We have recently moved into our new house. As I sit here and write, my mind constantly gets distracted by my bookcase of recipe books sitting five feet next to me. I’m not sure what was the cause (or better yet, what was the breaking point), but my desire to take my cooking to new elevations has skyrocketed. I like to blame it on the stove in our old apartment.

When Tom and I were looking for temporary housing, I did not consider whatsoever what kind of kitchen our apartment would need to have. In fact, I didn’t care. In my opinion, a great cook can cook out of a shoebox, if need be. Hence, my deciding factors on where to live focused more on location, apartment size, and of course, let’s not forget cost. If only I knew how much motivation my cooking would lack, I may have considered something different. I suppose in some ways, I felt flat on a culinary level.

The kitchen we ended up getting appeared, on the surface, sufficient enough. Granted, it was an electric stove with coils and all, but it worked. I suppose the thing that stood out most for me in that kitchen was the granite center island. It made the room look more, I suppose, “contemporary.” It didn’t take me long to figure out that contemporary look would not have enough “oomph” to keep my culinary hunger sustained. Over the course of the six months in our apartment, I felt (and I know Tom sure did) my culinary cuisines somewhat lacking. Sure, there were some great adventures here and there but not nearly to the level it can be. I was waiting until the day I could use my stove in our new house.

We decided on the Blue Star 36” Pro-Style gas range . This range has everything I needed: cast iron porcelain-enameled top burners with up to 22,000 BTUs, a gentle 130°F simmer burner as well as a convection oven that can hold full-size sheet pans. I lovingly named my new range Charlie.

However, day after day of packing, moving and then unpacking again left me with little energy to order take out, let alone getting to know Charlie. Every time I walked past my kitchen, I felt a sense of guilt as I saw Charlie staring at me with that chocolate brown face of his. (Did I mention that Blue Star ranges come in 190 color options?) I knew it would take a special meal to make up for this lack of attention I was giving to my culinary art.

And then it happened.

I was on my way to the grocery store to do some much needed grocery shopping. As I turned out of the driveway, I noticed some of our new neighbors lining up what appeared to be plastic duck decoys on a boat. As I looked closer, I realized those were not decoys, but freshly shot ducks from a hunting trip in North Dakota. I got out of the car and went to take a closer look. I was in awe as I watched the men quickly and efficiently clean the ducks. When one of them offered me some fresh duck breasts, I knew my eyes lit up.

The next night I decided to prep the duck breasts for dinner. While carefully plucking away the remaining feathers, deboning the breast, making an Asian dry rub and then a honey-chile glaze, I felt right in my element. As the duck breasts sizzled on Charlie’s burners, I suddenly felt alive again…

Our current generation is so much more advanced that I could ever imagine. Everything is digital, electronic, and basically…instantaneous. There are cell phones that are actually mini computers. And who needs a physical office when you can do just about everything on the portable IPAD that has (almost) replaced the laptop?

The things that are available today just boggle my mind. And with the touch of a couple of buttons, you can download just about every application under the sun. Just yesterday, I heard of a new app called Google Goggles. Have you heard of this? In my mind, I envisioned little mini binocular-like goggles that attaches to your phone. I wasn’t too far off. You see, with Google Goggles, you can use pictures to prompt a search vs. text or vocal input. When you take a photo using Goggles, the app scans the image, matches your picture against some sort of database and returns the results.

Let’s say you’re in Paris and come across the Eiffel Tower. You wonder to yourself “What is THAT?” (as if that would really happen because who wouldn’t recognize the Eiffel Tower, but for the sake of this conversation, let’s say it happens). You can take a picture of the Tower and Goggles will come back, telling you just about everything you want to know about this famous landmark. What about restaurants? Can’t read Italian? No worries. Take a photo of the Italian menu and let Goggles translate it for you.

I can see my kids getting wrapped up with all this technology stuff. It’s already started. My kids (especially my 6 year-old son) are very proficient when it comes to anything electronic or computerized. We have to constantly keep our computer locked because if we don’t, we’ll find all sorts of things downloaded. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I sometimes have a hard time keeping up and have to ask my son how he did this or that.

