I said with a wink, “I’ll sell my house in Potlatch and move to Moscow.” Of course, I didn’t believe I would find it, so there was little need to be concerned.

I invited my real estate agent, Teri Skiles, to come and see my house. I showed her all my favorite parts: the kitchen, the bathroom, the closet, the garage, the basement, and all the charm that comes with an old house. Basically, I love every part of the house and I’m finding it very difficult to leave. I said, “Find me something like this and I’ll be a happy girl.”

A few days later we were sitting in her office and I had just finished signing paperwork. “I know you said you didn’t want to see any more houses until you sold yours,” Teri said rather sheepishly, “but I may have found the perfect house for you.” And she did. It has everything I want and more.

This time around, I’m uncharacteristically calm about the whole situation. Finally, after way too many years, I’ve learned to let go of the wheel and trust that God is in control. Maybe it’s because I’ve been encouraged by Alice Miller’s faith, maybe it’s because I’m older, or maybe it’s because it’s the right thing to do.

The offer was accepted. The loan was approved. Please pray that my house will sell, I’ll find the time to pack, and that this part of the story will bring glory to God. Somewhere between here and there…I’m thankful and looking forward to a change.

Thanks to Nathan, my nephew, I can gaze out the backdoor to check the temperature and pay homage to my SF49ers at the same time.

This afternoon, the temperature dropped from 30 to ten in just a few hours…and now it’s six (6) degrees.

It’s beginning to look – and feel – a lot like Christmas.