A Manly Man's Birthday

Are you sitting down? The Associated Press reported today that Charlotte (yes, N.C.) is the second manliest city in the United States. (See complete article.)

True, Nashville, with all its country singers and cowboy hats took top honors, but given the amount of tomato sauce in their BBQ, I think we can claim the crown in 2010. Or is it a belt? On the other hand, we did just land an IKEA store, which although thrilling, certainly diminishes the Queen City's masculinity. (Lucky for us they didn't consider city nicknames, huh?)

I'm doing my part though. My own son turned 14 today. In Medieval times, it's the age at which he could have become a squire. For him, it's just another day in eighth grade. For me, it's a milestone.

In the "manliest" survey, researchers looked at our city's cars, snacks, professional sports teams and power tools, but a parent's perspective is different.

And while I harrass my own 14-year-old a good bit, I can see that he's well on his way to manhood. He's a good guy. A good friend. A good student. And a good son. He's not a follower, but has the judgment to know when to go with the flow. He can pitch a tent, make a friend laugh, write an essay, cheer a teammate, do his own laundry, ask a girl to dance, work for a good cause, and explain homework to his younger sister when I (despite being repetitive and using my loudest voice) have failed.

He can admit when he's wrong -- usually with good humor. He can stand up for what he believes in. He's a fan of The Dark Knight and Spamalot, but for the right girl, can also watch Marley and Me -- with no snarky asides. And he's the kind of babysitter little kids love and parents too, because he does the dishes and puts away the toys.

Today's his day.

To my unceasing surprise, though, he's not a cake-eater. In years past, we've celebrated with cookie cakes, ice cream cakes and even tiramisu. This year, I've insisted on a "real" cake. I promised to replicate the Starbucks marble loaf he routinely orders, by tweaking one of my own favorite recipes.

A good man deserves a good cake. But only after today's English test and baseball game. He is, after all, still a kid.

Marbled Pound Cake

2 sticks butter, room temperature

3 cups sugar

6 eggs, room temperature

3 cups flour

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup sour cream

3 tablespoons cocoa powder

1 oz. semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate, melted

Preheat oven to 325. Grease and flour 10-inch tube pan or bundt pan. Sift together flour, baking soda and salt. Set aside.

In mixer, cream butter and slowly add sugar, beating constantly to cream well. One at a time, add eggs, beating well after each addition. Stir in flour mixture, 1/2 cup at a time. Stir in vanilla and sour cream. Put about 1/3 of batter in a separate bowl, stirring in cocoa powder and chocolate.

Spoon half of "plain" batter into prepared pan. Spoon (randomly) chocolate batter into pan, trying not to make a "layer." The result should be blotchy. Spoon remaining "plain" batter on top. Draw a butter knife through the batter -- one time around the pan. (Don't swirl.)

Bake 1 1/2 hours or until cake tests done. Place on a rack to cool for about 5 minutes, before turning out to cool completely. Serve with confectioners' sugar, whipped cream and fresh berries. (Alternately, bake in three 4" x 8" loaf pans, for about an hour. Freezes well.)

Snow In The Carolinas

On long car trips, I'll do nearly anything to "de-bud" the kids' ears of their iPods.  So we play the "license plate game," checking off the various state license plates we spot on drives to Charleston, the beach or camp.  Sound a bit young for kids the age of mine?  It is.  But we're crazy competitive about a couple of things.  Being right is one of those things.  The license plate game is another.

Since Charlotte's only a few miles from the state border, South Carolina plates are common.  Florida, Georgia and inexplicably, Ohio and New Jersey, are next.  South Dakota, Rhode Island, New Mexico and Oregon are nearly impossible.  And based on our unscientific research, North Dakota has quietly seceded from the Union.

Oddly, we've noticed an influx of out-of-staters since the New Year.  I suspect it has something to do with the economy.  At our neighborhood grocery store today, I spied plates from Vermont, New Jersey, and New Hampshire.  Imagine those drivers' confusion earlier this week, when our fair city nearly shut down for a mere four inches of snow!  Laugh -- but in this case, the powers that be were right.  None of us should have been out on the road.  And with our city's limited road-clearing resources, even those drivers from I-95 (way) north were better off at home spending quality time with Matt and Meredith, Oprah and Phil.

