We're The Class of 1980, Part II

Oh what a night.*

My 30^th high school reunion was this past weekend and I am exhausted.  Exhilarated.  And as event coordinator, exonerated.

It was a great evening.  Most everybody showed up.  Most everybody paid.  And most everybody repeated the same lie, I mean, line, all night long.

“You haven’t changed a bit!”

Indeed, the Fort Johnson High School Class of 1980 looked great.  Had fun.  Took full advantage of the open bar.  And in the end, had to be swept out the door by weary, broom-wielding caterers.  It’s unclear whether the bartenders were more eager to be relieved of us or our 1970s playlist (think The Village People, The Commodores and The Bee Gees).

Just as fun was the chance to meet spouses and dates and hear their perspectives.  My favorite line came from a wife who said, regarding her successful and loving husband, “If I had known him in high school, I never would’ve gone out with him.  Much less married him.”

In fact, after all the memory-sharing and memory-making and merrymaking, that’s what I took away from this weekend.  A direction taken as a teenager does not a lifelong journey make.

Parents worry.  Trust me.  I’m a worrying champ.  I want my kids to be happy in life.  I want them to be successful adults.  I want them to be contributing citizens.  So I’m always wondering:   Are they working hard enough now?  Are they well-rounded?  Are they taking the best courses in school?  Are they generous?  Are they musical?  Are they athletic?  Are they scholarly?  Do they have any heretofore undiscovered and scholarship-worthy talents that I have yet to unmine – perhaps an unnatural gift for Russian literature or bungee-jumping or harmonica playing?  Are they always doing their best?

Heck, no.  No one can.  Least of all me.  However, the moral of my reunion story is that, even if kids aren’t always doing their best, they can still become happy, contributing, successful adults.

The route to “happiness” depends upon the individual.  I know plenty of people, who, as kids, never missed a summer school opportunity.  People who “took an extra lap” in high school.   Teens who may have “skirted” the law.  Kids who made college choices based on nothing more than whims, hormones and the state drinking age.

And despite it all, they're now happy, contributing, successful adults.  Many, in fact, said they’ve never been happier.

Oh what a night.

Just don’t tell my kids.

*The Four Season, 1975

Of course I've got a recipe. It's what we had for dinner tonight, but had nothing to do with the story.  Despite that, it was a huge hit and prompted Darling Daughter to ask, "How do you come up with these recipes?"  Hmm.  Maybe she'll be a chef one day.  A happy, successful, well-rounded, well-paid, altruistic chef.  Could happen.

Rice and Chicken with Proscuitto, Basil and Parsley

4 oz minced or finely cubed proscuitto

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large garlic clove, peeled and impaled on a toothpick

1 cup raw rice

1/2 cup dry white wine

1 1/2 cups chicken broth

1/2 teaspoon salt

sprinkle of red pepper flakes

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

2 cups chopped cooked chicken

1/4 cup fresh basil, minced

1/2 cup fresh parsley, minced

In a large, lidded saucepan, saute proscuitto in olive oil over medium high heat.  When lightly browned, increase heat to high, and stir in garlic, rice, wine, chicken broth, salt, red pepper flakes and lemon juice.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, and cook, lidded, for 10 minutes.  Gently stir in chicken and fresh herbs.  Replace lid and continue cooking for 4-5 minutes, or until rice is done.  Let rest 4-5 minutes, fluff with fork and serve hot.

We're The Class of 1980

We’re the best, ain’t no maybe.  We’re the Class of 1980.

My 30^th high school reunion is this weekend.

Do you suppose it would be possible, in the next three days, for me to:

•  Lose 15 pounds?  10?  Nine?  Truth be told, I’d be happy with one.  And a half.

•  Run a marathon?  A half marathon?  A wildly successful and innovative computing empire known as “Apple”?

•  Find in my driveway, free of monthly payments, the Jaguar (eight-cylinder) I always swore I’d have when I grew up?  (Forty-seven is "grown up," is it not?)

•  Publish a novel?  My memoirs?  A three-paragraph post on momswhodrinkandswear.com?  (Who am I kidding?  As instructed by my high school English teacher, Mrs. Evelyn Hall, I can’t write anything in fewer than five paragraphs.  I can, however, drink and swear, something I did not learn from Mrs. Hall.  I swear.)

But wait.  Surely my former classmates --  the Mighty, Mighty Trojans of Fort Johnson High School -- aren't so shallow and competitive.  Besides, I’m a Mom!  I'm not limited to bragging about my own accomplishments!  Perhaps I can:

•  Arrange Son’s early admission to Harvard.  (Yes, he’s only 15 and admittedly unmotivated, but wouldn’t that qualify him as “unique” and therefore, “desirable” to the selection committee?)

•  Persuade 13-year-old and admittedly squeamish Darling Daughter to donate a kidney.  To a newborn.  In a third world country.

•  Train Josie, our highstrung rescue dog who won't fetch so much as a tennis ball, to retrieve meals for an elderly person.  Who’s visually impaired.  And in any other circumstance, suffers from life-threatening canine allergies.

•  Persuade Lionel, the 13-pound feline of the house to ...  What?  Snub us?  Really, what other skill does he possess?

Sigh.  The truth is, there are only two days before I head to home to Charleston, and like Popeye, “I yam what I yam.”  And despite it all, what I “yam” is pretty “yam” happy.

