Win Big, Mama's Fallen Angel, Lose Big, Livin Out Her Butt

I still personally prefer the pug, the St. Bernard, the Bernese mountain dog, and the Irish wolfhound, but I really do believe that the best named dog breed out there is the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever. I am watching our tivoed edition of day 2 at Westminster and the sporting group, which is a not shabby set of puppies in general, is really coming strong this year. I mean, all of the water spaniels are pretty cool and no one can dis the German wirehaired pointer, which has a terrier like muzzle and the same mottled gray body with a brown face as, for instance, the Australian shepard. Not to mention the clumber, which is by far my favorite spaniel. Its a big dog that looks like it has at least some relation to a Newfy or even the Neapolitan mastiff (one of the year's new breeds, which I saw earlier at the Eukanauba show and is freaking awesome). Anyway, more power to the sporters.

So it is now Wednesday eveningish, on the verge of the second to last debate tournament of the year, well for me at least. I suppose Katie is still well in the thrall of the multi-headed beast. Hopefully the lack of debate tournaments will allow me to get beyond caught up with the reading lists and actually ahead. I am feeling pretty confident about psychoanalysis with Steven and I think I can read literature fast enough that the 20th Century probably won't be a problem. Luckily for me, the list that I am not as good on is with the professor who likes me the most. I know that I'm capable of reading this enormous mass of shit, but I just have not gotten as much of it done as I would like. Anyway, a little bit of worry is helpful, but I'm not panicing until I absolutely have to. I just need to find a way to enjoy the "filler" stuff in those texts like I can with Lacan et. al. I mean, the moments in the Critique of Pure Reason that are great are truly fantastic. There is just so much that is repetitive or summarizing or just a review of literature I don't care about. Thats not to say its not important for the overall argument of the book, but simply that it makes it harder to keep going and going.

Regardless, probably the reason I haven't been blogging to mention any of this was my overrelaxed nature following the night in Niagara Falls which Katie gave me for Valentine's day. We went up to the Niagara Fallsview Marriot, which is directly up the hill from the Canadian (far cooler) section of the falls. Its right in the same area as the new casino, which we visited in fact. But that barely makes the highlight reel of the weekend. We should begin, of course, with the room. I can say with a good amount of certainty that it is the second coolest hotel room I have ever stayed in. Our wedding-night suite at the Hyatt obviously takes the cake and while the suites we use for the party at Blake are pretty awesome, they don't have any of the elements available here. To begin with there was the view. I mean, what a sweet ass view. We were 18 floors up and directly in line with the horseshoe. I will put good pictures online at some point, this is one from my moblog:


I know thats not especially clear but its the best I can do. The giant puff of mist you see is the dead center of the falls. You cannot believe how incredibly clear this all looked, the rushing water, the spraying mist, the ways you can literally follow the flow over the side of the cliff. I spent probably an hour, in toto, just watching the falls from our window. Thats not even to mention the two other important facts of the room. 1) the fireplace: it was gas of course, but it was still gorgeous and it was right along side the almost floor-to-cieling window. I turned it on the second we walked in and only extinguished it when we left the next morning. Having a fire roaring was all but intrinsic to a relaxing evening in the Baxter household when I was growing up, and while a big part of that was obviously the wood crackling and the smell, even just the aesthetics of the orange glow does alot. It meant the room stayed a Katie-riffic temperature as well, I suppose. 2) the jacuzzi--in terms of pure jacuzzi-dom, by which I refer to just the actual tub itself, this thing was the nuts. It was ginormous, to begin with, designed for two people to be able to lay side by side with room to spare. Beyond that there was also the fact that, due to a window in the wall, you could choose to watch tv from the bath or enjoy the view of the falls. I did both and overall my back felt incredible when I walked away from that hotel in the morning. Admittedly it didn't have the gray marble or the LCD tv for Buffy/Sportscenter but it was stell a great tub and bathroom overall.

Alongside the great accomodations, there was the great food. The restaurant in the hotel, The Terrapin Grille, was actually where we went to dinner last Valentine's Day (well, as close as we get to Valentine's Day). They have great fish, so its a perfect lenten choice not to mention that it has a pretty view of the water and overall solid quality and atmosphere. We arrived about 7:00 for dinner and sat down soon after. I was going to eat fish anyway, so Katie chose the wine and it was a pretty decent Riesling. I must admit that I'm not a fan of sweet grapes, but if you've gotta drink white wine I would prefer a riesling with some character to what seems to me a universally lame chardonnay. We started of the fish-festival with a tasty platter of smoked salmon, which apparently Katie had never had before. I figured she would enjoy it and I was fairly sure when what came was true high quality salmon I knew I was right. Soon after finsihing that we received the entrees: Katie went for a repeat performance of the Pan Seared Chilean Sea-Bass, which was really perfectly cooked. It was about as tender and soft as you can make a piece of fish like that, it didn't flake or crumble in any way. Not to mention that whatever the glaze happened to be, it added a perfect sweetness to the whitefish that simply accented the mouth feel without in anyway interfering with the flavor. It wasn't a marinade, and that shows intelligence in preparation, you didn't need more flavor in a fish that good. I don't know if it was the exact same as last year, but it was chweet. I selected the special for the night, a pecan-crusted rainbow trout. Katie had apparently never even enjoyed the wonders of a trout fillet, which surprises me from a midwest gal, but nonetheless, it was truly a great meal. I can't describe it with the detail of the sea-bass, but let me simply tell you that it was as good a piece of trout as I have ever enjoyed. The lemon-garlic-butter sauce accented it perfectly and the contrast in crunchy pecans and firm but flaky flesh was solid. We finished the whole thing off with a chocolate gateaux that was really like a tiramisu for someone who hates either marscapone (impossible) or coffee (even less possible).

We made our way back to the Terrapin Grille for the breakfast buffet, primarily because I fucking love the breakfast buffet. The buffet in general is a fine art, but a truly excellent breakfast buffet is a masterpiece, a Sistine Chapel of my culinary world. It doesn't take anything special, you don't have to be innovative, but you have to execute a number of things in specific ways. Step 1) adequate "regulars"--by which I mean that you have a decent selction of breakfast breads, coffee, juice, milk, prolly some cerial, you know. This step includes most of the shitty you would find at a decent contintental breakfast, some bagels, croissants, maybe pastries. Step 2) quality meats--I didn't eat them, but they looked and smelled good and Katie like the requisites of sausage and bacon. Our buffet didn't exceed those requirements, there wasn't a carving station or anything, but it satisfied. Step 3) The fine touches--fundamentally the fine touches could be anything from hashed browns to some pancake like item to eggs and so on. Terrapin Grille proffered oven roasted breakfast potatoes and scrambled eggs to begin with. This was tipped over the edge by what may well be my two favorite things about breakfast buffets overall: fluffy waffles with whipped cream and an omelette station. Oh my God do whipped cream coated waffles and omelette stations rock. A fresh omelette made by someone who really knows what they are doing (which you fucking well better when given both your own fucking station and the nutzors of omelette making equipment) and has all the necessary fixings is awesome. I think that not only does its speediness and self-serve nature beat the omelettes that come out of a kitchen, but the fact that they know you are watching means they don't leave the omelettes alone to let them cook forever and dry out.

Alright, thats as much as I can humanly say about the breakfast buffet for now. Subject to begin with next time: Project Runway and its general ruleitude.

Peace,

MB-K