The secret of the Irish

This St. Patrick's Day I think everybody should just come clean and admit what we all already know: Nobody actually likes Irish food.

Americans go through this elaborate ruse every March. "Oh look, it's corned beef and cabbage," we say. "Yummy, I'll have the shepherd's pie." Just shut up. We all know you'd rather have pizza or a burger. And there's nowhere near enough Guinness or Bailey's in the world to make bangers and mash even look edible.

Please understand that I don't mean any harm to the wonderful country of Ireland. I love everything else about that country and enjoyed every second I spent there. The people are so friendly and the atmosphere is so relaxed. (Clearly I didn't spend any time in Northern Ireland.) It's just that the cuisine leaves a lot to be desired.

I only got to spend a few days in Ireland when I went in 2001 but I did my best to sample the local flavor. On our first night in Dublin we went to a traditional Irish pub and I ordered something called chicken boxty which the waiter said was common Irish dish. It was okay but certainly nothing special. It's sad but my best meal in all of Ireland came from Supermacs, an Irish version of McDonalds.

To be fair, I understand that St. Patrick's Day is more about the drinking than the eating. Still, it would still be nice to have something worth washing down with all that green beer.

This St. Paddy's Day I plan to stick to normal cuisine. My ridiculously gaudy shamrock socks will have to show my Irish pride for me.

Mmmm... cake!

I love cake.

Wait, let me repeat that. I love love love love love cake. If allowed, I would gladly subsist on cake and nothing else. But Rich, with his silly theory on balanced diets, has overruled me on that.

But, for our anniversary this year, I got in a little cake love. I signed us up for a cake decorating class.

Let me tell you -- the folks on Ace of Cakes make this cake decorating thing look way too easy. I mean I knew it would be a challenge, considering I have no creativity, skill, or coordination, but I didn't think I'd fret over it as much as I did.

For the last class, we were told to bake our own cake, ice it, and bring it so we could decorate our masterpiece.

So on Sunday Rich and I baked our cake and started the icing process. This did not go well. I'm not sure if the cake was just too moist or if we just didn't give it enough time to cool, but when we starting icing it, chunks starting falling off. I had a cake avalanche on my hands.

I became quite distraught and was ready to trash the whole thing but I just don't have it in me to throw away a cake. Rich suggested that we stick the cake in the fridge and give it a try the next day with a new batch of thinner icing.

The idea worked and I caulks the cake with the new icing, filling in the cracks. By the time I was done, you could hardly tell how bad it looked the day before. Yes, the cake and all its spackle now weighed about 10 lbs., but it looked good.

Our last class happened to be on the eve of my parents' 36th anniversary so we decided to make the cake for them as a gift. I toyed with a few different sayings such "Celebrating 12 years of happiness" or "36 years of wedded adequecy." But, due to my lack of skill in writing on cakes, we opted for a shorter and simpler design.

I have to say that I'm pretty proud of how it turned out. How it tastes, however, is an entirely different issues. I may love cake, but I'm not fighting to try this one.

So, um, enjoy it Mom & Dad. Hope you've stocked up on toilet paper.

Fiscal Fun on the Fourth

The Fourth of July has always been my favorite national holiday, next to my birthday. Every year I try to do something truly American to celebrate the day.

This year was no exception. This Fourth of July I decided to exercise my right as an American to act with great financial irresponsibility and gamble away my hard-earned dollars in Atlantic City.

Actually, let's back up a little. I really did partake in a bit of our county's rich history as we started out the long weekend in Philadelphia, with my first visit to the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. I just love this history crap, so I got a kick out of seeing the very place where our forefathers signed the Declaration of Independence and where the Constitution was born.







With the historical part of the visit out of the way we switched gears and headed straight for authentic Philly Cheesesteaks at Pat's and Geno's. I'm really not sure what all the fuss is about. To be honest, the cheesesteaks were okay, but I've had better... and that was in my college's dining hall.





The next stop was at a little place called the Naked Chocolate Cafe, where we shared some kind of peanut butter and chocolate torte and a mini chocolate fudge cake. They were amazing and I'm thoroughly embarrassed to even admit this but we couldn't finish either of them.





We finished out our visit to Philadelphia by taking in a performance of Les Miserables at the Walnut Street Theater, the oldest continuously operating theater in the nation.

