Growing Up

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of DeaPeaJay

In case you haven’t heard yet, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. This past weekend though, I’ve started feeling nostalgic about life in a funky way and it’s affecting my Christmas spirit. I keep looking back on where I’ve been, and wondering where in the world I’m headed. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m missing the boat somewhere. As I wade through my thoughts, one thing has become unpleasantly clear. I’m growing up, and I hate it. This realization has begun to suck the wonderful out of this time of year. Depressing, I know. Not something I should be writing a week and a half before Christmas, I know. I guess I’m just hoping to find some clarity by processing my thoughts in writing. Better yet, maybe you can share some of your wisdom with me as I sort through this season of wondering.

To give you a reference for when this all started, I was in the car with Pete on our way to a Christmas party. I had been feeling a little reflective that day, but a song on the radio seemed to pull my thoughts right out of my head. The song kept repeating the lines,

I’ve overcommitted myself.
I guess this is growing up.
I’m sleeping so little these days.
I guess this is growing up.
I have a feeling things are about to change.
I’m guessing this is growing up.

So it may not seem revolutionary by the look of it. In fact as I copied those lyrics I couldn’t help but feel a little childish. I recognize that they’re pretty simplistic, but I heard the song in one of those moments that seems to make everything clear. The kind of moment that can never be replicated. The kind that happens when you’re lost in your thoughts while looking out the window of a moving car and you suddenly hear every detail of each chord played and harmony sung as clearly as if the musician had reached into your heart and yanked out what you’d been feeling and put words to it. I love those kinds of moments. They are epic. Those kinds of moments leave imprints on my soul. Those kinds of moments get archived into my memory as treasured scenes from my life’s movie. Those kinds of moments generally make me feel alive. In this situation though, I was left more with questions than with exuberance. Those questions have been amplified as my weekend trudged on, and I’m not quite sure where to go from here.

What I do know is that Pete and I don’t have a ton of commitments these days. We have our jobs, and a few nights a week that require our attention. Otherwise we’re pretty free to sit on the couch most evenings. The strange thing is that when we get to our busy weekends, we feel as though we’ve sprinted to a finish line and need a week to recover. Ironically, in our dating and early married years were defined by over commitment, but had ample time to spend with each other and had tons of fun in the process. We loved having good ole fashioned, irresponsible fun. In fact, we were the king and queen of fun country. We didn’t care about the repercussions of staying up late or pushing ourselves beyond our limits. We lived for those moments. We thrived on the busyness…until it caught up to us and we bottomed out…hard. It seems as though we’ve never fully recovered from that and the only culprit I see in that is age.

I’m a perpetual 23 year-old in my mind. After acknowledging each birthday since then, I’ve reverted back to the age I was when I was queen of fun country. I have an image etched in my mind of a girl dancing barefoot through a field of tall grass, hair tossed by the wind, not a care in the world, laughing. That’s the world I long to live in, but then I have moments like the one in the car the other night and my bubble is burst. I don’t know how to get back there, and it scares me to think that my life will continue on in this pattern of disappointment. Sure, I’m a more responsible woman who has held a steady job for three years now. Yes, I can pay my mortgage and other bills on time each month. Woo hoo, I have a savings account. Yadda, yadda, yadda. But where’s the fun? Where’s the adventure? What am I doing to change the world? I miss the uninhibited passion I had to reach out and grab hold of my dreams. I don’t even know where those dreams are anymore. That scares me. I used to live for dreaming, for possibilities and action. I used to be a world changer. Where have I gone?

I’m reluctant to move forward into adulthood, but know the doors of my 23 year-old life have long since closed. What am I supposed to do in the mean time? Who am I meant to be? I have a hard time finding a place for the queen of fun country in the “appropriateness” of being a professional, well-behaved woman. I guess what I’m trying to say is I recognize this is growing up, but I don’t think I can do it gracefully and am scared I’m going to fall into the abyss of a monotonous, ineffective life. I miss that little girl in the field with possibilities as endless as the sky. I miss the laughter, joy and the heart behind it all. I have to go find her.

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Cookie Commotion

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of Link576

Each year around Christmas time I set some pretty lofty goals for myself that involve Christmas cards arriving in people’s homes by the third week of December, having all my gifts purchased and wrapped before Thanksgiving, and decorating the house from top to bottom on Black Friday – after I’ve spent the morning bargain hunting for the cheapest prices of the season of course. Here I sit at the end of the first weekend in December and I’ve not purchased the cards yet or even attempted to search through the attic for our Christmas decorations. I have started my shopping, but am sure the rest of it will be done with minutes to spare on the 23rd. That just seems to be the way it goes each year. Each year since I’ve been married I’ve set those ambitions for myself and each year I’m let down as the month slips by and my goals get shoved into the background. Last year we didn’t even buy a tree! There is one tradition, though, that was established my first year of marriage and I’ve cherished it ever since.

Pete’s family has a rich history of recipes passed from generation to generation. It’s not unusual to see recipe cards with handwriting from my mother-in-law’s grandmother or recipes with titles of Aunts or Uncles names in it. Each Strub family get-together is marked by a hearty main course, savory side dishes, and baked goods to die for. Christmas is no exception in the Strub household. Each year Pete and I get together with his parents and sister or sisters to make not one, not two, but six different kinds of Christmas cookies. It is an all day occasion filled with hot, hard work, but the memories I have as a result of those days with my family is priceless.

Just today Pete and I spent close to seven hours mixing, measuring and frosting cookies. In the midst of those hours though I was able to share life with people I love. I got to play hide and seek, tickle fight and some other games I didn’t really understand with my four year old nephew. I heard the incredible heart of my father-in-law as we shared a conversation about the world. I learned from the wisdom of my mother-in-law and shared laughs with my sister-in-law. All of these moments, though easily taken for granted, were priceless. I won’t get that time back.

As I left the house exhausted, arms full of sweet goodies, I realized how much I appreciate the excuse food provides to get people together. We use the excuse to catch up with old friends over coffee and a pastry. We use the excuse to get to know a significant other more intimately over a meal. We use food as an excuse, or opportunity rather, to share life, love, and community with those around us whom we hope to learn from. Food is unique in that way. It’s really one of the only things in the worlds that brings people together no matter how far apart they are.

