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Hotel Fun


I’ve sent another restaurant review over to Jewels from the Roving Stove, so in a few weeks, you can expect to find out what it was like to eat at 40 Carrots, the Bloomingdales lunch counter. That was the only meal I was really able to photograph. PJ Clarke’s was too dark, and I was getting side-eye over the flash on my camera, and I thought I would look way too Country Mouse if I started taking pictures of my crabcake at Ed’s Chowder House. Though the food at the Starlite Diner was very good, it looked pretty nasty, so I didn’t bother.

One meal I did photograph was the room service I ordered. Since a review of a room service tray doesn’t seem very interesting, I thought I would give you a full review of the hotel, so the next time you’re in the Midtown neighborhood, you know where to stay.

First, B and I are experienced at hotels. We have stayed in very posh places where they practically tuck you in at night, and we have stayed in rat traps where the doors don’t even shut all the way. The Doubletree Metropolitan on 51st and Lex (That’s Lexington if you aren’t from around town. Don’t call it Lexington, it will give you away.) falls somewhere in the middle range of nice. The rooms are neat and well appointed with clean furniture in good condition, and the bathrooms were just as tidy.

I noticed immediately that there was not a coffee maker in the room. That drops the place down by a whole star, because I want my coffee when I want it, and I don’t want to have to call someone to get it. Also, the coffee in the hotel was way, way, way too strong. If you know me, you know how strong that must be. It was thick even. That, my friends, was the absolute worst part of the hotel.

From check-in to check-out, we had excellent service and I was very happy.

Thor and I arrived the day before B, and got to the hotel in a flurry of excitement over getting to see Aunt Amy. Somewhere in the mix, I lost both my ID and $20. I found this out when I went to check in. No ID. Not my expired plastic license, not my paper receipt showing I had renewed my license. Nothing.

“Take your time,” said the desk clerk. “This happens to a lot of people. Don’t worry.” Surprisingly, she clearly meant this, even though there was a line behind me.

Once I was sure I had no Drivers License, I pulled out the first thing I saw. My substitute teaching ID badge. “Great,” Desk Clerk smiled. “Here are your keys. And don’t forget your cookies.”

Cookies?! Upon check-in, the hotel provides warm cookies. Thor gave this two thumbs up, or would have, had his thumbs not been busy pushing buttons on his PSP. One of the funniest things that happened was watching him walk into a closed corner of a sofa and table, and keep bouncing back and walking forward, confused as to why he wasn’t able to walk straight through, eyes on that PSP, playing Dig-Dug. Amy and I both enjoyed that one. Tired, zombie, video game boy. (He had been up since 3:30am, and it was 1pm our time by then.) We got up to our room, and Thor found a roosting place quickly.

Amy and I discovered that my view was pretty fantastic. Considering that when I stayed at the Paramount Hotel on my first trip, my window overlooked a brick wall, I was very excited to have an actual view of my cross-streets. Later on, as we waited in the room for Amy’s family to arrive, we watched the goings-on in the offices in the building across the way. There was one terrifying executive, to and from whose office people would actually run. I’m sure we could have seen the beads of flop sweat on their brows, had we thought to use the zoom on my camera. Alas. Thor stood at the window the next morning, counting yellow cabs. He stopped at 72 with an exasperated sigh, declaring he had never seen so many taxis in the world! Me either, Thor. Me either.

Our first meal in NYC was at the world famous P.J. Clarke’s (which I keep confusing with PJ O’Rourke, who is not a restaurant at all. Sorry, P.J.) where I had Irish Stew that was so good I wanted to just get inside it and roll around. I ate every scrap in my bowl. Amy had a Shepherd’s Pie that was also very tasty. Thor ordered a cheeseburger and started in on it, but then something happened. Almost mid-bite, he fell asleep. This became a running theme. Thor fell asleep at every restaurant we visited.

This is why I ended up ordering room service. My child is a great traveler, but his inner clockworks were completely off the whole time we were away on this trip.