Take video games, for example. My son knows that if he wants to play Xbox, he needs to wait until dad gets home because mom doesn’t always know how to set up the system (or maybe it’s intentional so he won’t play so much video games…). I’m always trying to get my son to entertain himself with something that’s not always computerized. I bought classic board games like Connect Four and Trouble to take my kids back to a time when computers were non-existent. Unfortunately, Connect Four isn’t as exciting as Halo and you can’t shoot anyone playing Trouble.

I guess I can’t blame my kids for playing video games. There was a time when I was the Queen of Video Games and having the high score was nothing new. When I was pregnant with my son, Tom would come home from work and catch me having played Xbox’s Pac Man World for hours. I would play for so long that my eyes were dry and my thumbs had calluses. And Tom and I would argue over who got which controller because one would always stick.

Oh well. I guess if I want to keep up with the times and be relevant in today’s society, I better play the game, so to speak. In fact, I’m already secretly eyeing the Xbox Live Arcade Unplugged game. Like they say, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. This time, however, I plan on having eye drops sitting next to me and will do thumb exercises to strengthen my fingers…

Every fine dining restaurant (especially if it’s French) has a Maître d’.  What EXACTLY is a Maître d’, you may ask?  And what is his or her role?  The Maître d’ is short for Maître d’hôtel, a French translation for “master of the hotel.”  Whereas in a small restaurant where you would see a host or hostess, in a more elegant setting, you would see a Maître d’.  For simplified purposes (and the fact that I’m tired of copying/pasting the word), let’s just call this position MD.

The MD is responsible for the overall dining experience.  This includes, but is not limited to, managing the wait staff, assigning sections, and dealing with any customer issues.  He or she serves as the liaison between the kitchen and the dining room and makes sure that everything is running well.  Because I am the Queen of analogies, let me explain it to you this way:

In any successful company, you have many parts that make up the body.  I am the face and the voice of Green Mangos Catering.  I am the person you’ll see when you look at our website and the person you’ll talk to when you call to discuss an event.  Our staff (culinary and wait staff) are the limbs.  They assist in the production and execution of the event.  Tom, however, is the heart of our company.  Similar to the actual bodily organ itself, you don’t necessarily see it, but you definitely can feel it and you know it exists.  And if it doesn’t exist, neither would the living body. 

Tom is my “Front of House” manager.  He is the Maître d’, if you will.  I never realized how important this position is, until recently.  At each and every event, you will see Tom work a room.  You’ll see him do it in such a way that will make the event seem flawless.  He will make sure your food is the right temperature.  He will make sure the servers will flow out like butter melting from a pan.  And IF he perceives there may possibly be an issue forthcoming, he is all over the situation before anyone will know that one might even exist. 

My favorite thing to tease Tom about is the fact that you will, more often than not, see him schmoozing with the client and the guests at some point through the night.  Don’t get me wrong.  Tom is the first person who will wipe up a spill or pick up broken glass due to a guest who may have had one too many cocktails (things that I feel he should not be doing and should be delegating…), but he’s not above doing any of these tasks.  Besides, when he does schmooze, it usually brings us future bookings.  Bottom line, my MD does what he has to do to ensure we cater a successful event and I love him for it.

However, Tom is not Superman and he has his limitations.  Currently, he has a full-time job and has demands that may not always allow him to have excessive energy to cater an event at the end of a long day.  In an effort to maximize his resources and what he has to offer, we’ve decided to back him off of weekday events.

I’ve catered a number of events now without Tom and I’ll tell you one thing.  Although those Tom-less events are still very successful, they lack the spark that is usually accompanied when Tom is actually working an event.  You won’t notice it on the floor because we have an excellent staff that helps me keep everything running smoothly.  The service will still appear seamless to the client and the guests.  But I know it and I feel it in my heart.  So now when Tom is able to work with me at events, I feel privileged.  I no longer laugh outwardly when I see him schmooze with the clients (although I might smile from within).  I just know that he’s doing his job.

When you think of Vegas, you probably have a vision of young, beautiful dancers with big feather boas on their heads, powerful businessmen with slick, dark hair in expensive suits, or bachelorette parties gone wild.

What you don’t think of seeing is that older crowd, that more mature generation. Would it surprise you to know that as of 2009, over 25% of visitors to Las Vegas are retired with the average age being 50 years old? Well, the rambunctious group sitting next to us at dinner was considerably older than that.

