There’s No Place Like Home.

This is another guest post by Chris the Husband, Contributing Editor and all around good guy.

I don’t know a ton about cars. Or racing. But I hear that we have a super cool race track here in Birmingham. Barber Motorsports Park has a giant motorcycle museum, a road course, and tons or beautiful scenery. I highly recommend a visit.

On a recent Saturday, I took my 2 young adventurers to meet their Pop for a morning soaking up the ambiance of the Indy race weekend. The little one was in heaven. Everything with a motor – wheels, sirens, wings, etc. was seen and admired.

The lovely one, however, was bored out of her six year old mind. But she wanted to come along, so fun was going to be had.

See! Fun, right?

Noah couldn’t get enough of it.

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Ali, not so much. I’m sure these will be treasured memories.

I swear, this was not a posed photo.

Sitting down for a rest and a snack was the highlight of the day for all.

They really pull out all the stops for Indy weekend, with a fair area that included – and I’m being totally serious here – THE ferris wheel from Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch.

Grandstand climbing is also a featured activity.

Eventually, you do have to talk your little people into letting you put foam earplugs in their ears, because race cars, although really cool, are a lot louder than you think they will be, or want them to be.

But it was an absolutely glorious day.

After awhile, even my motorsports enthusiast was close to a breakdown, so we bailed on Barber’s and headed home for naptime.

After completing a morning of Superdad activity, I headed off for my alone time, which is pretty much always running.

I’ve documented some of my best runs, like San Diego, New York, Lake Saluda, and the Mercedes Half-Marathon, but I’ve never done my typical once-a-week local Birmingham route, which has been tried, tested, analyzed with apps for distance and elevation, and optimized in general to take in some of the best scenery available in town while maximizing trails & sidewalks and minimizing flirting with disaster on the shoulder of the road.

This route has a few variations, from 8-10 miles, and would be great for a 2 hour walk-and-talk if running wasn’t in your fun zone. I’m a pretty slow runner, and sometimes I have to turn it up to blow past the mall-walkers like I think I should. Anyway, it starts and ends at Robert Jemison Park, a common place for walking and running in the ‘Ham.

You get the trail & nature start, just to feel the breath of fresh air and the crunch of earth under your feet.

It quickly turns into sidewalks and up a hill and through pleasant neighborhoods full of more professional landscaping.

The first village (Crestline) takes you past a few open restaurants with sidewalk tables and happy eaters to remind you that they are doing the opposite of what you’re doing. This should make you feel good. Somehow.

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There’s a lot of running water around Birmingham, so you can usually find a creek to look at if you need to stop for a minute and gasp for air.

After a potentially brutal hill or two you are rewarded with one of our city’s more quirky landmarks, (no offense to bare-bottomed statues of mythological dudes.) A large graffiti-painted piece of artillery…

…pointed at the city…

…theoretically unloaded.

You catch a few glimpses of the downtown skyline along the way, and work your way through older, even nicer neighborhoods, again with professional landscaping.

 

 

This neighborhood provides a peek into Birmingham’s distant past, into homes built by turn-of-the-century iron & steel barons, scary looking dudes whose portraits hang in local attractions and name the roads & parks.

 

At the top of the mountain, you get the best view in town, at an elevation 330 feet higher than where you started. Luckily, its all downhill from here.

Another village (English) includes more happy sidewalk eaters, and a frozen yogurt place that hasn’t yet lured me in mid-run, but there will be a day.

Creative yard art is a hallmark of the modern south, but demanding yard art – well, that’s just awesome. Note to self, go before you run.

I end up going through the Birmingham Botanical Gardens, the most professional of professional landscaping, which brings some of the variableness to the distance. If you aren’t in a hurry or worn out yet, there are myriads of trail options to make loops around the gardens. (Bonus: a public restroom and water fountain.) This spot, in the center of the rose garden, is always inspirational to me. Something about the form of the figure on top is lighthearted and free, the way running feels when it feels like you want it to feel.

Certain seasons of the year bring hordes of well-dressed, camera toting people to the gardens. Springtime provides a flood of wedding parties, fully-loaded prom limos, Easter children, and fussy toddlers all photobombing one another. Good times.

One more village (Mountain Brook), one more ice cream shop, and one local pizza parlor that will knock you down with airborne butter if you happen to run by when the door is open. But I like the charm of it all.

Past the last wafting elegant odor of the cigar shop, the trails pick back up, and you are almost back.

One more stretch of sidewalk…

One more creek view…

One more beautiful old house…

One more Birmingham landmark (this is an actual occupied privately owned residential dwelling, with rotating water wheel)…

And one unique foot bridge, that only once I have found impassable to due high rushing water.

So there you go. I’m certain that reading about running 9 miles burns at least half the calories of actually running 9 miles, so go enjoy a treat!

If you’re interested in the exact route, here is one variation, but feel free to ask for more details.

Run Map

On Heroes and Makeup.

Hi! Noah Here.

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So something really great has happened since I last wrote to you.

And I mean run-through-a-sprinkler-naked-on-a-hot-day good. You know that feeling.

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The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy has started allowing me to go upstairs and play with The Sister Who Calls Herself Ali.

Alone.

Unsupervised.

With the freedom to come and go on the stairs as I like.

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Because I’m big like that. And I mean not-pooping-in-the-bath-anymore big. You know that feeling, too.

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This is such a fantastic turn of events because The Sister is my new favorite person. She is the food floaties to my sippy cup. The snot trail to my cheek. The dirt-dipped chocolate to my mouth. She completes me.