While Christmas cookie making is not the healthiest of the holiday traditions to uphold, the company shared in that time is invaluable. I’ll sacrifice the health of my body a little in order to connect with my family every day. Now, if I could just figure out those Christmas cards and decorations…

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The Family That Sweats Together Stays Together

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of Yoppy

More than a few weeks ago I wrote an article about being stuck in bad eating habits. Since we’re all still a little hung over from our Thanksgiving indulgences I figured today would be as good as any to give an update on my self proclaimed “stuck-ness.” I should preface this article by saying that I just downed a 44-ounce cup of Mountain Dew and an entire theatre size box of Tropical Typhoon flavored Mike an Ikes. Surprisingly enough, though, this could shape up to be a pretty positive report.

You should know something about me. I have a hard time making commitments to things, luckily not my relationship with Pete, but in virtually every other area in my life. I once had seven jobs in one year. I was only fired from one of them thank you very much. I’ve written and rewritten a five-year plan over ten times in the last five years. And my latest achievement? I’ve had five different gym memberships in the last four years – three of them being in the last year.

At the end of last school year I joined the gym at my Alma Mater St. John Fisher College. It was the best deal in town, it was right on my way to and from work, and they had TVs in front of all the cardio machines. There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t still be going there. But, in August the Bills took over campus and I was scared I’d run in to T.O., no, not really, but it was such a hassle to get there so I stopped going. Even when fall hit and the Bills were well into their pathetic season (minus their game this past Sunday) I continued to stay away. My excuses were plentiful, and every time I drove past Fisher and saw it stare me down on 490 the guilt was as heavy as my newly accumulated pounds.

At that point I joined the Iron Butterfly in Victor because I figured I should try working out in the morning before school so I didn’t have any excuse in the afternoon. Turns out that 5:30 am has a whole new batch of excuses to offer someone whose husband is still snoring contentedly in the warm bed. Most recently, about three weeks ago, I joined the JCC in Brighton thinking if my gym was closer to me I wouldn’t have as hard of a time waking up to go in the morning. That was a stupid assumption. It’s not easy to get up in the morning. In fact, I still hate it. There have been a few mornings that I have consciously decided to sleep in. But rather than give up for the day, I’ve made sure to go to the gym after work on those days. I’ve even been there three consecutive Saturdays when their doors open so that I can put in an hour and half or more of workout time. I am proud to say that in the twenty-one days I’ve been a member there, I’ve worked out eleven times. That’s because they have one thing that none of my other gyms ever had.

The JCC has a huge room filled with a wide variety of cardio machines. They have three weight rooms and more fitness classes than I could attend if I were a contestant on the Biggest Loser. They have a pool, a nice, clean locker room, and a program that provides new members with three private sessions with a personal trainer to help orient you to the facilities and you to meet with a personal trainer a few times to get oriented to the weights and you set up a plan that allows you to achieve your goals. Amazingly enough, all of those things are not what keep me going back. The only reason I have stuck to my commitment to the JCC is the fact that Pete has joined with me. He has been committed to waking up with me each morning and sweating it out with me. While we’re there we rarely work out together, but it’s been so nice to have someone there encouraging me along the way. It’s made all the difference in fact. On the days I can’t wake up, I go to the gym after work, because I know Pete will be waiting for me at home wondering whether I followed through with my commitment or not.

Our commitment to self-improvement has even carried over, somewhat, to our diet as well. Pete and I both love our sweets. In fact, they are a “usual” on our weekly grocery list. But this weekend Pete stopped and questioned our choice as we grabbed two half-gallon containers of Turkey Hill Ice Cream from the freezer. That pause alone is a huge improvement in our eating habits, but the fact that we actually put them back is a true testament to the difference working out together has made. I’ve noticed that I push myself harder, stick to my goals more closely and feel more encouraged than ever all because I know Pete is there.

It’s so important to have accountability in an area that you’re trying to improve in. Even if that accountability still lets you down 44 ounces of Mountain Dew and a box of Mike and Ikes after dinner. Hey, I’m not saying I’ve got it completely down just yet, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be perfect, but I’ve felt the best I’ve felt in awhile in the last few weeks. The scale hasn’t gone down too drastically yet, but my mindset has shifted, my relationship with Pete has gotten stronger, and I’d say I’m well on my way past stuck and that is something I can stay committed to.

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Genie on My Dinner Plate

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of Jason Pearce

I love junk food. In fact, I eat junk food so much that it might as well be an added food group in my regular diet. I can’t seem to get enough of it. Inevitably I try to stop eating junk food on the very day that there are donuts left for us at the teacher’s lounge or Pete has a craving for ice cream. I can’t seem to get away from it, and I’m ok with that. I have a fall back plan on the nights when my hand has spent a little too much time in the cookie jar. That plan is Aladdin’s Natural Eatery.

Friday night I felt like a stuffed cannoli, so when Pete asked me where we should go for date night, I immediately thought of my feel healthy fall back. Aladdin’s is a “natural eatery” that serves a large variety of Mediterranean style foods. They offer a vast menu equipped with salads, pastas, pitas, and the many interesting to pronounce foods like spanakopita, souvlaki, and falafel. I developed a craving for Aladdin’s early on in my Rochester experience when my roommates and I stumbled upon it in the infamous Schoen Place along the canal in Pittsford. I’ve spent many memorable meals on warm summer evenings dining in their outdoor terrace, and always come away feeling refreshed by the experience. Pete feels like the inside is a little too crowded, and you often have to wait for awhile on busy nights, so we typically avoid that location. That’s right; there is more than one of these little gifts to the Rochester dining scene.

The second location, on Monroe Ave, is exactly .9 miles away from my house. It’s the best set up in the world. At first it took some time to get Pete to agree to go to Aladdin’s for our date nights. He thought the idea of eating naturally meant that he would leave our meal both hungry and broke. That’s where the magic of Aladdin’s comes in. I don’t know if they have a genie in a bottle or what, but for some reason their prices are ridiculously low, and their portions are impressively large. One of the most expensive items on the menu (A combo of chicken, beef and caramelized onions rolled into a pita) is eleven dollars. The rest of the items on the menu average in the five to six dollar range. With that, I was able to get Pete through the door, but I distinctly remember the vibe of skepticism that radiated from him the first time we ate together at Aladdin’s. I felt the same pressure for him to like the restaurant that most people feel when they introduce their significant other to their family to the first time. I desperately wanted him to like it. I wanted to fuse my Aladdin’s world and Pete world together in seamless bliss. The real test came when he ordered his meal. He ordered something with meat in it, surprise surprise; it was either moussaka (the Greek version of shepherd’s pie) or pastitsio (basically a steak salad). As he dug in I could tell not only were his taste buds happy, but so were his wallet and tummy. I had him hooked. Needless to say, Aladdin’s has been a part of our regular date night repertoire ever since, and that makes me a very happy girl.