While I was eating and going through my usual ingredient breakdown of what was in my dish, I looked over at the increasingly rowdy group sitting next to me. I was greeted by a wink from a gentleman in his 80’s. He introduced himself and rambled on about who he and his friends were and where they were from. Apparently, they were an old group of friends who live all over California and decided to meet in Las Vegas for a little reunion. We instantly liked him. Despite the age difference, we found out that we had more in common with this group than meets the eye. They were all travelers, have a big passion for food and even bigger passion for life.

We spent the remainder of our dinner with the group – sharing stories, taking pictures and laughing probably a little louder than the restaurant is probably used to. As if the night couldn’t have gotten any better, the Executive Chef came out from the kitchen to see what the ruckus was all about. By the time we were through with the Chef, he was laughing and joining in on the pictures. We would have stayed later had it not been for a show we were going to see. Sadly, we had to say goodbye to our new friends.

During the week in Vegas, Tom and I took in many of the sights and enjoyed much of what Vegas had to offer. However, one of my favorite memories was that dinner we had with our new friends at the Joel Robuchon Restaurant. This group was a reminder to us that you have to live life to the fullest each and everyday. Don’t take joy for granted. Life is much shorter than any of us may realize. This group of retirees may not be a group that Tom and I would normally be able to relate to. But during that encounter, no matter how brief it may have been, we could relate to them through our experiences with great food, close friends and world travels.

Where else can you go and visit Rome, France and the pirates’ cove all within a short walking distance? Where else can you go and see Elvis alive, well, AND available in all ethnicities? And finally, where else can you go and enjoy the meal of a lifetime while hearing stories about World War II over hand-made marshmallows and coffee? Only in Vegas, my friends. Only in Vegas.

I was thrilled to be riding in a gold limo to the Joel Robuchon Restaurant in Las Vegas. After all, if you’re going to ride, you might as well ride in style, right? And why ride in a traditional black limo when you can create a scene with a gold one? As we headed towards the restaurant, I started thinking about the menu. After all, what kind of food would be served at a restaurant owned by the one and only Joel Robuchon?

Who is Joel Robuchon, you may ask? He is a world-renowned French chef and restaurateur. He was given the title of “Chef of the Century” and operates a dozen restaurants in various destinations such as Hong Kong, London, New York City, Paris, and of course, Las Vegas. So what would an experience be like dining at one of these restaurants? We were about to find out.

The limo pulled up to the MGM Grand Hotel, but rather than driving to the front, the limo pulled to the side. I thought this was a bit odd and figured this was the end of the glamour and now we’re back to being everyday people. I figured we would be shuttled in like cattle through the hotel towards a probably crowded and overrated restaurant. How wrong I was.

A woman dressed in an Asian-style Cheongsam dress greeted us at the door. She walked us through elaborate maze-like hallways to get to the restaurant. As we walked, she explained these hallways contain suites where the high rollers and VIP guests stayed. I was further fascinated by what these suites might look like when the woman admitted that she has never even seen the inside of these rooms!

We finally got to the restaurant and as I walked in, I was completely amazed at how beautiful it was. It didn’t even look like a restaurant. The walls were a gorgeous deep cobalt blue and the tables were surrounded by comfortable benches with soft purple and lilac-colored throw pillows everywhere. It was definitely not your typical eatery. But let us not forget why we’re here. My culinary mind got back to business as I picked up the menu.

The restaurant offers tasting menus as well as ala carte options. We decided on one of the tasting menus. While we were enjoying our wine, the server brought out our amuse-bouche. An amuse bouche is a single, bite-sized hors d’oeuvre, a “mouth amusement” intended to give the guests a glimpse into the cooking style of the chef. When the server brought our amuse, I almost fell over. Not only was it more than a “bite,” it was an entire tin of CAVIAR. And not only was it caviar, but it was Osetra caviar, considered to be one of the best that you can buy. The caviar was set on top of king crab, separated by a layer of gelée. I took my first bite and chewed slowly, savoring every single flavor and texture that bite had to offer. It was simply divine.

