Hi, Moe. We've been seeing each other once a month or so for a couple of years now. Gosh, even when I was pregnant with Baby A, I'd stop by and see you pretty often, since you had that one place near my office.

Today you seem to be all over, in nearly every shopping center or mall we visit. No one can say you aren't there for me; matter of fact, you've got 345 locations in 36 states

But, Moe, we need to take a break for a while.

It wasn't one single experience that brought me to this point. No, it was a bunch of small things over the past year or so. For starters, I feel stressed and strung-out by the time I leave your place. It starts at the door; I don't like being accosted with a chorus of "Welcome to Moe's!" when I step in. I know, I know. It's not just for me—you and your crew do it for everyone. I know you're just trying to show me some love. But, most of the time, it's obvious the employees don't want to do it, and I don't like feeling put on the spot. [My fault, I know.]
Then we get in line, my family and I, and the ordering process is rocky. The menu—what to say about the menu? It has a nice variety, and I love that you offer vegatarian options like tofu and beans. That's cool. But the names for the dishes are silly and annoying, and they serve only to confuse the process. Now I see that you've posted a survey to rename a bunch of the dishes. But are you enlisting customers to help choose more sensical names? No, in fact, the new options are only more annoying than the originals and less rooted in anything remotely descriptive.

I often order the John Coctostan. Do you know how dumb I feel saying that?

The other day, in fact, that silly name caused a bunch of undue stress. We were in line for lunch on Sunday, and Baby A was on the verge of a low blood sugar meltdown. Tell the truth, TWH and I probably were, too....

I decided on a John Coctostan (see? doesn't it just sound silly?) and moved on up. It was busy, and the line piled up behind us and blocked my view of the menu.

Moe's Crew, empty tortilla in hand: "What would you like?"

Me: "The John Coctostan with steak, please."

"What do you want on that?"

"Just whatever it said on the menu, please."

"Like what?"

"I'll just take everything."

"Can you name what's on the menu?"

No, I can't, in fact, because you have a nice crowd today and people are blocking my way. Besides, YOU should know what's in one and quiz me appropriately. I'm easy: steak, black beans. The salsa and cheese promised on the menu. Then I'll ask for fresh jalapenos. But I need you to help me at least get the basics on the tortilla with no fuss.

As it was, all the dumbfounded questioning caused quite a fuss, because as I tried to move backwards to get the menu in view again, I pushed a little too hard on TWH, who was holding the nigh insane Baby A, and both of them went low-blood-sugar ballistic on me. I got evil eyes and muttered words—really, Moe, "for better or for worse" shouldn't have to include restaurant lines.

So there I had an annoyed employee, a pi$$ed-off husband, and a long line of people all staring at me, all because your menu names are, to put it charitably, meaningless. I feel sorry for them. John Coctostan doesn't connote any Americanized Mexican foods to me, either. But there we were, having to deal with it, knowing full well it could be just as straightforward as Chipotle's beautifully simple menu. (Warning: There's sound at that link.)

So we muddled through and got our food and sat down to eat. And I realized I just wasn't really enjoying it. Sure, some of your salsas on the salsa bar are really good, especially the verde, which is brilliantly green and full of flavor.

On top of it all, I had an epiphany about your guacamole. We are guacamole conoisseurs—TWH is from New Mexico, and, me, I just like to eat it, often from the bowl with a spoon—so I admit we're picky. But lately yours is all cheaper fillers, like chopped onion and tomato, with very little avocado. It breaks the chips and tastes sharp and bitter, not creamy like it's supposed to.

Should I mention that Chipotle's guacamole is perfectly creamy, and simple like it's supposed to be, to let that one-of-a-kind fresh avocado flavor shine? No, I won't say it. That would be too harsh. But I guess the truth is there's another player in town now, and I like him better.

So, Moe, this is it for a while. I just heard that you're under new ownership, and I'll wait and see how those new leaders tweak your concept. Change is good, Moe, and I think you need some.

Until next time, then.

[Image thanks to Brand Fuel.]

Posted by QSMama at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

How convenient it is, two years later to the day, not to think about it.