As much as I’ve dreaded the upcoming reunion, in many ways, I’m actually looking forward to it.  Cougar Bait (again, only 23 days younger than me) has agreed to be my arm candy.  He's also agreed to, as the need arises, serve as parking attendant and bouncer/strong arm for those beloved classmates who haven’t yet submitted their reunion checks to me.  (Have I not mentioned that I’m the one organizing the Reunion?  How uncharacteristically non-bitchy of me!)

Moreover, my former classmates -- those who have paid their $55 fee and even those who have not --have been incredibly appreciative and supportive.  They've also been forthcoming with their stories and “scoop.”  (Hoo boy.  I do love me some “scoop.”)

And as a bonus, dear friends have retrieved their not-altogether accurate memories of me.  In some ways, it’s ridiculously flattering.  One friend, in fact, remembered that I often made “Lemon Chicken” back in middle school. 

The recipe, at that time, wasn’t truly my favorite.  I like the idea, but the skin was woefully soggy.  The seasoning came largely from lemon-pepper seasoning.  And overcooked?  Well, considering that the recipe called for it to be cooked FOREVER, why yes,  it may have been.

This version, I think, is much more simple, flavorful and juicy -- with crispy skin, to boot.

If only it could help me lose 15 pounds before Saturday.  Or even one.  And a half.

Go Trojans!

Pan Roasted Lemon Chicken

1 chicken, cut up

Zest and juice of two lemons

1 lemon, quartered

2 tablespoons olive oil

4 cloves garlic, smashed and peeled

1 teaspoon minced fresh rosemary

1 teaspoon kosher salt

½ teaspoon fresh ground pepper

3 strips bacon,  finely diced (optional)

Toss all ingredients – except bacon, salt and pepper -- together in a large roasting or broiler pan.  Allow to rest 15-20 minutes (taking the "chill" off the chicken before cooking). Preheat oven to 450.  (If you have a convection oven, now’s the time to use it.)  Arrange chicken in pan, so pieces are not touching, skin side up.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper.  Scatter raw bacon (if using) over top.  Roast for 20 minutes or until slightly browned.  Check, and, using tongs, squeeze roasted lemon chunks over chicken.  (Don't turn chicken.)  Return to oven and continue roasting until crispy brown and done (about 20-25 minutes).  Allow to rest 10-15 minutes before serving.

What Darling Daughter Missed More Than Me.

She’s baaaaacccck!

Yep.  After four weeks at her shoreline Shangri-La (Camp Seafarer), Darling Daughter is Chez Wiles. 

And hoo boy, she’s an entirely different creature.

As you’d expect, she’s an altogether different shade – more tobacco than tan.  But that’ll happen to even the most diligent 50+SPF sunscreen appliers (of which, she’s one) who spend four weeks at the beach.  And yes, she’s taller – practically my height – but that’s to be expected of a girl her age.

Nope. It’s not physical.  It’s harder to recognize than that. Maybe she’s more composed.  Maybe more confident.  Maybe that most prized of all Chez Wiles’ attributes -- maybe she’s funnier.  Hard to say.  I just know that I’m happy to be around her.

While at camp, DD wrote diligently – for which I owe her at least $14, given my promise to pay her $1 for every “well-written” letter.  I hungrily read and re-read everything she wrote, but my favorites were, without question, the ones where she wrote of missing my cooking.  (She also missed her bed and hot showers, but truly, she mentioned my cooking the most.)

Oh, honey.  You missed my cooking?  Those words are more magical than "abracadabra," "alakazzam," and "I need to see your ID, ma'am"  combined.

I knew exactly what DD would want:  Chicken Cavatappi, Beer Butt Chicken, Caesar Salad with Chicken and Uncle Nick’s Grilled Greek Wings.  In anticipation, I crammed the basement freezer with poultry.  I was ready.

But then, a heckuva storm knocked out that freezer.  All those chicken wings and boneless breasts and thighs defrosted and had to be tossed.  (Puh-leeze.  I can’t bear to come up with a more graphic description than “lukewarm, squishy, funky and leaky.”  Get the picture?)

Which, although a huge waste of money, turned out to be OK, because upon her return from camp, DD declared she’d had more than her fill of chicken – not to mention potatoes and salad.

As I said, she’d changed.  Out with the leaky, sticky chicken, and in with other comfort foods – Tuna Sandwiches, Sausage Pasta – and for the first dinner home, Buttermilk Pancakes.

Of course, I’d worked on a new – and easy – grilled chicken tender with peanut sauce recipe while she was gone and had been eager to make it once she got home  But that can wait.  Until then, I can handle one more round of Pork Fried Rice.  And simply be grateful for that oft-repeated line in her letters, “I miss your cooking” – now my four most favorite words.

Grilled Chicken Tenders With Peanut Sauce

Wooden skewers, soaked in water for at least one hour

1 pound boneless, raw chicken tenders

4 tablespoons ponzu sauce (a citrus-soy sauce)

1 tablespoon toasted (or dark) sesame oil

1 teaspoon fresh grated ginger

Combine all ingredients (except skewers, of course) and allow to marinate about 30 minutes (or several hours in the refrigerator).

Thread marinated chicken on skewers and grill over indirect heat.  Should take only a few minutes on each side.  Do not overcook, or chicken will dry out.  Serve with peanut sauce.

Peanut Sauce

¼ cup ponzu sauce

¼ cup water

¼ cup rice vinegar

½ teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 teaspoon fresh grated ginger

fresh ground pepper

¼ cup smooth peanut butter

In large, microwavable cup, combine all ingredients except peanut butter, and heat to boiling.  Gradually stir hot liquid into peanut butter.  At first, peanut butter will “melt,” and then will thicken the sauce.  When well combined, serve with grilled chicken.