As we continued noshing on our food, we heard a group next to us start to get a little rambunctious. I figured they had just got done gambling and probably had more than their fair share of complimentary drinks at the casino. Refusing to be irritated by the interruption as well as being a bit curious, I looked over and was pleasantly surprised at what I saw…

Sometimes I wonder if there’s a “top” for something considered “over the top?” I mean, when is “over the top” just too much? I’m getting to a point in life where I just don’t like to waste. Whether it’s food or not, I just don’t want to become “that consumer” where I have complete disregard for our world’s resources. I do think at some point, we have to question ourselves on whether this or that is truly necessary.

Back in March, Tom and I took a business trip to Las Vegas. Whether or not you’ve been to Vegas, I’m sure you’ve heard or seen (or experienced…) all that Vegas has to offer. Las Vegas is the most populous city in Nevada (metro area is over 1.8 million as of 2008). It is a major resort city for gambling, shopping, fine dining, and…um…other things. Las Vegas is known for its bigger and better of everything. From the nightlife to the non-ending buffet lines to more slot machines than a bookkeeper has time to count, Las Vegas has it all.

While we were there, Tom and I enjoyed the scene. Oh, yes we did. That is, if you consider “the scene” as attending a 7:00 a.m. (CST) seminar on the business aspect of catering or watching a demo on how to make ice cream in under 30 seconds using liquid nitrogen.

In seriousness, though, we did truly enjoy what “Sin City’ had to offer.  Probably our most memorable experience was when we dined at the Joel Robuchon Restaurant at the MGM Grand Hotel. Our experience (and yes, it was) all started when I called to make reservations.

The receptionist on the other line took my general information of name, number and so forth. When she asked what hotel I was staying at in Las Vegas, I had to wonder why. She said that the restaurant will send a complimentary limo to pick us up at our hotel. Say what??? Apparently this was STANDARD. I thought she was joking. Apparently, she wasn’t.

As we were getting ready the night of our dinner reservation, I wondered what kind of limo would be picking us up. I figured since it was complimentary, it would probably be something small, cheap and probably driven by a college student who was trying to earn some extra money for school. Who cares? It was still a free ride, right? As we headed out the side entry of the hotel, I slowed in my tracks as I noticed this rather large (and GOLDEN) limo pull up to the door. The female driver stepped out of the limo and was professionally dressed in a black suit, complete with a black beret-like looking cap. I thought to myself this can’t be our ride, so I peered over the limo to look for the right one. The driver approached me and asked, “Are you Mrs. Moore?…”

After many years of talking, Tom and I have finally decided to move.  We figured it was about time anyway since we’ve maxed out on the space in our home and are ready for a change.  We originally figured it would take a couple of years to get the house ready to go on the market.  Well, what could have taken two years was actually done in two weeks. 

Once we officially decided to put our house up for sale, we worked like dogs to get it all done.  We had the house painted; carpets re-stretched and cleaned, bought new light fixtures and so on and so forth.  By the time we were done, the house was looking really good.  So good, in fact, that we questioned if we really wanted to move! But alas, we had made our decision and were ready to go.

Once we were officially on the market, we felt it was time to start looking for a new home.  Of all the existing homes we looked at, only a very small handful was even close to making the cut.  And even then, Tom and I couldn’t agree on what we liked and what we didn’t like.  Finally, we decided that we were going to build…again. 

When I built our last house, I didn’t think about what was functional for a family with young kids and oh, let’s throw in a dog.  I wanted fun!  I wanted funky!  I didn’t care about the fact that my house was going to face east.  I just wanted make sure that the loft overlooked the kitchen!  Who would have thought that over a decade later, my kids, dog and I wouldn’t even be able to play outside in the middle of a HOT afternoon due to our WEST-facing backyard?  And what about the countertops?  Neutral colors, you say?  What?  How dare you utter such nonsense!  Give me green with black peppered specks!  Give me pink with white checkered designs!  Oh yes, and there were more.  Fortunately, having “matured” over the years, our next house will be a bit more…can we say, practical?  (Sure, as long as you consider a 6-burner-restaurant-style all-gas-range-with-not-one-but-TWO 22,000 BTU-burners-and-the-range-comes-in-190-colors practical!).

The night before closing, Tom and I did a final check on the house after everything was cleaned out.  Not so surprisingly, a flood of memories came pouring upon me.  Each and every room had a story.  Each one has evolved over the years.  But the room that had, by far, the most memories was my daughter’s room, which had been the nursery for both kids when they were babies.  In this room, I’ve spent countless nighttime hours changing diapers, rocking, soothing, cooing, singing and cuddling.  In this room was where the kids’ lives first began. 