So, when Pete agreed to go to Aladdin’s Friday night, I jumped at the chance. The last few times I’ve been there I’ve ordered the chicken salad pita. It’s a beautiful blend of chicken, apples, walnuts and mayonnaise atop a bed of mixed greens, cucumbers, and tomatoes stuffed inside pita pocket bread. The thing that pulls this whole dish together for me is the Greek dressing served on the side. I don’t know what they do to make that stuff, but it’s like heaven in my mouth. It may not sound like much, but I always leave feeling perfectly full. I’ve never left with the “I’m so overstuffed I’m sick” feeling, but at the same time I’ve never had the “I just paid money to eat one leaf of lettuce and a baby carrot” thought either.

If you’ve never been to Aladdin’s you need to try it. It’s one of the Rochester gems that I keep coming back to. Very few things on their menu will break your bank (Our bill with tax and tip came to just over $17) or your scale. I recommend it at any time of year, in whatever mood you’re in, no matter what you’ve eaten that day. Somehow it magically resets your body and sends you on the right path again.

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Get Outta Town!

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of Joiseyshowaa

For the four years Pete and I have been married, we’ve made it a habit to go away for a night every three months or so. You might be wondering how we can afford weekly date nights and nights away every three months. This type of behavior doesn’t fit in to our normal spending behaviors. For a couple who slept on a ten year old mattress for the first four years of marriage, counts every dollar each month in a strict budget, and lives in a $60,000 home, you wouldn’t think we’d live extravagantly enough to sleep in a hotel every three months. The truth of the matter is, though, we can’t afford not to do these things. Our weekly date nights help keep us connected with each other from crazy week to crazy week. But, some of the most pivotal moments of our marriage have occurred while we were away from our regular setting and able to relax in an out of routine sort of way.

When we get away, we’re able to step back from the inevitable funk that accumulates in our everyday life and reassess where we’re at as individuals and as a couple. We’ve stuck to this pattern pretty much since our first day of marriage. I attribute the fact that our love still feels new and exciting to this tradition. If we hadn’t taken the time to do these things, I’m convinced our relationship would be at a very different place than it is today. When we’re able to shut out the rest of the world and look at each other as the people we fell in love with five years ago, the world seems to set itself right. We’re able to work out the little things that creep in where they shouldn’t. We can dig up the underlying junk that’s been lying hidden for a while. After all that, we’re able to just breathe a little and dream about where we’re going in the future.

If you’re married and haven’t taken the time to get away on a semi-regular basis, my advice to you is as simple as the Nike motto. Just do it. There are plenty of hotels, bed and breakfasts, or inns that offer a one night’s stay with a hot breakfast for little over a hundred dollars. We’ve become pretty partial to hotels like Wingate by Wyndam and Homewood Suites. They have an indoor pool and hot tub that help speed up the relaxation process, and the guessing game with room quality and cleanliness is taken out of the equation.

The one variable that we encounter with each stay is where we’ll eat dinner. We’re typically at the mercy of the location of our hotel and what we can find near it. This week, our hotel was in the middle of a field, kind of creepy, and right next to a Quaker Steak & Lube. I have a fundamental problem with Quaker Steak & Lube simply based on the fact that its name and logo is so closely associated to a car oil company. The thought of eating food from there kind of creeps me out, even if they do have some of the best wings around, or so I’ve heard. I thought we’d be stuck there, but we were miraculously saved by an incredible suggestion to try Coppertop Tavern in North Syracuse, NY.

I didn’t let myself get my hopes up as we drove through Syracuse in pursuit of our dinner. I’d been burned before by the seemingly unique restaurants, and was a little nervous this would be another experience like that. This experience was immensely different though. I immediately fell in love with it as we sat in the corner booth of the old-fashioned tavern and read through the menu. There were plenty of mouth-watering options ranging from hefty burgers, crispy pizza baked in a stone hearth, creative salads, and other tavern favorites. Our expectations were high as we ordered. We thought that if they could pull through with good food we would have the perfect restaurant experience. We were not disappointed.

Pete chose Chicken DaVinci, a huge pasta dish with two full chicken breasts smothered in pesto and mozzarella and a side of three servings of pasta. I decided on the Italian Chopped Salad, a mound of lettuce with all of my favorite salad toppings; artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, pepperoni kalamata olives, garbanzo beans, banana peppers, and tomato bruschetta that soaked everything with the perfect blend of seasoning and juice so that I didn’t even have to use the dressing that came on the side. In addition to all of that, we received a basket of warm garlic bread made in the stone hearth.

Our dinner was absolutely delicious. Flavors did the fox trot in my mouth as I crunched through my salad. We both had portions left over that we were able to eat for lunch the next day. That’s no surprise for me, but it says a lot that Pete couldn’t finish his meal. Our bill came to $30.45, tax and tip included. And that definitely set the tone for a great rest of our get away!

If you ever find yourself in North Syracuse, maybe on a getaway with your special someone, make sure you stop in to try the Coppertop Tavern, it’s well worth the drive!

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Tomato, Tomotto

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of quinn.anya

Besides traditional holiday meals, the birthday dinner is by far one of the most important meals shared during the year. It determines the mood of the day, and more importantly sets the tone for the upcoming year. Needless to say, I felt a lot of pressure last Tuesday when my mom offered to treat me to dinner on my birthday; I just had to pick the place. Not only was she going to pay for my meal, she was going to drive an hour on a weeknight just to do it. Like I said last week, my parents have a really incredible way of making me feel special on my birthday.

I decided it would be best if we ate in Victor, because I work there and it’s closer for my mom than Rochester. I tentatively thought I’d choose a restaurant that I had received a birthday coupon to, thinking it made the most sense. But, as I thought of the many chain restaurants I could visit, I was left with that, “eh” feeling. They felt too familiar, not special enough for the birthday meal.

It wasn’t until I brought my dilemma to some of my colleagues that I received the advice that I needed. Most of them are Victor residents, so they spoke candidly about area restaurants. I mentioned that I was kind of in the mood for Italian (I thought I should honor that 25% of my heritage this year), and I was met with a unanimous “Go to Otto Tomottos!” (No, I didn’t just misspell tomatoes).