We left Philly and headed to Atlantic City on July 3rd, where we took in the pre-holiday fireworks from our hotel room in the new Waterfront Tower at Harrah's. The fireworks came so close that it reminded me of my days in Baghdad. (Or what I imagine Baghdad would be like, had I ever gone.)

Our actual Fourth got off to a nice start with a great breakfast and a trip to the beautiful pool area, complete with free drinks. In honor of the Fourth, Harrah's had this nifty giveaway every half hour. If your name was called, you had 15 minutes to claim you money. I thought you had to be playing at the time in order to win, so I was only half-listening to the names called while up in the hotel room.

It was then that I heard the most beautiful mispronunciation of my name ever. I'd won. I didn't know what I'd won, but I'd won something. I shot up out of bed and took off for the elevators, running across the casino floor. Simultaneously, Rich heard my name called and figured I was fast asleep and oblivious to my win. He tried calling my cell phone, which didn't work because apparently the one amenity lacking in the new hotel tower is cell phone service. He started and O.J. Simpson-style airport dash and eventually we met up at the prize table. I was the lucky recipient of $1000!


I can't even describe how good it feels to win. All I know is how much more fun an Atlantic City trip can be when you come home a winner.

Coming home, however, is always a treat in itself. There's no toilet paper like home.

Mmmmm... cake!

My nephew, Aidan, celebrated his first birthday this week.

Clearly we're related. This is evidenced by how quickly he dug into his Cookie Monster cake. Like me, Aidan utilizes the inhale-rather-than-chew method of cake consumption.

Oh, just wait till I introduce him to the rest of the finer things in life like chocolate and Diet Coke! So much to learn yet so little time. Happy birthday, kiddo!

No fire extinguishers necessary

With apologies to Meg, whose Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme is the ultimate in food blogging, I hereby announce that Rich and I have achieved quite the culinary feat ourselves; we actually used our kitchen for something other than storing Diet Coke.

I'm not sure what prompted it but for four evenings in the last ten days, we've actually prepared our own dinner -- a teriyaki chicken stir fry.

For most people, this whole cooking thing is just a daily activity. For Rich and me, who only have a kitchen because it came with the house, it's practically a miracle.

We had it down to a science after the first go-round. Rich handles the actual stovetop action while I'm in charge of cutting up the vegetables, preparing the rice, and setting the table. And, by setting the table, of course I mean putting paper towels on the coffee table and making sure the Tivo has an episode of King of the Hill ready to go.

This culinary adventure has gone so well so far that I even ventured into the cookware section at Bed, Bath and Beyond and emerged with a new wok-like pot. It's like I'm practically a gourmet chef.

In the future we may even alter the meal and try something completely different like chicken stir fry with a tomato-based sauce.

To breathe again

I couldn't be more excited for Maryland to go entirely smoke-free this Friday, February 1. I also couldn't be more conflicted.

For, you see, as much as I absolutely hate smoking, I also hate the thought of the Maryland General Assembly stepping in and mandating what legal activities its citizens can and cannot do.

I've been putting off writing about this because this is such a difficult issue for me to reconcile. My libertarian leanings tell me to be outraged at this invasion into people's personal choices and the rights of business owners to respond to what the public wants.

But, at the same time, I've always put smokers right up there with drunk drivers, child molesters, and people who end sentences in a preposition. Are these really people I want to protect?

I come by this hatred naturally. For as long as I can remember, my grandmother made me promise that I would never smoke even a single cigarette because cigarettes killed her father. Yes, she used the word killed. And because of that warning, I've never so much as touched a cigarette.

The other side of the family shouldn't be left out. One of my favorite stories from my Aunt Judy, my dad's younger sister, is when she visited my parents soon after they were married. My dad was in the kitchen washing dishes and she lit up a cigarette just to see what his reaction would be. Within a split second, he turned the faucet sprayer on her and hosed her down. So yeah, we're not exactly pro-smoking in my family.

The matter is further muddied because of my passionate support for the American Cancer Society, a group that championed the ban. I feel the need to celebrate my ability to enter bars across the state without choking and reeking of smoke for hours after I leave. But I will only do so with a feeling of ambivalence.