I ordered a pot of coffee, a lemonade (for Thor), baked macaroni and cheese, and asked for chicken noodle soup as my side dish. I have to tell you that I was really pleased. Not all room service food is very good. Not all room service food arrives hot, and looking like it just left the kitchen. This tray did. And, for New York, I didn’t feel like it was ridiculously overpriced. It was just overpriced, you know?

Tasty, tasty food. Gross coffee.

So I was happy with the room service, and happy with the waiter who brought my tray. I was a little unhappy that the maid service left the open creamer jug on my dresser for three days. I was afraid to sit that in the hallway because of foot traffic, but maybe I should have gone ahead and done that? Christina will have to let me know.

After B arrived, Friday, and after family dinner (at which Thor fell asleep, see sprawling booth photo above), Amy’s eldest daughter babysat her younger sister and Thor, while the grown-ups visited the hotel bar. Aside from being 300 degrees, the drinks were good, and the seating was comfortable. The waiter did get my drink order wrong once, but I didn’t mind. When I pointed out that it had been the wrong drink, he went into a lengthy diatribe about how important it is to get what you order, when you order it. Preaching to the choir, man. He was entertaining, or I was on my third martini, so it didn’t matter to me.

I slept like a baby in the room. Comfy bed. Soft, soft sheets. Perfect pillows. For New York, it was a fairly dark room, and although we were just half a block from a busy fire station, or lust factory as Amy called it, I didn’t think it was that noisy. B did not sleep well at all. He said it was awfully noisy. I say, “Honey, it’s the lullaby of Broadway. The rumble of the subway train (just under our hotel), the rattle of the taxi…Manhattan babies don’t sleep tight, until the dawn…”

All of the staff at the hotel were kind and attentive, and I felt like they went out of their way to make my stay pleasant. They were good to Thor, and good to us. What more can you ask? The business center was well stocked and easy to use. The fitness center looked great. The food in the restaurant was basic, but not bad, and the location couldn’t have been better for us.

I would absolutely stay at that hotel again. Although, I would get my own taxi on my way to the airport. The doorman who put me in one, put me in a gypsy cab. That’s some scammery right there, but I learned. And lived, thank Cheezus!

One more picture? Speaking of cheese…

Lancient History

Howdy, Folks


We moved to Texas in 1981. That is, we drove into Dallas just after sunset on October 31, 1981, then moved into our house on November 3. Since I’ve lived here for 30 of my 40 years, now, I think it is safe to call myself a Texan.

It’s funny because I still consider Georgia home. Georgia was where my mom’s parents lived. (This reminds me that I need to return my father’s call.) Dad’s parents lived in Alabama. Alabama is not home, though we lived there for a while, when Dad was in Okinawa. Virginia, where we lived for four years, is what I consider second home. Texas has always just been where I lived–it never became home. I think I kept expecting to move again.

30 years has blown by, with me answering, “Where are you from,” with, “Well, I’m sort of from all over, but I’ve been in Texas for most of my life, so I guess I’m from here?” Maybe it’s time to stop doing that.

When I was in NY, I spent a good ten minutes standing in the business center of the hotel, waiting for a gaggle of school-trip-traveling, Spanish, teenage girls to free up a computer so I could print my boarding passes for home. After a brief conversation with one of them, they picked up that my accent wasn’t local. “Where are you from?” One asked. “Dallas, Texas,” I said, without thinking.

“Oooh…Dallas!”

They were impressed. I was proud. No one gets excited if you say, “I’m from Norfolk, Virginia!” Really no one gets excited if you say, “I’m from Columbus, Georgia!” Well, unless they are military or happen to be a Cousteau, then you have something to talk about.

So, yeah, I’m from Texas. Yeehaw!