When those first fat flakes floated down Sunday night, my daughter, who knows full well how fleeting Charlotte snow can be, rushed outside, where she stayed for over two hours, clad in her cold weather gear -- hat, gloves and a nylon windbreaker.  As it turned out, the snow lingered long enough the next morning to get in some sledding -- followed shorter thereafter by some frozen mudding.

Even so, there was an absolute magic to it.  We hunkered down, made potato soup, and enjoyed the frozen finale to our winter.  The forecast for this Saturday, no kidding, is 70 degrees.  And even better for me, the kids were back in school today.

Potato Soup Plus

1 onion, sliced

2 tablespoons butter

2 14-oz. cans of chicken broth

4 large Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and sliced

2 bay leaves

1 slice ham hock

1 cup light cream

salt and pepper to taste

chopped ham (optional)

steamed broccoli florets

steamed sliced carrots

sour cream (for garnish)

minced chives (for garnish)

Very slowly, brown onion in butter over very low heat.  (May take 15 minutes -- or longer -- but worth it for the rich taste.)  When nicely browned, stir in chicken broth, potatoes, bay leaves and ham hock.  Bring to a boil, turn to low and simmer about an hour, adding water if needed to keep soup from getting too thick or sticky.  When potatoes are very tender,  and broth very flavorful, use potato masher to break potatoes into small pieces.  Gently stir in light cream.  Heat carefully and season well with salt and pepper.

Put a handful of steamed vegetables and ham in bottom of each individual bowl, ladling soup on top.  Garnish with sour cream and chives.

Counting My Blessings

Today started with a crash.  My daughter's 4' x 6' corkboard, crusted with the mementos of an 11-year-old life, fell to the floor, waking us all.  Which turned out to be a blessing, as I'd overslept, and this wasn't a morning for lounging.   It was the last day our priest of 10 years would be serving our parish -- our last chance to bid a fond farewell before he is called to another congregation.

The temperature was plummeting, and it was raining cats and dogs.  Snow -- an anomaly anytime of year here in Charlotte -- is forecast.  I point out to the kids that we need to dress accordingly.  Frantically throwing on clothes so we can get to the 8:30a service, my son finds he has only two pairs of pants.  Not two pairs of CLEAN pants, but somehow, in the entire house (including hamper, backpack, washer, dryer and under the bed), TWO pairs of pants -- and they're both lying damply in the washer.

Now, any parent of a teenager can tell you that the wardrobe is limited -- not only is there a finite number of items they'll wear, but there's an even smaller number which fit their ever-stretching bodies.  But still, TWO?  Last week, there were at least half a dozen, but that can't be addressed now, because we're late, we're late, we're late.

On the way out the door, I realize we haven't seen Lionel, our year-old (indoor) cat, but again, we've got to scoot.  The service begins at 8:30a.  We arrive, soggy, shivering, irritable -- and mid-sermon.  My bad.  The early service began at 8:15a.

Taking our seats in a back pew, I listen with half an ear to the service I was determined not to miss.  As my heart rate returns to normal, concern for the cat sets in.  I try to think of when we last saw him.  Losing Lionel is not an option.  We lost our dog in September.  The cat is a necessity.

After the service, we all say our goodbyes and I drive home, telling the kids that I think Lionel is missing.  We come up with a plan of action.  But first, we've got to change out of our church clothes.  It's freezing.  It's teeming rain.  I try to calculate our odds of finding Lionel in this soggy mess.  As my dad would say, there were two chances -- "slim" and "none."

I send the kids to change, but I run outside, holding my jacket over my head, calling Lionel, looking anywhere I think he might be.  No good.  Eyes brimming with tears, I run upstairs to change, so I can lead a more thorough search.

Just as I'm tugging on dry jeans, I hear my daughter scream -- or is that a squeal?  Her brother, the one who claims to hate the cat, has just climbed the stairs, in waterlogged church clothes, and bearing an even more drenched cat.

My hero.  Time for a well-deserved favorite meal -- corned beef.  No recipe necessary.  I can just offer up that, for some reason, corned beef is always better (not too tough, not too mushy) when prepared in a slow cooker.

Perfect.  All that slow cooking gives me ample time to count my blessings.  Which are many.