I had seen Otto Tomotto’s Good Italian Restaurant before and some friends recommended it to me last year. Pete and I had been thinking about trying it for a few months now, so the decision seemed obvious. We had heard nothing but great things about the restaurant, so my inhibitions were very low. As my mom, Pete and I met up to head to our dinner festivities, the sky opened up and hail pelted us from every possibly direction. I got a little nervous, thinking it was a sign from the heavens to turn back, but we pressed on anyway. We walked into the restaurant right behind a family of four. The décor was cheery with yellow walls and bright pictures. The dining room was petite with only ten or so tables that sat four people each. Only one of the tables was occupied, so I knew we wouldn’t have trouble finding a seat. Awkwardly enough, though, the hostess didn’t appear until we had been standing there for at least five minutes. She was an extremely energetic woman who seemed a bit overly excited to serve us.

The menu had plenty of tantalizing options. They had a lot of seafood dishes that captured my mom’s attention right away; she chose Oregano Baked Tilapia. Neither Pete nor I are huge seafood fans, so we kept looking. I was excited to see stuffed shells and tortellini (two of my most favorite Italian dishes) along with plenty of other pasta dishes. Pete was satisfied once he found their Lasagna. Without fail, that’s his dish of choice at Italian restaurants, and Tuesday was no exception. My mind was made up immediately, though, when I read that they offered Gnocchi with my choice of sauce. There are very few restaurants that have gnocchi on their menus, so I’m always super excited to find it especially if it’s homemade. Otto tomotto’s motto (haha, triple rhyme!) boasts, “Any closer to Italy, you’d need a passport” so I couldn’t pass up the chance to indulge in real Italian gnocchi. I was not let down either. They delivered to our table a steaming plate of incredibleness. I ordered blush sauce atop my gnocchi and MAN was it yummy! I wanted to eat the whole bowl, but there were portions enough for two meals.

As I’m writing this, my mouth is watering. I’d go back to Otto Tomotto’s in a heartbeat. Pete, as always, ate his dinner in enough time to have downed three more pieces of lasagna in the time it took my mom and I just to get the rest of our meals put in to-go containers. My mom, the expert in homemade Italian food vouched for their authenticity as well. We were all thoroughly impressed with the food, and so absorbed in it that we barely noticed we were the only ones left in the restaurant by the end of our meal.

Once I did recognize that fact, though, it felt a little too quiet in there for our boisterous conversation. I should state for the record that my mom and I caused the boisterousness of the conversation. It seems that when we’re together, the Italian blood takes over our bodies, but especially our mouths, and we spew words at each other faster than we can think them. (I’ve always loved this about my mom and me). When we’re together, though, Pete rarely gets a word in edgewise. Between you and me I think he likes it that way. I don’t know where he goes when my mom and I are verbally racing each other, but he had his lasagna to keep him company for at least two minutes of that dinner conversation. The rest of the time I think he was just thinking about how good it was.

We will most definitely be back to Otto Tomotto’s, but next time we’ll probably order take out. I think we’d get just as tasty of an experience, with a little less of the awkwardness. Before we exited the restaurant, Pete spontaneously twirled me around in the middle of the empty dining room, and I realized there’s nothing like the charm of a little Italian restaurant to inspire swaying (we don’t really know how to dance) to the cadences of the Italian greats my grandma used to listen to.

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It’s My Party…

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of Jessica N. Diamond

…and today I’m going to write what I want to, if that’s ok with you. Tomorrow is my 27th birthday, and I’m feeling a bad case of the “Holy cow! A year of my life is over, where did it go?!” syndrome. As I prepare to blow out twenty-seven candles on my hypothetical birthday cake, my mind is spinning with lots of different things. I’ve been trying to sort them out, but hopefully by the end of this article it can become a little clearer to me, and in the process offer you with some nuggets to reflect on as well.

Before I go into that though, I do have a bit of restaurant advice for you. If you haven’t yet signed up to receive e-mails from your favorite chain restaurants, then you absolutely need to do so before your birthday month. If you read this article by Steve, it’ll explain a little more, but trust me when I say it’s an absolute necessity that allows you to celebrate your birthday all month long with some really tasty bargains! I’ve already taken advantage of my free entrée at Chicago Uno Pizzeria, and plan to cash in my coupon for a free Mile High Ice Cream Pie at Champps later this week, and that’s only the half of it!

So back to the birthday thoughts. As a child, a birthday meant elaborate castles and princesses carved from moist cake, slathered in rich, creamy frosting. It meant sharing fluffy cupcakes baked into ice cream cones with my classmates and teachers. As a teenager, every year was a new surprise. It was not unusual to be met outside of school by a limo, a car overflowing with balloons, or a bag piper playing “Happy Birthday” as my entire high school passed by. Yes, my parents knew how to do birthdays right!

As an “adult” (I guess that’s the appropriate term for me to use here), my birthdays have become less about the parties and presents, though I won’t say I’m too old to refuse either of those, and more about appreciating who I’ve become in the previous year, and who has been around me to shape me into that person. With that in mind, I’d like to share with you some of the reflections I’ve had about the people who are closest to me and how they’ve changed me this year. I want to do this for two reasons. First, the people that are most important in my life need to be recognized for how awesome they are. Secondly, in sharing with you I hope you’re able to recognize the people who are important in your lives and make sure you take time to recognize what change is occurring in you because of them.

Family
My family, as made evident in the earlier discussion about birthday celebrations, is pretty awesome. My parents are fun and overwhelmingly loving. As I realize this, our relationship moves more towards friendship rather than the traditional parent/daughter roles. I can confide in them, vent to them, be challenged by them, laugh with them and that’s just over the phone! It’s amazing the type of friendship that can evolve with the people who have seen you at your worst, best, and everywhere in between.

In addition to my parents, I continue to fall more in love with my in-laws. I know that many people have horror stories about the crazy antics their mother, father and sibling-in laws pull on a regular basis. I, however, was blessed to marry into one of the most generous and genuine families on the planet. There is so much love in that family that I wish I could bottle it up and carry it with me wherever I go. I’m amazed that I can truly feel like a daughter in a family that I wasn’t born in to.

God
As new as my relationship has become with my parents, I feel the same is true with my relationship with God. This year found me stuck in a few places, spiritually and emotionally, that I had grown quite accustomed to living in. I didn’t see the need, nor was I in a place to leave “stuck-land.” But God, in his ever-so-God-like way nudged me, sometimes gently, other times not so much, so that I was able to move beyond stuck. In hindsight I can’t believe I had ever allowed myself to settle in those places. I was sitting in a sandbox when He was calling me to play out on the beach.