We've had a nice morning of errand-running, playground-going, and farmer's market-visiting, including a shared peanut butter and honey sandwich for lunch (prepared by Whole Foods, the market sponsor) and locally made ice cream. It's beautiful here—meaning it's not 101 degrees outside, finally—so it's all too easy not to remember the tragedy of Katrina.

For a quick-serve tie-in, and to learn from Louisiana natives just how short the recovery efforts after Katrina and Rita are falling, please take a few minutes to read this. It affects you: your grocery and restaurant bills, the source of your foods, the well-being of your fellow citizens, the lessons learned (or not) for the place you live.

Baby A was tiny when Katrina happened, so it was the parents' problems that got to me the most. The worst was watching the parents with small children and babies, sitting, helplessly, in the sun while their children cried at their feet and in their arms. I remember

hoping most of those babies were still nursing, considering there was no clean water for making formula—if there was even any formula around. How could we let American families linger in those circumstances? Aren't we better than that?

In the following weeks, I argued with close family members about what should have happened, and didn't. Some of them insisted the feds were right not to send in helicopters and other rescue vehicles to try to save those lives, that the lack of action was exactly what was supposed to happen, that it was all up to the local resources.

I asked, if a catastrophic earthquake were to hit San Francisco, and the city was on fire and my brother and his wife were stranded on their rooftop with a lake of flames all around, what then? Would they not want our taxpayer-backed helicopters to swoop in and lift them off of their apartment rooftop? At least, try? Or would they prefer that the City of San Francisco send in its cable cars, or something? Accuse me of oversimplifying, if you want, but you have to admit the question stands. How much do we let our people suffer?

Here's the kicker: Clearly, there were communications breakdowns and failures of preparation, no matter who you want to blame. Today have those failures been rectified? Are our cities, and is our nation, ready for future catastrophes, whenever they might strike? Our family lives in a hurricane-prone area. I lived through an unexpectely bad hurricane in 1995; we lost power for a full week, but were basically okay. Is our city ready today, and will my federal government come to my aid if local resources are overwhelmed?

I want to hope so, want to be optimistic—but am afraid I know the answer already. What do you think? How is your family reflecting on this grim anniversary?

Posted by QSMama at 04:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

You know what's funny—not funny ha ha, but funny sighhhh?

Yesterday morning I posted about meaning to cook more. Local ingredients, best of the season, blah blah blah. Ten hours later, I picked up a cheese pizza and house salad for our dinner. Brought it home and served it on china plates like I had cooked it or something.

Nothing like a melting-down kid to bring an inspired cook back down to earth. This is when I love having a fast, friendly pizza shop nearby—one that's dedicated to hormone-free cheese and naturally raised meats. It's not a chain, but I sure wish it were. Hint to chains: Parents want speed AND good ingredients. Hop on the train, okay?

We fed Baby A (who is immensely proud to eat "big triangles" of pizza and munch on carrot sticks "just like Ollie the Bunny from 'Wonder Pets' ") and put her to bed, where she stayed, without a peep, for twelve hours, GLORY HALLELUJAH, and emerged her happy and hyper self this morning.

After that kind of good sleep, I'm in a great mood for some Friday Fun. Let's get started.

* Speaking of someone who might should leave the pizza cooking to the professionals: Mommy Needs Coffee seems to have passed her setting-food-afire gene on to her kids.

* Looking to feed your baby or toddler in style? Wigged out by news of bibs featuring lead? Then keep an eye on Mostess Creations and its new line of bibs, burp cloths, and aprons.

* Finally, a modest proposal for your weekend evenings: Read this list of winning cocktails at Salon. Pick your favorite one (or two) and secure ingredients this afternoon. Maybe get some quick take-out for dinner. Put kids to bed by 7:30. No later. Mix drinks, toast the weekend with your partner or friends, drink.

That's my plan. Here's to it.

Update: Title changed from "Siren Song of..." to "Lure of...". You know why? Because I remembered that following a siren's song leads to bad things. And ain't nothing wrong with a takeout pizza.

Posted by QSMama at 10:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Each day lately I look forward to the sliver of time between when I stop working, around 11 P.M., and can no longer stay awake, around, oh, midnight.