What will you be doing this Friday as Maryland goes smoke-free? Regardless of your carcinogenic leanings, I hope you will consider dining out at one of the restaurants below that will be donating a portion of its proceeds to the American Cancer Society to mark this important milestone.

Restaurants participating in Dine Out for Relay For Life:

Bayou Blues Cafe at the Avenue at White Marsh (15% of sales, 4-6 p.m.)
Pizzeria Unos at Harbor Place (20% of sales all day.)
Greene Turtles across the state (10% of their sales from 11a.m.-2 p.m.; The Fells Point and North Ocean City locations will be donating 10% of their sales all day.)

Only a bagel can fill this hole

On the eve of Thanksgiving, when I should probably be thinking about all the things I'm thankful for, I can't stop thinking about the one thing I've lost.

It's been nearly two months since I've had a decent bagel.

It's been nearly two months since New Town Cafe put up a "closed for renovations" sign. Sadly, in restaurant-speak, that means closed, period. The disconnected phone line and a chat with a local restaurateur later confirmed my fears.

I've yet to find a place that can replicate the quality of bagel produced by the New Town Cafe. No one else seems to get the right mix of the slightly crispy outside with the doughy, chewy inside.

I'm quite the bagel traditionalist. I don't want an everything bagel. Skip the toasting and the cream cheese. Just give me a good hard plain bagel that I can gnaw on like a chew toy and I'm a happy girl.

As a jew, I was born to eat bagels. Back when I was in law school I would stop at the old Joan & Gary's in Pikesville. The man behind the counter always winked at me and tossed an extra chocolate chip bagel in the bag free-of-charge. Life was good.

For the past several years, just about every weekend morning started with Rich and me stopping off at the bagel shop for an eggwich with cheese or some other variation. I'll admit that the speed and accuracy of my order certainly declined when the place changed hands a few years back, but I'd much rather have a slow bagel than no bagel at all.

Now I'm forced to search for other suppliers. Like any good addict, I'll go where I need to go to get my fix, even if I can't get exactly what I want. The long line at the drive-through at the local Dunkin Donuts shows the utter despair my community is facing. A Dunkin Donut bagel can barely be considered a bagel at all. It's so gooey and mushy that you might as well go for the jelly-filled donut instead.

I used to laugh at the people who went up to New York to bring back a bunch of their favorite bagels. After all, I could get really good New York style bagels in walking distance from my house. But now I understand their plight.

I've tried to find a satisfactory substitute but I'm not quite there. The Bagel Bin up in Reisterstown is okay, but the bagels are too small and the shop definitely suffers from its change in ownership. Joan & Gary packed up and sailed off to the Virgin Islands. I hear good things about Goldberg's in Pikesville, but I'd rather choke down a frozen Lender's than attempt to park there.

I do enjoy the occasional trip Habib's Kabobs and Bagels in Eldersburg, if for nothing else than the name. Still, it's not the most convenient location for me so I can't make it a daily part of my routine.

Nothing matches the quality and convenience of my good old familiar bagel shop. I can only hope that some smart entrepreneur sees the void left in the community and picks up where New Town Cafe left off. I would be ever so thankful.

The restaurant with A.D.D.

Food is an instrumental part of any good vacation. So it sure was a good thing we managed to squeeze in a few really good meals after the, um, interesting dining experience we had our first night in Vegas.

A few days before our trip, Linda Lou, Rich's host over at Harrah's called to ask if there was any way we would be willing to go to an entirely comped dinner over at Cafe Martorano, the newest Italian restaurant at the Rio Hotel and Casino. She'd even sent a limo for us. Somehow we mustered up enough strength to oblige.

Of course I'm still not entirely sure what I make of the restaurant itself nor its proprietor, wannabe celebrity chef and soon-to-be reality TV show star Steve Martorano. The food was good enough but I could have done without the, ahem, attitude and atmosphere.

It was as if the restaurant was in severe need of some Ritalin. The decor and music literally changed every few minutes. You'd go from a disco ball and Sinatra music to strobe lights and Baby Got Back, all before you had a chance to scarf down the $1200-a-block cheese.