I sometimes wonder if we could ever have the same kind of memories in our new house that we had in our old one.  And will that new house ever truly feel like home?  Then I realize that memories are not necessarily about a place or a building.  It’s about experiences and with whom you share those experiences.  By now, I know that it doesn’t matter where we live or whether our new house faces east or west.  The fact of the matter is our new house will have its own memories, just like our old one did.

There are times in life when we should take what we see on TV seriously and there are times when we need to just consider it to be pure entertainment.  Unfortunately, I fell in the former category today.

 Tom has a penchant for nature-based reality television.  Generally, the shows are about a man in the wild trying to survive in something crazy like the Amazonian jungle, while living off of giant walking sticks or katydids.  Today, Tom was watching something that sparked my eye…or at least my taste buds.

 Man v. Food is an American food reality television series on the Travel Channel .  In each episode, the show’s host, Adam Richman, explores the “big food” of different cities in America then participates in an eating challenge of some sort. 

 In today’s episode, Richman visits Buffalo Cantina in Williamsburg, Brooklyn for the latest gastronomical challenge:  six suicide chicken wings in six minutes.  What’s in the suicide wings, you may ask?  A marinade made of habaneros, Thai chilies, serranos, jalapenos, and a liquid extract of pure pepper juice.  Watching the show made me hungry and being a veteran of extremely spicy food, I thought to myself, “I can do that” and we  decided to put me to the test.

 Tom and I took the kids to a wing joint known for spicy wings.  On the menu, there are 14 different levels of spiciness.  Although we’re not in Brooklyn and these are not exactly the suicide wings, I wanted to recreate the challenge as much as possible.  Therefore, I ordered six wings at the hottest level, #14.  I ordered extra celery sticks to go with my side of blue cheese (not because I felt I needed it, but because I just love the stuff. Really.)  I was really excited for the wings to arrive.  After all, I’ve eaten the hottest of hot, so how bad could this really be?

 My wings soon arrived.  Tom took out his cell phone to activate the stop watch feature and I picked up a wing.  Being incredibly hungry with my taste buds salivating, the first wing went down pretty easily.  By the second wing, I was starting to feel the heat.  By the third wing, my vision was getting a little cloudy.  By the fourth wing, I had tears running down the side of my face.  By the fifth wing, Tom was pleading with me to stop, but I couldn’t.  I had a goal to achieve:  six wings at the hottest level in six minutes.  By the sixth wing, I was ready to be done.  I took the last bite, plunked down the bone, and triumphantly declared DONE!  Tom looked at his stopwatch, then back at me.  Eight minutes…

 When I got home, I searched the internet for the Man v. Food episode that I had watched earlier.  Apparently, this was the second time that Richman had attempted this challenge.  At his first try, he had to walk away after having eaten only one wing.  For his second attempt, allegedly they made the wings “less spicy” for the purpose of letting Richman “complete” the challenge.  Seriously?  So in the end, Man was beaten by Food.  Not me.  I’m not going down like that, I thought, as I prepped myself for a rematch…

Many people write blogs for many reasons. These days, everyone has one, whether it’s good, bad or otherwise. I quickly learned that it was a way for many business owners to market their company. I get it. Blogging is a cheap and effective way to communicate to your customers. When I first heard about blogging, I didn’t quite know what to think about it. In a way, I considered it an “online diary,” if you will, of people’s lives and nuances. I didn’t quite understand it and wondered why anyone would put themselves out there for the world to judge. And now, here I am, having written my 47th blog, I guess I’m just as guilty as the next blogger.

However, writing a blog is about where I may differ from your average business blogger. I don’t write just to market my business, hoping to book the next event from a reader. (Given that many of our readers are overseas, I hardly believe that’s possible). No, I write for the mere joy of writing. For me, it’s therapeutic and for those of you who are avid writers, you know what I’m talking about. Most of my best and personal writing, however, have never been seen by anyone’s eyes other than my own.

One of the best gifts I’ve received as a preteen was a diary. I don’t even remember who gave it to me, but I do remember the countless hours I spent pouring my heart into this little binder of papers. I religiously kept a diary until one fateful day when I thought of the possibility of someone finding it. What would they think of the things that I had written? Scared to think about the consequences, I ruthlessly tore up and threw away diary after diary.