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I see her coming and start singing to myself, “Girl you’re my Angel, you’re my Darlin, Baby…Closer than my stale-Easter-peeps you are to meeee…..”

 

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So naturally, I want to do everything she wants to do. And I have no qualms about the inclusion of glitz and glam in that definition.

Ruby Red Slippers

What?? It’s worth it.

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So anyway.

We’ve been playing dolls and dress-up and chemistry in the bathroom and scores of other secret things that I can’t write here for fear that The Servant will see it and forbid me from playing alone with her anymore…

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And then one special, special day The Sister showed me her fabulous face-decoration skills.

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I watched closely as she stared into her mirror, making perfect and beautiful circles upon each of her ivory cheeks.

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She looked like a delicate China Doll…

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And I was smitten more than ever.

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But right as she was finishing up her cheek decor, The Servant came up to snatch us from all fun. And confiscated the markers!!

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Before I had my chance.

It grieved my heart to not be allowed to copy my Idol in such a momentous step of tattooery.

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So the next morning I escaped for a few minutes and found two pens.

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As quickly as I could, I went on a Cheek Rampage to add the very same perfect circles to my cheeks.

Except that I didn’t have time to find a mirror.

And mine didn’t come out nearly as classy.

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I looked more like Scarface.

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And I was mortified.

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All I wanted to be was a China Doll, not a Mafia Hit Man.

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And now I’m grounded off of writing implements for life. And for what?

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Creativity around here. It’s totally smothered.

Saganaki: The Journey and The Recipe.

Guest post by Contributing Editor and Chief Husband Chris.

I have always tried to be a good sport, a willing participant, and even an Eager Beaver when it comes to Rachel’s family’s Greek cuisine. And so far, I have grown to like everything, with the exception of Kalamata Olives. That’s what Meat Loaf was talking about when he said “But I won’t do that.”

Anyway, I have gotten so into the Greek cuisine that we seek out Greek restaurants anytime we travel.
One of the common appetizers at Greek restaurants is Saganaki – a fried cheese that usually gets flambéed at the table, a technique -  which I have learned from such notable Greeks as John Krontiras, the owner of Nabeel’s Cafe & Market – is a purely theatrical American addition to Saganaki. Real Greecey Greeks just fry it.

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Let me jump in here with a plug for the aforementioned Market, where John’s wife will gladly sell you all manner of imported cheeses and house made goodies – our favorites are the pimento cheese and the tabouli. All of the cheese harmed in the making of this blog came from this market.

This particular dish had never made it to our family table for ethnic dinnertime, so I really felt like this was an Eager Beaver’s chance to bring something legit (and theatrical) to the family palate.

A quick Google search will give you a plethora of options for making Saganaki – nearly the variety you get by asking different Greek chefs how to make the stuff.

So that leaves you with the option of trial and error.

The basic recipe is fry the cheese, pour a little alcohol over it, light it and watch it burn, and then squeeze lemon juice over it. All variations that fit within that framework are negotiable, such as which cheese? Lightly, heavily, or not breaded? Which liquor? Et Cetera.

My first attempt was last year. I bought Keflograveria cheese from Nabeel’s, then sliced it, rinsed it with water, lightly breaded it with seasoned flour, fried it for a few minutes on each side in olive oil, transferred it to a baking dish, poured a shot of brandy over it, torched it, and then put out the flame [too early] by squeezing lemon juice over it.

It was definitely edible, but the overwhelming taste of brandy was a lesson learned…Happy Easter Lunch everybody.

During Blogher last year, Rachel and I found a New York City Greek Restaurant and ordered Saganaki. And, as is my custom, I asked the waiter about it. He told me I should definitely do what they do and use Halloumi cheese flambéed in Ouzo, the traditional old man Greek liquor.

This variation excited Rachel quite a bit, because she had fond memories of Halloumi cheese from her teenage missions trip to Cyprus. My next experiment happened on Christmas Eve 2012. I bought Cypriot Halloumi (Nabeel’s Market again) and a bottle of Greek Ouzo (can’t tell you where I got this, but good luck.)

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Let me pause here and say that I always imagined Greek old men sitting around and drinking something that would peel paint off a battleship, but that is incorrect. Ouzo is very fruity and deeply tasting of licorice.

Greektini, if you will.

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Same recipe, except this time I used [too much] olive oil, but took care to let the ouzo burn out before I put the lemon juice on it.

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It was much better than the first time,

just a bit too oily.

In my most recent attempt, I again resorted to the Halloumi. This time, my cheese allotment was a mere three days from it’s expiration date, a quality that I would like to believe added an even more authentic flavor.

Halloumi

I barely put in enough oil to cover the bottom of the frying pan, and it all turned out quite nicely.

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The Ouzo again left no fruity overtones, probably since I let it burn out.

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I am looking forward to many happy years of fried Greek cheese. And this one nasty bottle of licorice-flavored goodness should last for quite awhile.

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So. In case you weren’t able to internalize that rambling recipe, here it is:

2 packages of Halloumi or Keflograveria Cheese
Olive Oil
Flour, mixed with salt, pepper, and greek seasoning (optional)
1 shot of Ouzo or Brandy
1 Lemon
A reliable source of fire.

1. Slice the cheese into 1/2 inch slices. Rinse slices in water.
2. Flip slices in flour mixture.
3. Heat Olive Oil in a pan (just enough to cover the bottom).
4. Fry cheese on medium-high for a couple of minutes on each side.
5. Place cheese into a separate dish, pour liquor over it, dim the lights and light it.
6. After the flames die out, squeeze lemon over cheese. Serve immediately.

Good luck and keep the fire extinguisher handy.

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