Ah, the insanely expensive cheese. This is where the attitude came in. Our waiter took great delight in telling us how much money Martorano spends on his ingredients and how that made the food so good. As I said before, the food was fine -- I particularly enjoyed the macaroni -- but if the food is really that good, I don't need my greasy waiter continuously bragging about it throughout the meal. Good food should speak for itself. Besides, by the third or fourth time that the waiter barked "Gimme your plate" I knew we'd lost a bit of the magic.

I'm also not too impressed with some of the restaurant's policies. For one, there's a strict no changes and no substitutions policy. Chef Martorano says he makes his food one way and one way only. Now I'm a very picky eater and we dine out practically everyday. I honestly can't remember the last time I ordered something without adding, subtracting, or substituting something. If I'm paying for something, it's going to be what I want. (Of course we weren't paying for anything that evening so I had to suck it up.) Somehow I managed to survive this particular meal but only because they basically brought us everything on the menu to sample so I could pick and choose what I wanted.

The other quirky rule is that you can't have a cocktail with dinner. Apparently Martorano believes a drink would distract from the taste of his food. We learned this the hard way when the drink Rich had just gotten at the bar was quickly abducted from the table. Sadly, the drink may have been the tastiest thing that night.

The appetizers included Martorano's homemade meatballs, shrimp scampi bread, and an eggplant stack made up of breaded eggplant, fresh mozzarella and other things I've only heard of on the Food Network. The meatballs were okay but nowhere near as good as the ones my dad makes. I'm generally not a fan of shrimp but I did enjoy the shrimp scampi bread. The eggplant stack was okay too, but mostly because of the cheese.

For our entree, we sampled the chicken cutlet downtown, some kind of sea bass (I passed on this) and the specialty macaroni. I enjoyed the chicken but it was nothing special. I'm also not clear on what makes the specialty macaroni so special. They could have substituted Kraft dinner and I wouldn't have known any better.

I lost track of how many desserts there were but I do remember a very good white cupcake topped in chocolate and some kind of mind-blowing cake. I was so stuffed that I passed on the cannoli and ice cream. For some reason, the waiter kept bragging about how the ice cream was Haagen-Dazs and encouraging us to try it. They must have some sort of deal with them.

The highlight of the evening wasn't the meal but rather a nice perk the casino threw in for us after dinner. They gave us $300 in promotional chips to play. Not being regular table game players, we headed straight for the roulette table where we were lucky enough to parlay the $300 in promotional chips into $300 in actual money.

While it may not sound that way, I actually really enjoyed the evening. A free limo, dinner, drinks, and $300? I could learn to live like this.

Maryland's 11 best days of summer

I'm such a sucker for the state fair. I love the food, I love the baby animals, and I especially love the chance to step right up, spin a wheel, and win a free pencil. It's like trick-or-treating for adults.

But what I really love is the fact that the fair doesn't change from year to year. It's the same exact tacky end-of-summer tradition I enjoyed as a kid.

The same attractions are always in the same place. The world's smallest woman is right across from the jacuzzi sales people. The bored state employees sit in the exhibition hall, fingers crossed and hoping that an altercation will break out over at the Jews for Jesus booth.

And in a cruel yet natural circle of life kinda way, the fresh pit beef is always right across from the cow palace.

Ah, the food. I mustn't leave out all of that yummy, patently unhealthy but oh-so-aromatic fair food. First you have your choice of meat, meat, and more meat. Add to that your choice of any deep fried anything on a stick and it's a veritable choose-your-own-heart-attack. Remember: Fudge isn't truly decadent until it's been deep fried.

Now this year I managed to experience a part of the fair I've never seen before -- the 4H livestock auction. I like my meat as much as the next non-vegetarian, but the auction was a bit more in-your-face than I would have liked. I can honestly say it's the first auction I've been to where they promise to "process" your purchase before delivery. Poor little rabbits.

But hey, Of course I'd be lying if I said I didn't love seeing all of the animals, even if I do have to ponder their demise. One of my favorite parts of the fair has to be the animal birthing area. I wasn't lucky enough to witness any of the little guys being born this year but I did catch a few calves and piglets who were born within the last day.

(Fun fact: Piglets grow at a rate of two lbs. per day. This is the same rate of growth I experience in the month of December.)