Many years passed before I had the courage to pick up the pen again to express my most inner thoughts and feelings about what may be going on in my life. What started as pen and paper has transformed to keyboard and monitor. In February 1999, I decided to get back to journaling. Since then, my “diary” consists of hundreds of pages resulting in thousands of entries. In it, I’ve poured my life’s experiences – sad, happy, good, or bad. My journal is so personal to me that not even Tom has read it, although he knows that one exists. I have nothing to hide and Tom knows that if he wants access to it, all he has to do is ask for the password (which I had to install ever since I found one of my brothers reading my journal many years ago…).

Someday I do want to share my journal with my kids. I want them to know who I was and who I’ve become. I want them to know that I’m just like everyone else. Not only do I have my fears, but I also have hopes and dreams. I want them to read about a side of me that I may not have openly shared with them in the past.

There are times (many times, actually), I wish that I never threw away those diaries from years past. Those thoughts, ideas, and youthful hope from when I was a young girl would be so precious to me to read now not only as an adult – but as a mother with children. Sometimes I wonder where that young girl with the diary went. Then I look within myself and think “Ah yes, she may have added on a few years, but she’s still there.”

“I was still stunned by the loss of the only money we had.  My wife, however, retained her calm and only said “Quien sera, sera,” which means “what will be will be.”

After four days of speeding full ahead, stopping only to pick up other refugees, the Chinese commander convened all of us on deck and asked where we wanted to go.  Did we want to go to Taiwan or to the U.S.?  Our group of 850 refugees divided into two, 150 Chinese fishermen chose Taiwan, and 700 Vietnamese chose the U.S.  Having made a life changing decision, our ship sailed for Subic Bay in the Philippines. 

We arrived there on a hot day.  I was not in good shape.  I had contracted conjunctivitis in both eyes and they were swollen completely shut.  I could see almost nothing and had to rely on my wife to take the children in hand.  To make matters worse, I stepped on a metal tent stake and my foot began to bleed profusely.  The next day I was disabled.  I waited miserably while my wife completed the paper work necessary for processing us into the U.S. 

Finally, the “great day” came and my family was processed for admission into the U.S.  For the next two months, we lived in military barracks with approximately 30,000 other Vietnamese refugees.  Every day we lined up for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  The food was mostly dried eggs, fish, vegetables, and rice.  Some days, if we “got lucky,” chicken was served.  I remember my six-year old son Tri running all over our building screaming “Hurry up, you guys!  We’re having chicken tonight!”  Hurry up was right because if you were late, the chicken would be gone.

Daily life in camp was boring and we could not leave the area until our security clearances were completed.  While we waited, we learned more English and taught English to our children.  Some of us volunteered to work as interpreters and translators, or helped cook in the kitchen.  We all waited for a sponsor to come forward to take us out into the “mainstream.”

Finally, the big day came.  We were being sponsored by St. Richard’s Catholic Church in Richfield, MN.  Our first month in the Twin Cities was difficult for us, as we had to adjust to a new environment, a new life, and a new society. 

After three weeks of searching, my wife took a job as a seamstress in a drapery factory and I got work as a nursing assistant in a hospital.  Our motto was “no job is too small and HARD WORK pays off!”  We were glad to be able to support ourselves and were willing to sacrifice a lot for our children.  Frankly speaking, as “old timers,” we didn’t worry about our future, but only about the future of our children.

The thing that has made us the happiest has been to see all three of our children grow up to be college graduates and genuinely good people who contribute to the community and society.  As I look over my life, I can only say, “Alas!” for the future that destiny had in store for us.  The way I see it, many of our dreams have already been fulfilled.”

My insert:  June 2010 – Since those fateful days, my family and I have gone through a lot – good, bad, and otherwise.  My parents had to sacrifice everything to give my brothers and me a chance at a better life.  It took me a long time to appreciate it, but I do.  I truly do.  Would I have gone through what my parents did to give my kids a better life than that of a country torn by war?  I look at my kids who are about the same ages as my brothers and I when we left Vietnam.  I look in their big, brown eyes and think to myself, “Yes, I most definitely would.”