Blu Cheese dressing

Ah, chickens, today I visited a most luxuriant day spa -- Olympus Day Spa -- a place where you can go to soak away your troubles surrounded by oodles of other females in most attractive rayon shower caps in pools of varying temperature. Of my party, I was the only one bold enough to get in and out of the the 60 degree pool - TWICE. I attribute it to all my vinegar consumption; it fortifies my internal body core.

In addition to soaking tubs and saunas, there are "Earth Energy" rooms heated to 130, 140, and 150 degrees where you can steam away your burdens on a canvas mat covering salt crystals that invisibly reach up and strip away all the nasty toxins. Condiments even have a use in a day spa. Wow. And you should see the list of things they use to moisturize you -- honey and cucumber and Norman Bishop Dill Garlic mustard. Okay, not the last one, not even after I brought in my own bottle and specifically requested it. The one flaw I have found in my visits.

After this rejuvenating exercise, I got to experience the supreme sirloin Americana that is The Keg. It's pretty much like any other place you go with lots of wood paneling and the ubiquitous crab artichoke dip, but it's a tad more upscale. So much so that they bring you three different cheese toppings for the baked potatoes. don't get excited. I have to watch my weight, so I had the tuna. It was very good, but I wanted MORE CHEESE since I demurely began my meal (after my Keg sized glass of Cabernet), with a wedge of iceberg lettuce drenched in blue cheese dressing and bacon bits.

This is a new discovery of mine. I'm usually a Caesar kind of girl (especially if he's played by this guy!), but the Fall drives me to blue cheese. There's something about the base, intense flavor shot through with blue that makes me want to press leaves into a book and pretend that I'll one day learn to quilt and can in the Fall (which is crap. I'm too busy flushing my life away in Grey's Anatomy). And really good blue makes whatever you serve it with stand and salute: sweet olive relish, fig paste, okra intestines.

The blue cheese dressing on this salad was a little too sweet, they didn't just trust the blue cheese but added corn syrup or something to it. But even served a little too thinned, the blue cheese served it's purpose as a gateway cheese. You eat a bit of that and soon you want all kinds of creaminess. I found myself stabbing my dear friend, who up until about an hour before I had been soaking naked in a tub with, in the hand with a fork for a taste of her creamy crab mashed potatoes. Then dipping my fork in another friend's three cheese baked potato dressing.

And right now I'm sitting here, typing, trying not to think of the parmesan in the refrigerator. I'm still typing, still dreaming. Thank god my skin is smooth or I might be on the floor of the kitchen right now.

Condiment Grrl

Mr. Mustard Said No

The Aioli must go. My thighs are breathing a sigh of relief.

What Happens to an Aioli Deferred?

As part of a lovely collection of condiments, I received a jar of Aioli (god, I almost typed "Olio" and we all know I abhor margarine). To be specific, I received a Spanish Aioli by d'elite - Ali-Oli, Ajo Y Aceite De Oliva Virgen Extra. Can you hear the castanets? Aioli is basically a thick rich sauce comprised of whipped olive oil and garlic. Oh, and egg yolks. It's like a more garlicky hollandaise. Because I've been trying to watch my weight, I've been letting this jar sit on the shelf along with it's 22 GRAMS OF FAT PER SERVING (2 TSP). That's right. It's like a hamburger in a yellow savory custard.

Finally, this weekend, to celebrate Mr. Mustard's 120th birthday (he's extremely well preserved), I opened it for consumption along with cocktails (mmm...chocolate martinis). It's delicious swabbed with french bread (listen -- do you hear the screams of my crazy German naturopath who has made wheat verboten in my life?) and a few salty olives to cap off the cream. I enjoyed it tremendously, along with the spring rolls, the salami, the smoked salmon (!), the chocolate martinis, the cake. Ahhh...I feel early onset gout hitting.

I had the jar opened and, as is often my dilemna after I open a new non Norman Biship Dill Garlic mustard, I fretted that I wouldn't finish it before its expiration date. So, I took it along with me to a Wild Game night where I consumed, and I am not making this up, about 39844 different animals. I feasted on the flesh of yaks, llamas, elk, duck, octopus, veal, lamb, beef tongue, chicken, turkey, frog, quail. I was too full for the sea urchin cream puffs, so I just looked out the window and contemplated the fall of Rome and the current state of American affairs.

However, Baby Balsamic accompanied me and she makes it perfectly clear when her expiration date is and we had to scuttle from the party before she turned into a gamey pumpkin (she particuliarly enjoyed the elk). And I plunged the jar of aioli into her bag, rushed her home, then realized the next morning that I had forgotten to take the jar out of the bag.

So, my question is Do I Feel Lucky? Should I attempt to continue enjoying this fatty saucy treat? Or do I, with a tear in my eye, say goodbye prematurely to this gift of my ancestors (I'm 1/4 Spanish, mija)? I'm not sure. I'm staring at the jar on my desk as I type, thinking of all the small and large risks we take in our lives. Or we ignore the temptation and wonder what would have happened if we had said Yes. Yes to the question. Yes to the possibly bad aioli.

I don't know. I just don't know.

Condiment Grrl.