The end of the fair is always bittersweet. As a huge fan of fall, I'm glad to see summer fade away. But I will miss my chocolate covered frozen strawberries on a stick. You just can't find those at the Apple Butter Festival.

Who needs the Kwik E Mart? I do!

It would be a bit of an understatement to say that my husband and I are Simpsons fans.

We walked down the aisle to a version of the Simpsons theme.

Our closest friends held a Simpsons-themed bridal shower for us, complete with Duff Beer and a Homer cake.

For his birthday last year, I commissioned a former Simpsons animator to Simpsonize us in a piece of artwork.

And I've long said that I would never camp out for tickets to anything... unless it was a Simpsons movie.

To appease fans like us (and promote the upcoming release of the Simpsons movie on July 27, of course), Matt Groening and company converted a dozen 7-Eleven convenience stores in the U.S. and Canada into Kwik E Marts.

Thankfully for us, one of the chosen locations is in Bladensburg, MD, less than an hour away.

We visited our own little Mecca over the weekend and embraced our inner geeks like never before. We drank blue squishees and ate pink donuts and had a sugar high that lasted for hours.

While I was thrilled to see several other camera-toting fans scoping out our own little piece of Springfield, I did get the feeling that not everyone was quite as excited. I overheard one young man in the parking lot commenting that he's "never seen white people go this crazy over anything." Some of the people waiting in the long line to buy their morning coffee were similarly nonplussed.

So recognizing that not everyone is as obsessed as I am, rather than going into great detail about the Kwik E Mart, I'll just share a few pictures.

BART: Milhouse, my friend, you and I are going on a spending spree.
MILHOUSE: My doctor says I'm not supposed to go on sprees.
BART: What about jags?
MILHOUSE: Jags are fine.
BART: Wonderful!



APU: Our wide variety of gum comes in both stick and ball.
BART: I'm not really about gum, but I like the whole chewing thing.
APU: Are you averse to crispy centers, sir?
BART: Not at all.
APU: Then we have much to discuss.

Thank you. Come again!

If you're going to San Francisco...

Forget about the stupid flowers in your hair. If you're going to be in San Francisco for any reason, the one absolute must-do is the Taste of San Francisco food tour.

I can't say enough positive things about this incredible, edible journey through the North Beach neighborhood. (But watch me try anyway.) To put things in perspective, I honestly don't think there's ever been a time that I've opted for bread over chocolate. Heck, our guide almost made me think about cooking a meal for once. But just almost.

We started out at Caffe Roma Coffee Roasting Co. where we sipped cappuccino and learned about what makes for good coffee. As someone who generally dislikes warm beverages, specifically coffee drinks, I was actually very interested in the roasting process.

I must say I enjoyed my very first cappuccino ever far more than I thought I would. I had no idea that roasting is what actually releases the aroma and flavor from the coffee bean, nor that the longer a bean goes between roasting and brewing, the more acidic it becomes. This accounts for the bitter taste that I dislike in the first place. But because Caffe Roma roasts its beans daily, there isn't that same acidity.

From coffee we moved onto chocolate -- specifically truffles. We ventured into XOX Truffles which is recognized by USA Today as one of the top three chocolatiers and by Chocolatier Magazine as one of its top ten favorite artisan chocolatiers. (Note to self: How is it possible that there is a magazine focusing on chocolate and I don't have a subscription?)

I thought we would get to taste one or two truffles at XOX but instead, they handed each of a us a bag with one of every flavor they serve. I think the franboise/raspberry was my favorite. I have no idea what franboise is but I love it.

We made a quick stop at the church which refused to marry Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe, and then it was off to what I can only describe as heaven on earth -- Liguria Bakery.

Liguria Bakery is family-run and has been around since 1911, making only focaccia. The sons come in overnight and start baking and then go home when the mom opens the shop at 8 a.m. When everything is gone, which is usually by 11 a.m. at the very latest, they close for the day.

By the time we got to the bakery around 10:30, they only had three varieties left: onion, raisin, and pizza. We sampled each of them and every single bite was magical. This wasn't some of that crappy focaccia you find on sandwiches at Ruby Tuesday or some other chain restaurant. This was real, melt-in-your-mouth, savor-every-bite goodness. They say a lot of it has to do with the water in San Francisco so it can't be replicated elsewhere. Just my luck.