Friends
I may be a slow learner, but I think I’m just now starting to get the hang of how to be a good friend. My mom says it’s because my frontal lobe has finally developed. Whatever it is, I’m thankful for it. I have always valued my friends, but have not always followed through with showing them. I am a chronic non-caller-backer. I have known some of my current friends for over six years, and for most of those six years they’ve expressed their immense frustration with me because of my neglect in contacting them. For many, this would be just cause to throw their hands up in dismay and move on to more fit, better calling-back friends. Some of my friends, however have loved me through my stupidity and patiently called me until I got back in touch with them. The more I realize their patience, the more I love them and attempt to be more conscientious about contacting them. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying!

Pete
I have celebrated my last five birthdays with Pete. I thought I knew and loved him when we got married, but each year I spend with him I learn more about him and fall deeper in love with him than the year before. I genuinely enjoy spending time with him. He is my best friend and confidant. He inspires me to be a better person. His servant’s heart is bigger than I’ve ever seen in anyone else. His patience and perseverance goes further than anyone I’ve ever known.

This year for my birthday Pete was going to buy me a new winter coat. That plan was foiled when I found one earlier last month. So, Pete decided to do the next best thing and redecorate our bedroom, something I’ve wanted to do for a couple of years now. This was inspired when I woke up crying one morning because I couldn’t sleep on our fifteen year old mattress that felt more like plywood than a comfy place to rest your head. He surprised me by buying us a new mattress, complete with a pillow top! It did not end there. Pete threw our budget half way out the window this month and decided to paint our room, install a new light, get a new comforter set, and build us a bed. Yes, I said build. As in he is sitting on the floor right now chiseling out slots to fit the side boards into. We’ve never had a real bed, much less a head board, so Pete has taken it upon himself to make our new room a palace, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Do you know many men who, in the midst of a busy school year, would drop everything just to make his wife happy? I do, his name is Pete Strub, and I love him!

You may be wondering why I shared all of this with you, or how you can possibly apply it to your life. My birthday wish for you is that you’re able to look differently at the people close to you. Make sure you take the time to appreciate them for who they are and the fullness they bring to your life. I challenge you to fall in love with them again. Let them know you are grateful for them. Don’t wait until your next birthday to recognize how much they’ve played a part in shaping you into the person you’ve become.

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The Big City

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of Ellie

Saturday morning I woke up at 3:45 am…on purpose. I don’t like to wake up early, especially if I don’t have to, but Saturday was different. I was given the opportunity to be flown, for free, to New York City and attend a free day-long conference hosted by Columbia University’s Teacher’s College. For those of you who are even remotely familiar with me and my many neuroses, you know that I have a pretty intense passion for free stuff. I also have a mild obsession with professional development opportunities. So, when I was presented with the chance to combine my two loves, I was blinded to the possible effects that that much travel could have on my already tired system.

It’s amazing what an hour of turbulence can do to six ounces of orange juice sloshing around in your tummy. More than once I eyed the white bags tucked neatly into the pocket of the seat in front of me. Thankfully I didn’t have to use them, but as I arrived in NYC and peeled my white-gripped fingers from the arm rests, I was feeling a little less than myself. Being shoved into a stale taxi with no circulation for a half hour trip didn’t help either. It’s amazing that those big vehicles fit through the small spaces they drive through. I had to laugh as I noticed the guards people place on their bumpers to avoid the inevitable scratches that occur with the regular bumping shared between cars. Needless to say, with all the starting and stopping, neither my stomach, nor my head were all that excited to sit through a day’s worth of workshops.

I was shuffled around to different speakers from 9am-3pm. I heard a total of six people speak without a break, or lunch, and my already fuzzy head was as cloudy as the Los Angeles skyline by the end of the day. Not knowing the difference between 112th and 120th Streets, I decided not to stray from the group I came with. We wandered the blocks of New York City waiting for our five o’clock dinner reservation. Through the dreary rain I noticed one thing about the sidewalks of the city; they were saturated with restaurants, cafés, bistros, delicatessens, and bakeries. There weren’t any chain restaurants in site. Each eatery had its own special flair and distinct flavor. Even in the rain, awnings protected their patrons so they could dine in style. My mouth watered at all the potential experiences, and subsequent blog entries, I could have at all of those places. I even saw Tom’s Restaurant. At first glance, the baseline of the Seinfeld theme song jumped off the sign and danced through my head. I felt stupid as I freaked out about it to the people around me. They didn’t seem to appreciate the moment of nostalgia as much as I did, so I kept quiet about my excitement. Spoiler alert: the inside of Tom’s is not, in fact, the diner of Seinfeld’s. Call me naive, but I was a little shocked.

After battling the rain for awhile, we finally ducked into Campo Restaurant an hour before our dinner reservation for drinks and a dry place to sit. I enjoyed a glass of wine and great conversation with some of my colleagues, but realized that my fuzzy brain was feeling even fuzzier. As I contemplated taking a nap right at the bar, we were finally seated for dinner. They offered the usual grilled pizzas, pastas, salads and such, but they had gourmet ingredients and portions with gourmet prices. I decided on the margarita pizza, which happened to be the cheapest entrée on the menu (and also happened to cost as much as my glass of wine).

The service was exceptional. The pizza had the thinnest, crispiest crust with the perfect balance of cheese and sauce. The company and conversation was refreshing. After my last slice was swallowed I eased back into my chair and took in my environment. The restaurant had exposed brick, classy décor, and a great vibe. I began to feel jealous. I wished Campo and the other eateries we passed earlier in the day could get transplanted into Rochester. Park Avenue is our city’s one pocket of unique cafes and cluttered sidewalks. Each New York City block is a Park Ave. Their architecture is beautiful, and the buildings are incredibly unique. Everyone walked everywhere, and looked ridiculously stylish doing so. I was starting to feel pretty down about Rochester, but on my cab ride back to the airport I realized something.

If I want to get from the East side of Rochester to the West side, I can expect it taking fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops. I don’t have to protect my bumper with another bumper to avoid the scrapes of overly rushed vehicles. If I want fresh produce, I can drive twenty minutes to pick corn, apples or blueberries for myself rather than having it imported into our city. I can wear my slippers, grungy sweatpants and tousled hair to walk my dog without worrying that a double-decker tourist bus will drive by with overly eager photographers snapping my picture as an example of “what not to wear.” And most importantly, my friends and family are not in NYC. While I enjoyed the company around me at dinner, I recognized that I didn’t, and hadn’t felt like myself all day. I wanted to share the moments of excitement, awe, and exhaustion with the people I love most; my friends and family. And they can’t be found anywhere else but in Rochester (and some other surrounding areas that don’t require a turbulent plane ride to get to). Yay for Rochester…I’m a fan!