Good Housekeeping

Good Job, Lane


This is a new record for me, and I risk jinxing myself by writing it down here, but I’m going to go ahead and give myself a pat on the silly head. We have been in our new place for a full month now, and I have made my bed and cleaned my kitchen every day of it. That means I have done the full wipe down, and if anything other than a drinking glass or stirring spoon was left out of the dishwasher, I washed it by hand. As I’ve said before, I know housekeeping comes easily to some, but I am one of those who finds it mystifying and exhausting. And you know what? I am exhausted.

I suppose the plus is that on the weekends, I’m not looking around going, “Argh…I should really clean up this mess.” There isn’t a mess. Granted, I still have a few things to put away from our trip, and I haven’t figured out “homes” for another handful of items, but it’s clean in here, and I am wearily proud of myself.

Part of it is that I finally feel at home, and I want to keep it looking good. Part of it is that I have more time in the mornings, with Thor’s school schedule and my work schedule. Part of it is that B is committed to doing more to keep his end up. And, part of it is that Thor is old enough to self-contain his own tendency to string and strew.

Whatever the reasons, now I know I can do it.

If I could only learn to cook…

Chef Lane

Chef Lane: Cold Turkey


Thor was not impressed at all with the Italian Turkeyloaf recipe. I asked him for a face that summed up his feelings, and this was what he gave me.

Prior to that, when I was insisting that he at least try more than the first bite he had put in his mouth, howling before he had even bitten down, “Mama, it tastes baaaad!” I got a picture of his truly sad face. He was grossed out by the meal, as was his father.

B hates meatloaf of any kind. The texture is too weird to him. This was a turkey loaf, so it was especially repugnant. He felt sorry for me, given Thor’s extreme reaction, so he ate most of his serving, but he was obviously sad, too. He said it didn’t taste bad, but he hated the texture and the ketchup sauce on top, and the…he had no words for it, but he kind of mashed the meat around on his plate.

I ate a piece and I liked it. I thought it tasted good.

Thor ended up eating five big bites. Three were required, and then he took two more for a shot at a sugar-free lollipop. That means it didn’t taste that bad. If Thor doesn’t like something, such as the tiny burgers with peas in them, he cannot be enticed into eating it. He will say, “You know what, Mama, I’m not really hungry for ice cream. Or anything at all.”

Anyway, I put the Orange Puree (carrots and sweet potatoes) in this one. B swore he could taste the vegetables, but I’m skeptical. I couldn’t.

If I make this again, I will do it as meatballs or a burger patty. While my guys hate meatloaf, they love the other two. Makes no sense to me, but I’ll go with it.

Chef Lane

Sad Chef Lane


Last night’s dinner was an exercise in failure that went something like this: Thor ate Life cereal, I ate Raisin Bran, B ate the last of the Chinese leftovers.

So the White Puree is extremely pungent. The cauliflower is almost overwhelming, and when I opened its ziplock baggie, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I mixed it into my mashed potatoes, where it hid nicely, but it smelled so strongly of cauliflower, I knew it wasn’t going to work. It tasted fine. I added a little ranch dressing and then it tasted nice enough that I felt okay serving it.

Thor went full on LOLcat Do Not Want. “It smells green!” He cried. “I know there is something green in there!” I promised him up one side and down the other that there was nothing green, but he wouldn’t budge. He did agree to eat three bites, which is more than I expected, but he insisted those potatoes were full of “green” and he does not eat “green”.

I thought I would save the potatoes to make potato pancakes, but B threw them away before I could. I think he was acting preemptively.

I made cube steaks for the entree, but the cuts of beef I picked up were tough and stringy, and when B made a show of chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, gulping a bite down whole (googly eyes and all), I just gave it up. Cereal is fine.

So what I have learned to this point: The sneaky chef mixed purees aren’t working for my family. I guess I will try the Seinfeld purees, which are simply purees of a single veg at a time, and see how that goes. I ground up some squash last night, but I’m almost afraid to try anything else.

P.S. Thor did not eat his cheeseburgers for lunch. He told me he ate on them until he found “green” inside, then he threw them away. Because, “Mama, you know I don’t eat green.”