It's the only time I have for reading, which has finally, FINALLY, re-entered my life after a nearly year of pregnancy insomnia (all right, getting up all night to pee) followed by three years with a child who has deep disregard for anyone's need for sleep, including her own. It took thirty-eight months, but at last Baby A has started sleeping for long stretches, even (gasp!) all night long. That kind of sleep deprivation? It's enough to make you collapse into bed once the work and housework are done. Or cry. Or both. Reading? Not so much an option for eyes that can't stay open.

What a treat, then, what a LUXURY to crawl into our lovely bed, nestle down, tune in to the song of the katydids and crickets and cicadas outside, and open Barbara Kingsolver's memoir Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. She and her family moved to a farm in the Virginia mountains and agreed to eat only locally raised foods for a year, excepting only a tiny handful of ingredients, such as flour, which they couldn't source. They raised poultry, grew a variety of vegetables, and shopped nearby farmer's markets for nearly everything the family consumed. Kingsolver journals that year with an easy, humorous tone. Her husband, a college professor, contributes short pieces throughout, and her older daughter Camille, a student at Duke (YEAH!), writes essays and recipes to close each chapter.

Kingsolver's got me thinking...

* How much energy goes into transporting the things we buy and eat? Why not buy North Carolina apples, instead of ones shipped all they way across the country, or from New Zealand?

* How could I spend more of our family's money locally? Is it more satisfying to know that money is going right into nearby farmers' pockets?

* What do I want to teach Baby A about the seasons and seasonality of our foods? About where and how our foods grow, and who grows them?

* How do I want Baby A to remember our mealtimes? As fun and collaborative times? Will she value them more if she's part of the shopping and cooking processes and learns that it's worth putting effort and time into them? Any meal, of course, can be a social occasion, and restaurant meals can let you cut straight to the enjoyable parts (without the clean-up, too). Should I change or be more aware of our use of restaurant meals?

* If Kingsolver—a working mom to two—and her husband can make their own bread and cheese every day, can't I manage to cook a few more of our meals from scratch? (Answer: Some days, yes. Others? Ha.)

Of course, The point of Quick Serve Kids is to explore this: When you do decide to take the family out for a quick meal at a chain restaurant—however often that might be—here's how to make choices that sit well with your philosophy. At the same time, restaurant executives can learn what we parents value (and don't) in fast-food or fast-casual experiences.

The other night, The Wonderful Husband argued that in some ways I'm anti-fast-food. Right now, he might be right. It's August. The farmer's markets are overflowing with great stuff. (I had one farmer piling extra tomatoes on my basket this afternoon: "This time of year they just all need to be eaten!," he said. He was right, and tonight we ate every drop of sauce made with at least ten local tomatoes.) What parent and child who are home, or near home, most days really need fast food?

That's just how it is right now for us, the summertime version of our family life. If I were working in an office, things would be different. And soon, as the weather cools off and preschool and workloads and holiday errands start weighing on us, I imagine I'll turn to quick meal solutions once again. In the meantime, we can still talk about this stuff.

Now, excuse me. It's time to take my three functioning brain cells to bed and read more of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. As with any great meal, I'll be sad when it's done. Read it for yourself. I bet you'll feel the same way.

Buy it now if you'd like, using this link:
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life

Posted by QSMama at 11:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Now, this is interesting, and complicated, news. And if I weren't up to my virtual ears in Internet connection problems, and facing a day of travel tomorrow (pleasure, but with a three-year-old, so, you know) and a magazine story deadline on Wednesday, I'd be right here propounding about it.

But it'll have to wait a day or two. In the meantime, feel free to share your thoughts.

All I can say is this: Now I know why I find everything I taste from Trader Joe's delicious, with the notable exception of the bottle of wine pictured here. Two-buck Chuck shiraz? More like two-buck YUCK. I would've paid two bucks NOT to have to drink it.


Update: Salon's Broadsheet blog put it well:

The real solution may lie in figuring out ways to make healthy choices profitable and appealing, so that companies want to produce them, and consumers want to eat them. That will certainly be difficult, given that many Americans are always going to pick French fries over carrot sticks. But it's an effort worth supporting.

My thoughts exactly! It's what I'm supporting here. But how to get from A to B? Thoughts, anyone?

Posted by QSMama at 09:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)