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The Coffee Buzz

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of srslyguys

Coffee shops have been a love affair of mine for awhile. Something inside of me craves the tranquil utopia that is a really good coffee shop. I can’t get enough of the intoxicating aromas, intriguing sights, and assortments of sounds. They draw me in and captivate me for hours. The funny thing is I don’t even really like coffee. I fall in love with a place because its artwork speaks to me, or the colors in the room blend together in such a way that creates a visual sigh of relief. Often, I am wooed by dessert cases that display decadent cakes or gooey cookies. Extensive drink menus genuinely excite me to the tips of my soul. Comfy couches, cleverly named panini’s, I could go on forever. There’s just something about the busyness of a coffee shop that stirs me up to the point where I feel like anything is possible.

With the cool air creeping in, my need for a coffee shop fix has been nagging at me. Pete and I decided to explore the Towpath Café in the Village of Fairport to expand our coffee shop horizons. We had stumbled upon it a few weeks ago in our search for wood-fired pizza and our first impression was pretty positive, so we added it to our places to eventually try.

The Towpath Café hits all the standard qualifications of a good coffee shop. It sits along the Erie Canal, overlooking the village lift bridge. Its décor is cozy and charming. They offer plenty of cushy couches that allow for good date night conversation. Their menu is fairly diverse and some of the drinks they offer are unique. I saw some seasonal options like a pumpkin latte and chaider (mixture of chai and cider I was too scared to try). They even serve wine (specifically Red Cat which happens to be a favorite of mine!) and beer, always menu items that increase a coffee shop’s coolness factor.

The food was very flavorful, and the service was extremely friendly and prompt. I had the Lockmaster; a chicken, artichoke heart, spinach panini with pesto mayo and a side tomato/cucumber salad. Pete had the Barge; a Cajun marinated grilled chicken breast smothered with sweet barbeque sauce and provolone cheese with a side of the owners own special recipe chili beefed up with hotdogs. Strange sounding, but actually very tasty! Overall, our dinner only cost us $15.10.

Pete and I sat, sunken into the couch for awhile after our meal, contemplating getting one of the homemade pies or frosted brownies that teased us from the dessert case. We thought about playing one of the games offered on a nearby bookshelf. But the longer we sat, the more the underlying feeling of awkward unearthed itself. We both seemed to realize it at the same time. The Towpath, though it had all of the stock elements of a good coffee shop, seemed to lack the key ingredient that pulls them all together: the buzz.

There’s nothing better than the symphony of noise found in a coffee shop. The low roar of conversation and laughter play the melody, while the muted background music, clinking of dishes, and loud spurts of steam from the espresso machine offer dynamic harmonies. It’s beautiful, and it’s exactly what the Towpath was lacking. It wasn’t very busy, so the ability to blend in to the couches and be a faceless patron was not an option. The owner, who also served as our barista and chef chatted with us about our food and the struggles of owning a new business. I felt sorry for him. You could tell he just wanted his business to succeed, and he was genuinely frustrated that he was facing so many obstacles with promoting his business. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe he needed someone to talk with. Bad day or not, the rather awkward conversation left us with an overall uninspired vibe, and that was a real downer.

It may sound a bit hokey, but I feel like there’s something in the buzz of coffee shops that has an intangible power to be a catalyst in changing people’s lives. In the eight years I’ve lived in Rochester, I’ve grown a lot. I started off as a naive eighteen year old trying to find her place in the world, and am now moving towards adulthood (Man, that’s weird to say, but I guess as a soon to be twenty-seven year old I should start embracing that word right?) as a passionate and fairly confident woman. Yes, I know I sound like I’m going Oprah on you. Hang tight, I’ll bring it back around. In those eight years, many of my defining moments of growth were inspired by a visit to a coffee shop. I’ve sat alone, people watching, reflecting on where I’m at in life. I’ve sipped lattes with friends having both humorous and difficult conversations that deepened our relationships or closed chapters in our lives. I’ve munched thoughtfully on desserts, trying to weigh out important decisions that determined who I would become. So, when I find a coffee shop that is conducive to fostering great, inspiring moments I am a devoted patron. When I get the awkward vibe, I don’t tend to go back.

While Pete and I didn’t share any awe inspiring moments while at the Towpath Café, we did end our night a pretty good note. I got a hot Carmel Apple Cider on our way out the door, and the autumn drink felt like warm cheer in a cup. It definitely set a positive tone for the rest of date night. I think we’ll have to give the Towpath a second chance. I can certainly see it being a worthwhile staple of summertime canal strolls.

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Stuck

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of Pink Sherbert Photography

Recently I heard a newscaster say, “You are what you eat.” If this statement is, in fact, true, my body currently consists of a strange blend of high fructose corn syrup, sugar and caffeine, inordinate amounts of heavy cream, globs of pasta sauce, and soggy cereal.

I started eating this way when I began taking grad classes four nights a week. There’s something about sitting in a little plastic chair for three and a half hours every night that seems to warrant, if not demand, a large gas station cappuccino and a whole bag of Twizzlers. I justified this night after night as the only way I could possibly stay awake in class. The sad part about this routine is that it began over three months ago, and, what’s worse, I’m not even taking grad classes this semester. My habit seems to have stuck with me as well as glaze clings to an apple fritter.

As my grad classes were winding down, I was transitioning into a new position at work. I was justifiably nervous and naturally shifted my motivation for eating from bored-in-class to I’m-stressing-out. Lethargy started to settle in towards the end of August, and I knew that my mental and physical health was starting to spiral downward faster than my chocolate milkshake from Abbot’s did. Yet I was still stuck.

While I adjusted to my new position at work and nursed my new found addiction to Mountain Dew to survive the day, I also committed myself to the position of your Monday Morning Maitre d’ on this lovely website. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to report on my explorations of new-to-me restaurants and rediscovering just how good some deals at “old” restaurants can be. My date nights have been much richer because of this new challenge. However, this has been yet another excuse to keep me stuck in my pattern of bad eating.

This leads me to October 12, 2009. I am ten pounds heavier than I was less than three months ago. Yes, I just threw that out there. Yes, I know that’s not what ladies do, but I feel as though I had to come to terms with myself on this issue, and what better way than to spill my guts, and the contents of my plate, with you! I cannot seem to break this insatiable desire to consume mass quantities of pizza, soda, cookies and anything else that I can get my hands on. I will actually sit down to watch Biggest Loser with a huge bowl of chocolate ice cream and marvel at how someone can live a lifestyle like that. That, to me, screams denial.