We polished off the focaccia before heading to another bakery. The Italian French Baking Co. of San Francisco has everything from sourdough bread to some of the softest biscotti I've ever had. (Incidentally, if anyone can explain to me the difference between mondel bread and biscotti, I would really like to hear it.) I particularly enjoyed the chocolate-dipped macaroon, a far cry from the canned variety served at Passover.

This stop also included a tour of the back of the bakery with two huge brick ovens that have been in use for 80 years. Several San Francisco restaurants get their bread from this bakery and it's pretty clear why they do.

With sourdough in hand, we ventured over to the Palermo Deli for olive oil and salami. I don't really like or eat either of them so I was a bit lost during the discussions. Plus, it was really chilly and I had my thoughts set on the next stop on the tour.

By the time we reached theVictoria Pastry Co., the last tasting on the tour, I was pretty much stuffed. I was so stuffed that I only ate one cream-filled pastry. I actually turned down a second one. This is very possibly a first.

We wrapped up at the Purple Onion, the club where the likes of Robin Williams and the Smothers Brothers got their starts. We didn't eat anything here but our guide was kind enough to give us recommendations for anything at all food related in the Bay Area.

At this point we went back to our hotel room, polished off our doggie bags from the tour, and set out in search of more of that glorious San Francisco food.

Looks like a visit to Weight Watchers better be my next stop.

It's my birthday... still

I've recently been chastised for not providing a timely account of my birthday for readers of my blog. Please note that the reason I have not yet given such a summary is that I don't actually consider my birthday to be over yet.

Still, to appease the masses, I hereby present a quick run-down of how my birthday season has gone so far.

The birthday season has thus far included three Broadway shows (Les Miserables, RENT, and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels) as well as the great Baltimore area gastro-entertainment tour, featuring Sotto Sopra, Copra, Cazbar, Baldwin's Station (for both brunch and dinner), Artful Gourmet Bistro, Liberatore's, Don Pablo's, and Fuddruckers.

I am also pleased to once again share my birthday month with Hanukkah and Christmas, which generally serve to increase the dessert available. Over the weekend we dined on latkes at Rich's dad and stepmom's place and then glorious rainbow cake at my aunt and uncle's house.

Starting this year, I now share my birthday month with my cousin's son, Gabriel, who was born last Sunday. As long as the little guy doesn't try to move in on my birthday turf, I think things should be okay. Due to the birth of the aforementioned child, we also attended a bris with spectacular bris food. If you haven't had bris food, you don't know what you're missing. I would highly recommend befriending a nearby pregnant Jewish woman in the immediate future so as to increase your chances of a bris invite. If you cannot locate one on your own, just head over to Park Heights Avenue and you're sure to find one ready to pop. Happy bagels, lox, and whitefish!

The rest of my birthday month shall showcase a trip to Hershey, PA and a short jaunt to Atlantic City, with the month culminating in a New Year's Eve celebration that will certainly include multiple forms of dessert.

By the time I finally awake from my food-induced coma we'll be safely into January and that can only mean one thing -- it's Weight Watchers time baby!

It's just a stupid sandwich

Annapolis is all abuzz this week with talk of what kind of sandwich Gov-elect Martin O'Malley will select to bear his name at the venerable Chick and Ruth's Delly.

Will he honor his Irish roots and choose corned beef or will he kowtow (or cow-tow, perhaps) to the vegetarian lobby and select something without meat?

Or most importantly, does it matter? It didn't matter four years ago when Gov. Bob Ehrlich went against recommendations and chose a turkey sandwich and this time around is no different.

The local media can't seem to get enough of this story and yet I can't seem to care. The tv stations talk about it every chance they get and The Sun has already given more ink to sandwichgate than to O'Malley's selections for his deputy chiefs of staff. Pardon me if I'm more concerned with the governor-to-be's decisions on taxes, slots, and the death penalty, than I am with his lunch choices.

All of this hullabaloo takes me back to an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David is honored with a sandwich at Leo's Delicatessen. In typical Larry David fashion, he's not happy -- he doesn't like the sandwich selected for him (whitefish, sable, onions, capers and cream cheese) and wants to switch with his friend Ted Danson (the turkey, cole slaw and Russian dressing.) Hilarity, of course, ensues.

