High School Daze: Reunions, Cocktail Sauce and Self-Doubt.

We’re the best, ain’t no maybe.

We’re the Class of 1980.

What was I thinking?

I was back in Charleston a few months ago and ran into a friend from high school.  Really nice guy.  Married.  After a couple of graciously-poured single malt Scotches, one thing led to another, and yep, you guessed it, I agreed to organize our 30^th class reunion.  (That is what you guessed, right?)

What was I thinking?

It’s not so surprising that I agreed to spearhead the Fort Johnson High School Class of 1980 reunion.  I went to school with lots of exceptionally capable, energetic, well-organized folks, and many of them still live in Charleston.  They know local caterers and bartenders and DJs, and the truth is, if there’s one thing the Fort Johnson Trojans know how to do, it’s throw a party.  My friends have already unearthed people I thought we’d never track down.  You can bet my classmates will be the ones to pull this thing off.

What’s surprising is that I agreed to go at all.

High school is four years of the most fun you’ll ever have.  Forty-eight months of growth and experimentation and self-realization.  Forty-eight months of doubt and awkwardness and self-loathing.

I’d want to re-visit that why?

We graduated in 1980.  Flash forward 30 years.  You know that girl who hasn’t gained an ounce since graduation?  You hate her, right?  Well then, you’d love me.

Based on what I'm hearing from former classmates, I'm not alone.  Plainly, some of that doubt and awkwardness and self-loathing is still lodged in place.  I know.  It's not like I'm a candidate for The Biggest Loser.  Let's just say I no longer have to worry about the American Red Cross telling me I don’t weigh enough to donate blood.  My wrinkles resemble those on nearly any 47-year-old – not the crevasses I deserve after all those 6-hour days on the beach.  We'd never even heard of "sunscreen."  There was "suntan lotion" (for "deep, dark, tropical tans) and Johnson & Johnson baby oil (for sizzling, searing, blistering burns).  And my hair?  Well, it’s nothing that a bottle of Clairol Nice ‘n Easy can’t remedy.  OK.  That’s a lie.  Nothing my fabulous hair stylist can’t remedy.  (Love you, Crystal!)

You have to wonder to what extent hair salons, weight loss programs, clothing boutiques and, let’s be honest, cosmetic surgeons, rely on class reunions.  Sure, they only come around every five to 10 years, but when they do, hoo boy.  New Year’s resolutions pale in comparison.  I don’t just want to lose weight.  I want to be adorably slim, totally ripped, fabulously dressed, sophisticatedly coiffed, and, of course, ridiculously happy with my station in life.  And natch, tan.

So yeah.  I’ll be there.  But I’m not eating anything until August 7, 2010.  Well, except chai tea lattes.  And maybe sangria.

So I hope my classmates arrange to have fabulous food at the reunion.  And since we'll be in the Lowcountry, I bet some of it will require cocktail sauce.

It’ll be a bit too early for oysters, but shrimp?  Definitely.  And where there’s shrimp, there’s cocktail sauce.  And with luck, a 1980 Fort Johnson Trojan who’s a few pounds – and a few hair shades – lighter.

Cocktail Sauce (for Seafood)

There are plenty of bottled cocktail sauces out there, but I don’t know anyone who buys them.  There’s no reason to buy someone else’s cocktail sauce when you can make your own with three simple ingredients.

1 12-ounce bottle of Heinz Chili Sauce

2 tablespoons fresh squeezed lemon juice

2 tablespoons (or more, to taste) refrigerated prepared horseradish

Combine all ingredients.  Chill and serve with fresh poached local shrimp.  Or oysters.  Or even saltine crackers.  Yum.

The Time Is Right For Bacon and Egg Salad Sandwiches.

We are not a sandwich family.

While there’s no denying the convenience of eating right out of one’s hand (all hail the Earl of Sandwich), and while I do love me some Subway (ham and swiss on wheat with lettuce, banana peppers, black olives, pickles and mustard), I don’t know that I’ve ever  -- ever, ever, ever, -- set out to make a sandwich just for myself.  In fact, as I look over the 100+ recipes in Feminine Wiles, there’s only one sandwich recipe – for tuna salad (which is very, very good, but I'd just as soon eat with a fork).

The kids, I suspect, feel the same way about sandwiches.  Yes, I pack their lunches every day, but unless I insist on variety, it’s always the same:  peanut butter.  Not peanut butter and jelly (the classic).  Not peanut butter and banana (a Southern treat).  Not peanut butter and honey (my brother’s childhood favorite).  Not peanut butter and bacon (although knowing their fondness for bacon, that one’s a mystery). 

Just peanut butter.

However, knowing Son and Darling Daughter as I do, I’m betting many of those peanut butter sandwiches, lovingly made before they board the bus at 7:30 a.m., never make it past anyone’s lips.  At least not Son’s and Darling Daughter’s.  I know they’re not sandwich-eaters.  Likewise, I know what else is tucked in those lunch bags.  Fruit.  Oreos.  Pringles.  The occasional snack bag of M&Ms.  I’m just saying.

On Easter, though, I can’t help but think of sandwiches.  Egg salad sandwiches.  Which, as noted, go against everything I believe in. 

  

My mom’s husband insists that, if pimento cheese sandwiches and egg salad sandwiches (on white bread) were not served at your wedding reception, you are not, in fact, really married.  And before you even ask, yes -- both were on my wedding buffet 25 years ago.  Look, I’m not saying it’s guaranteed.  But it couldn’t hurt.