This weekend my parents came in from out of town to visit with Pete and I for the day. I am incredibly close to my parents and consider them some of my dearest friends. I don’t see them nearly enough as I’d like to, so when we do get to spend time together I cherish every moment. As you can imagine, I really dislike having our time together end. So I was a little sad to see them leave. As soon as my parent’s van was out of sight and I was done waving goodbye I ran for a bag of Santitas Tortilla Chips. I sat down to dig in and realized my dad had left his phone at our house. After I had called them to come back and get it I had a few moments before they arrived, so I plunged my hand into the bag of chips and mindlessly shoveled some into my mouth. I paused just long enough to feel that twinge I get when I’m eating food I know I don’t need, but my moment of guilt was interrupted as my parents van pulled back into the driveway. As I ran out to return the cell phone I saw my mom munching on a cereal bar, and I felt that same twinge I had tossed aside moments before.

After I said goodbye again, I ran back into the house and plopped myself back onto the couch. The previous moments of conviction returned as I grabbed for a few more chips. I realized at that moment that the reason I was eating chips and my mom was eating a cereal bar two seconds after we had said goodbye to each other was not because we were hungry, but simply because that is the way we cope with our feelings. Somewhere in our lives we learned to associate happy feelings and comfort with food, so whenever we’re frustrated, angry, stressed out, bored, or even happy, we eat. What is a necessity has morphed into a dangerously, oppressive addiction. So many people in our world live this way. We’ve transferred our “quick-fix” society into band-aiding feelings with food. It’s a dangerous and unfulfilling lifestyle.

I’m not suggesting that I am going to stop eating all together or that I’m signing up for the next fad diet. I won’t be getting hyped up on any “miracle” pills. I wouldn’t, however, mind a few personal training sessions with Jillian Michaels (even if Pete does think I’m crazy and she’s a sell-out), but that’s beside the point. What I am suggesting, or declaring rather, is that it is time for me to get un-stuck. Something has got to change, and rather than waiting until New Years, I’ll make a Columbus Day resolution. I resolve to process my emotions and thoughts in a way that does not involve food. I will save eating for a time when I am able to truly enjoy what is going into my mouth rather than just inhaling whatever’s in front of me. My challenge for you this week is to do the same. Stop and think before you devour that piece of cake at work or pound an entire casserole at dinner. What is motivating you to eat? Hopefully we can support each other in this. But have no fear, I’ll return next week with a new found treasure to report on.

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Fired Up

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of stevendepolo

This past week, date night started before the weekend began. It was awesome and completely necessary, but not an exceptionally smart thing to do. As the week wound down and I spent my third consecutive night at school past 5 o’clock whatever will power I had for the day was spent on the decision to go to the gym before school started. So when I opened my inbox and found a coupon for Bugaboo Creek Steakhouse I immediately called Pete, to say “I love you” of course, and to nonchalantly mention the coupon I happened to receive. Lucky for me it took about as much energy to convince Pete to go out as it does to get him to watch football on a Sunday afternoon, and we watch football EVERY Sunday afternoon. As we shared a plate of appetizers and two steaks for a total of $26 (tax and tip included) next to a fireplace and talking moose I couldn’t help but smile (even though I had to suppress the sinking feeling that my 5:30am trip to the gym was pointless). My bargain addiction and stomach had been filled. It set the mood for a happy weekend. We were able to spend much needed quality time together, and the pressure of the restaurant decision for date night was lifted. We were able to explore new frontiers with genuine excitement, and that definitely paid off.

As we lazily rolled out of bed on Saturday morning, we couldn’t help but notice the sunshine peering through our windows. I had an insatiable desire to be outside and enjoy whatever nice weather we had left in upstate NY. We pitched ideas like apple picking and Letchworth State Park around, but ultimately decided on driving around the east side and taking a slow walk on the Erie Canal Path. We wandered through Fairport, and discovered some incredible little treasures that I’m excited to explore and report on in the weeks to come. As our tummies began to rumble we decided to investigate Napa Wood-Fired Pizzeria in Perinton Hills Plaza. I had heard good things about it and the website looked decent so we gave it a go. We were on a pretty big high after our walk through the fresh, crisp, fall air, so we went in with pretty lofty expectations.

The dining room was pretty trendy with a fairly cozy vibe to it. We stood at the bar awkwardly for a few moments before the one employee working (besides the chef) shuffled us to our table. For most restaurants the sight of one employee acting as both host and waiter should be huge red flag that the restaurant isn’t all that successful. However, we tend to go out to dinner at the same time my grandpa would take out his lady friend, so you can’t really blame smaller restaurants for not fully staffing their dining room just to wait on three tables. Even though there weren’t that many people there, our waiter was pretty rushed, but we were determined not to let his hurried aura mess with our experience. Pete noticed two things almost immediately. One, there was a flat screen TV with the Notre Dame football game on. He put that in our “pros” column for the restaurant while I promptly placed it in the “cons”. A football game on TV during date night dinner is like being a contestant on the latest Bachelor. While Pete’s not off making out with the TV, his attention definitely gets divided. However, Pete also noticed that they offered loganberry as a beverage option. For those of you who have never tasted the glory that is loganberry, I’m sorry. It is neither soda nor juice, but MAN is it good. The minute I sip the magical nectar I am instantly transported to my childhood and a permanent nostalgic smile spreads across my face. Very few restaurants in Rochester offer loganberry as an option for their diners, so when one is discovered, they automatically shoot up on the “this-place-is-awesome” scale.

As we poured over the menu we were a little overwhelmed by the options presented to us. One would assume that over thirty-six choices of pizza would make some people happier than a greedy kid on Christmas morning. But, you know what they say about people who assume things. I found the menu to be a little confusing and distracting. Even the “create your own” option was a little disappointing because it only offered sauce and cheese with each additional topping for $1.50 each. Kind of lame. I decided to go with a gourmet pizza with eggplant, artichokes, feta and roasted red peppers, while Pete got a double-decker pepperoni pizza.