Now life imitates art and I have to tell you, I like the art version better. I'm certainly not against a little levity in politics, but this is a damn sandwich. If we're talking about something more relevant like cookies, it might be a different story.

And for the record, I think I like Attorney General Joe Curran's sandwich pick the best. His is the pizza bagel. He catered to the Italians and the Jews all at once. Can't go wrong with that.

Halloween candy may save your life

Just a few weeks ago stores were pulling spinach off the shelves following an outbreak of nearly 200 cases of E coli tied to the sneaky vegetable.

Now, for the second time in just a few weeks, we're being warned that other so-called produce may be harmful to our health. This time lettuce is the culprit and salmonella is its disease of choice.

I hate to say I told you so but c'mon, I totally told you so. All of this healthful eating had to catch up with you at some point.

I've long held the theory that things like fruits and vegetables can be harmful. Thankfully my parents were mindful of that and never exposed me to such dangers growing up. I never had to worry about happening upon carrots or broccoli when dining at such fine establishments as McDonalds and 7-Eleven.

Rewind to Thanksgiving 2002. Rich challenged me to eat broccoli, enticing me with promises of an enhanced Hanukkah gift. And what happened a year later? Yep, I got cancer. Before broccoli: No cancer. After broccoli: Cancer.

I'm no doctor but you can't argue with that kind of scientific logic.

So today, for your health's sake, please gorge yourself on Halloween treats. Skittles and cupcakes have never steered me wrong before.

The last supper

Earlier this week the State of Maryland finally carried through with the execution of Wesley Baker, the man convicted of gunning down teacher Jane Tyson in front of her two young grandchildren in a mall parking lot. Baker became the fifth man put to death in Maryland since the U.S. Supreme Court reinstated the death penalty in 1976.

As with all state-sponsored executions (as opposed to the brutal and untimely execution of Ms. Tyson), the condemned is entitled to select a final meal. The Baltimore Sun reported that Baker's last meal consisted of breaded fish, pasta marinara, green beans, orange fruit punch, bread and milk.

I'm okay with the pasta. I'm not a big fan of fish but to each to his own. My problem comes with the green beans. When you've only got a few hours left on this earth, are calories and cholesterol really your top priority?

If I get to pick a last meal, there won't be any vegetables in site. There would, however, be something with cheese. It might be pizza or it might be a really good grilled cheese sandwich. Maybe a nice cheeseburger. French fries are also in order. And forget the Diet Coke. I'm drinking regular Coke this time. And keep the refills coming.

In fact, I don't know if I'd even want to bother with the whole meal part of things. I may just want to go straight for dessert. With my luck, I'd finish up my entree and not have any room left for dessert. How could my final meal not include chocolate of some sort? Even (or perhaps, especially) a dying soul has priorities. You know what? Let's just go with the chocolate buffet.

I invite you to ponder your last meal. What would you choose? Are you a green beans kinda person or would you prefer to join me in stuffing my face with a Cinnabon?

Welcome to the first official day of Alisa's birthday season

Ah, my birthday. Or more appropriately, my birth season.

Birthdays in my family are not just a day -- they're a series of events. The actual day I was born just serves as a general suggestion for when activities and festivities should take place. For instance tonight, Rich took me to dinner at Baldwin's Station where we were married. Tomorrow night is dinner with some friends, I'll have lunch with my coworkers on Thursday, and then Friday night is out to dinner with the family.

For this year's birthday season Rich bought me tickets to see Les Miserables in D.C. It's our favorite musical and we're so glad to get to see it again.

(Care to do some birthday shopping? Visit My Wishlist.)

Incidentally, in case you're wondering about the above picture, it's my supposed birthday cake. Rich has been threatening me all day about having birthday fruit for me. If you know me at all, or if you understand the concept of dessert in the least, it's fair to say fruit and dessert DO NOT go together. (I make a very limited exception for the following: jelly donuts, chocolate covered strawberries, and raspberry filling in cake.)

So after we returned from our wonderful dinner (I had the crabcakes; he had the beef tenderloin) he beckoned me downstairs to my birthday surprise... grapefruit.

Don't worry -- the real cake appears below. It was demolished within seconds. (Those that know me and dessert also know I don't bother to chew. I merely inhale.)