Still, I don’t like cold hard-boiled eggs – and have a particular suspicion for those that are garishly colored and retrieved during a “hunt.”  I can't abide the texture of boiled egg whites – there’s something decidedly “un-foodlike” about them.  I don’t trust mayonnaise, and in most cases, distrust people who do.  And didn't I mention?  I’m not a sandwich kind of girl.

But it’s Easter.  So I’m eating egg salad.  Carefully.

My own recipe -- very little mayonnaise, a little zip of whole grain mustard or horseradish, very finely chopped whites, fresh dill while I've got it, and just to mix it up -- bacon -- because as everybody knows, bacon makes everything better.  (Bacon Bloody Mary, anyone?)

And yes, if I ever re-married, you can bet there would be egg salad sandwiches.  Or, at least, egg salad on crackers.

Happy Easter, folks!

Bacon and Egg Salad Sandwiches

6 eggs

3-4 tablespoons mayonnaise

1 teaspoon (or more) whole grain Dijon mustard

¼ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon fresh dill, minced (optional)

3 strips bacon, fried until very crisp and chopped fine

fresh ground black pepper (lots)

Cook eggs.  Put eggs in pot and cover with cold water.  Bring to a boil.  Once boiling, reduce heat to a simmer and cook for five minutes.  Then, turn off heat, put lid on pot, and let rest for five additional minutes.  Drain and fill pan with cool water.  When eggs are somewhat cool, remove from pan and peel.  Cut peeled eggs in half and remove yolks to a medium-sized mixing bowl.  Finely chop egg whites.  Set aside.  Using a fork, mash the egg yolks, gradually stirring in mayonnaise, one tablespoon at a time.  Consistency should be very smooth.  Stir in salt, pepper, dill and bacon.  Finally, stir in egg whites.  Serve, chilled on toasted wheat bread or crackers, garnishing with additional dill and bacon, if desired.

Today Is All About Me. Or Really, Smoked Salmon Hash

I’m not pregnant.

I know.  No one’s stopping the presses.  I’m 47 and unmarried.  Hoop,  Dee.  Do.  Still, I am reminded of my fetus-free status every time I grocery shop, because I’m always drawn to those temptingly empty front-of-the-lot parking spots, only to be warded off by signs reading:  Reserved For Expectant Mothers.

Right.  Look I’ve got nothing against expectant moms.  Been there.  Done that.  Got the rear-end-revealing hospital gown to prove it.  Even then, though, I found it silly to save a space for a capable, healthy prego, no matter how much weight she'd gained or how tired she was.  Why not give it to the truly needy mom – the one who hasn't slept more than two consecutive hours in the past 28 weeks, who's toting an infant, a car seat, a diaper bag, and in most cases, an extra 20 pounds, an older toddler and a nasty case of post-natal hemorrhoids?

So you can imagine the guilty thrill I felt today upon visiting our new neighborhood grocery store, Bloom.  As usual, I was lured to an invitingly vacant space at the front of the lot.  But not as usual, there was a sign at the head of the space reading:  20 Minute Parking for Quick Shoppers.

That, my friends, is me to a “t.”  I scarcely touched the brakes before flipping the old Honda Pilot into the space.  Shop quickly and get primo parking?  Clearly, this is an all-about-me kind of day.

Well.  Kind of.

Earlier today, Darling Daughter headed off to spend a beach weekend with friends.  However, despite near constant nagging and reminders and pecking on my part, she managed to leave her Easter dress behind.  As she explained, “I would’ve spent more time packing, but you didn’t have the laundry done.” 

See?  It all comes down to me.

Then, at lunch today, Son grilled a couple of burgers and said, “I didn’t ask whether you wanted one, because I didn’t want to tempt you.” 

Other moms might have their feelings hurt, but not me.  As Son subsequently said, he was only thinking of me.

Right.  I’ll tell you what would really make this an all-about-me day:  If Josie-the-rescue-dog ceased dining on “tootsie rolls” from the cat litter box.  Nasty.  Just thinking about her “snacking habits” makes it so no one wants to be around her.  However, if her habits changed so she was dining on her own "ahem" and I didn’t have to spend so much time donning plastic bags as gloves, hunched over in the backyard, all the better.

Whatever.  I’m already plotting revenge.  Because if indeed, today is going to be all about me, then dinner will be one of my very favorites, Smoked Salmon Hash.

(Sigh.  All-about-me day is over.  Son unpredictably pronounced the hash to be “very good.”  But I still got the last smile.  Son had no idea he was eating a recipe that includes capers, which he hates.  Ha!  Back to me.)

Smoked Salmon Hash

Serves two

20-ounce package of refrigerated hashbrowns with onions, prepared according to package directions

4 ounces sliced smoked salmon, cut in thin strips

1 tablespoon whole-grain Dijon mustard

3 tablespoons horseradish
2 tablespoons capers

3 tablespoons sour cream (plus additional for garnish)

1 teaspoon lemon juice

3 tablespoons minced fresh chives, divided

In a small bowl, stir together all ingredients except hashbrowns, reserving 2 tablespoons of chives for garnish.  Stir salmon mixture into freshly prepared hashbrowns in large skillet.  Heat through.  Serve, garnishing with chives and additional sour cream.