Before our order came out we had a pretty in-depth discussion about whether or not his choice meant that it was a double layer of pepperoni or an actual two-layered pizza. We weighed the possibilities and potential risks of stacking two pizzas on top of each other and quickly concluded that it wasn’t possible, but that it would be an awesome experiment to try. Pete was satisfied, though, at the thought of eating twice the amount of pepperoni than normal. He was pretty excited actually. So, you can imagine the disappointment on his face when his pie came out and the average amount of pepperoni lay atop it. I swear it looked like he had just learned that the Superbowl was cancelled. As I inspected Pete’s pie, I realized our wildest dreams had come true. Someone had actually created a double-decker pizza! At this point, the expression on Pete’s face changed so much you would’ve thought I told him not only was the Superbowl back on, but he could be the starting quarterback for the favored team. He exclaimed with joy (and he doesn’t make many exclamations) that his pizza held the “benefits of a calzone and joy of pizza”. I coveted his gooey mess as I chewed through my quarter sized chunks of eggplant that fell off my droopy crust. I have a serious problem with choosing meals that have one or two ingredients that I’m craving in it, but others that I don’t really care for. I’m a fan of the thin crust of gourmet pizzas, but struggle when it is piled with too many toppings to sustain its purpose as a crispy crust. Either way, we both were extremely full after our meal, and had at least half our pizzas in boxes to take home.

Though we were too full to take advantage of their dessert menu, I was delighted to see that Napa offered carrot cake and other tasty goodies from Cheesy Eddie’s. I’m telling you right now that if you’ve never had Cheesy Eddie’s carrot cake, you haven’t lived. They are open weird hours, and we’ve only been to one other place in Rochester that offers their desserts so it’s very rare that Pete and I get to enjoy the goodness. Yet another huge jump on the “this-place-is-awesome” scale.

My gym-going self would say that this weekend’s date nights (yes, Bugaboo can count as a date night) were a complete waste. But the girly, “I love spending time with my hubby” self would agree that the food extravaganza was an overwhelming success. While Napa Wood-Fired Pizzeria hasn’t shot to the top of our favorite spots to eat, it has scored a few “awesome” points, and I’d recommend giving it a try if you’re in the mood for options and doggie bags.

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Confessions of a Bargain Junkie

Post written by Bridget Strub.

photo courtesy of alancleaver_2000

I have a confession to make. This week, Pete and I ate at a chain restaurant on date night. I know, I know…I’m weak. I’ve already wavered in my commitment to finding new-to-me, non-chain restaurants. Don’t reject me just yet. Hear me out. I’ll do better next week. I swear.

First of all, do you know how many restaurants there are in Rochester? I don’t know the exact number either, but I will tell you that there are a lot. I had a slight panic attack this past week when I did a general search online to find a restaurant for this weekend’s date night. What started out to be a jolly stroll on the World Wide Web ended in a desperate search for somewhere, anywhere to spend a nice, inexpensive evening with my husband. What I found in my quest was this:

•Restaurants are called bistros when they want to serve you small portions but charge two to three times more than the average restaurant.

•I was surprised by the amount of restaurants I’ve been to in Rochester. I’ve just forgotten about them because they didn’t impress me, grossed me out, or charged me too much.

•Restaurants that do not have websites cannot, under any circumstance, be trusted to be credible, quality food providers. Pete and I have had a hard and fast rule since early on in our marriage (after being burned a few times) that we do not go to a restaurant without a website or a friend recommendation.

As I continued my endless quest, I began realizing some things about myself and about why Pete and I have done date nights the way we have for the last few years. First of all, we’ve established a pretty solid routine that’s worked for us since the conception of date night. We alternate who picks the restaurant each week. If we didn’t do that, Pete would have us overdosing on raw meat, mashed potatoes and fresh bread, and I’d have us nibbling away at Greek salads, spanakopita, and pitas.
It makes life fairly harmonious, and both of us happy for the most part. So, when it was my turn to pick the restaurant for a second week in a row I froze. That’s when we decided to go to the Marketplace Wegmans (in Henrietta) to go grocery shopping. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a huge procrastinator. I’m at my very best when I’m trying to avoid something I don’t want to do. It gets bad, and Wegmans is usually my ultimate go-to. I’ve been known wander the aisles at 3am just to avoid homework. This specific instance, however, provided me with some insight about my dilemma.

Pete and I have frequented the Marketplace Wegmans more this month than we have in the past three years. This is not by coincidence. They are currently running a campaign for college students. If you show them your ID (which both Pete and I currently have), they give you a book of coupons for free stuff each week. Pete and I have collected 6 books of coupons, so we’ve been able to stock our shelves (and consequently our tummies) with 4 frozen pizzas, ramen noodle bowls, and 3 packages of double stuffed Oreos all for free, and the month isn’t even over yet! As we searched the aisles for the things on our grocery list (and our free coupon items) we saw Wegmans employees handing out free samples. Wegmans apparently loves to give things away for free. It was amidst the bites of my sample-sized three-course meal of smoked gouda on apple cider raisin bread (appetizer), salad with tarragon dressing (entrée), and the ultimate vanilla cake (dessert) that I was awarded the date night clarity I was longing for.

Here’s the deal. I really like a good deal, but I really, REALLY like getting free stuff. I am elated to the very depths of my soul at the thought of receiving something for free or at a discounted price. It’s become a near obsession for me as of late, but I can’t seem to stop it. I blame my mother. That woman taught me how to sniff out a bargain from aisles away. Pete could share countless stories with you about how scary my hobby of bargain hunting has become. He used to roll his eyes at me because I’d give my e-mail to any store that would ask, but when coupons for free appetizers, entrees, and underwear (yes, I said underwear) started landing in my inbox he acknowledged my infinite wisdom in this matter.

This being said, there is nothing Pete or I hate more than paying more than we have to for food. It puts a serious damper on the date night mood, and the mood for date night is super crucial, to spend all our money on overpriced food adorned with fancy green stuff. That realization released my restaurant hunt anxiety. The reason we hadn’t tried many of the restaurants in Rochester is simply because they are way too expensive. They offer similar menus to those of chain restaurants, but at more than double the cost. This is the reason Pete and I got in to our restaurant rut in the first place. The places we frequented most were the places we knew we could eat well and cheaply. Not to be proven wrong on this occasion, we chose to eat at TGIFridays, and our total bill (tip and tax included) came to $19.07. Now you tell me how I can justify spending that much for just one of our entrees when I know those other bargains are out there. I dare you.

Hopefully now you can at least understand my reasons for straying from my commitment to you. I have a problem. I can’t pay for food I know I could get cheaper elsewhere. It’s almost like a siren’s song calling me back to the chain restaurants each week. This addiction goes deeper than I thought it did. I’ll get help. I promise! I’m not quite sure what this means for next week’s article. Maybe we’ll eat at another chain restaurant, maybe a unique non-bistro, I could try my hand at cooking for once, but who wants to do that when there’s free food around!

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