The Waiting Game by Stuart R. West

Click for comedy, mystery and murrrrrderrrrrrrr most dumb!

Recently, I encountered surely one of the world's worst waiters at a Mexican restaurant. Let's call him "Nelson (because that was his name)." Combative, non-communicative, just plain bad table etiquette. He mistakenly delivered baked beans instead of refried. My wife told me to let him know about it. No thanks. After the fight he put up over his bringing flour instead of corn tortillas, I didn't want things to escalate to violence. Still, he got the last laugh. When he swept my plate out from under me (without asking), he dropped my knife an inch from my hand. No apologies.

Now I'm no waiter, never have been one, yet I do have empathy for those plying the fine trade of waiting. And, as always, I'm here to help. Hence, Stuart's Easy School of Good Waiting for the low, low price of three $39.99 installments . Order now and you'll receive a free doily.

Waiters, kindly remember these rules:

1) Hairnets. If you have hair like the lunch-lady of my nightmares, hairnets are appreciated. Soup served with croutons and curly black hairs is simply not an option.

2) For God's sake, give me time to take a bite! Overzealous behavior doesn't suit the art of waiting well. Sometimes, before I've even jammed a fork in my mouth, a tip-starved waiter will ask how everything is. And keep coming back. Again and again. It's a weird time-space conundrum. Can't comment until the food's in me. Just...no.

3) Waiters, please don't chortle at a customer's menu selection. It doesn't exactly instill culinary confidence.

4) And do we really need to know your grandmother just passed away? When the waiter starts crying, my appetite starts dying.

5) When I ask what's good, don't respond with a generic shrug and say, "everything." I don't believe you. On the other hand, when a waiter says, "I eat next door," the honesty is appreciated, but gives me pause.

6) Don't be the invisible waiter, the guy who takes an order and vanishes into the Bermuda Triangle. When a different waiter brings out a milk carton with my waiter's visage on it, I know I'm in for an even longer wait.

7) Know your customers. Do I REALLY look like a guy who wants to eat the Kale platter?

8) "Oh, I see someone's hungry."  Well. When a waiter says that, I fire back, "I see someone's hungry for a tip." Puh-leaze.

9) If you're gonna' serve up witty patter, make sure it's at least borderline amusing. And don't deliver your patter like a robot. Bring your material to life. When you bury your face in the order pad, reciting lines like "you say tomat-oh, I say ta-mah-to (and I know you've recited it a kazillion times before)," it makes me wanna' use the steak knife for other purposes. Bad jail-bound purposes.

10) Finally, don't overdo it. When a waiter sits down at my table, drops an arm over my shoulder, jabs a toothpick between his teeth, and says, "You know, I'm not really a waiter...," dessert is definitely off the table.

Gang, the next time you go out to eat, recite these rules upfront to your waiter. Trust me. I'm sure they'll appreciate the advice. Absolutely positive.

What does "waiting" have to do with writing, I hear you ask? Quite a bit, actually. A waiter has to guide his/her customer through an entire meal before any kind of feedback is given (and hopefully a tip). A writer is in the same sort of unknowing vacuum until reviews come out (and hopefully sales).

There will be a test later.

Speaking of waiters, my dunderheaded protagonist of the Zach and Zora comic mystery series isn't exactly a waiter (and maybe the world's a better place for it). No, no, Zach has chosen to study and practice the fine art of "male entertainment dancing." Just, whatever you do, don't call him a "stripper." So gauche.

Click for wacky murder mystery hijinx.

The Weight of Words by Victoria Chatham

Coming Soon!

All authors know that writing can be a lonely occupation. They also know that sitting for hours with a computer is not good for them. It’s easy to get lost in the flow of writing. The upside is – the book gets finished. The downside? All that sitting may add a few extra pounds. It is so easy to forget about taking the exercise we all need in favor of just adding a few more words to the work-in-progress, and those words can weigh heavy.

I have a love hate relationship with weight. Photographs show that I was a child of average build and size, but all that changed when I was eight years old and had a three month long bout with pneumonia with much of that time being spent in bed.

I apparently did not have much of an appetite and the doctor advised my mother to not worry about what I ate as long as I drank plenty of milk which, in the early 1950s, was whole milk. Consequently, by the time I got out of bed, I was almost as round as I was high and so began my life long battle with weight.

It didn’t seem to matter what I ate, there was the potential for another inch on my hips. Through my teens I managed to keep a regular weight with numerous activities – horse riding, swimming, badminton, archery and good old rock ‘n roll.

As a Mom with a young family, I burnt a lot of energy keeping up with my three kids. Then I experienced a complete metabolic flip-flop when, after a divorce, my weight plummeted. Family and friends encouraged me to eat – and I did. Anything, at anytime, anywhere. It made no difference. At my lowest weight I was 87lbs and it took me two years to regain a somewhere-near right for my then age, height and build of about 120lbs. Once I reached that weight, I maintained it for several years but it was a constant balancing act.

I lost weight again, naturally enough I suppose, when I immigrated to Canada. My husband was a true blue, dyed in the wool steak and potatoes loving Canadian but he was also a man who loved to cook. How could I refuse to eat a meal so lovingly and carefully prepared for me? From chicken wings (I’d give you the family marinade and sauce recipes but my DH would probably come back to haunt me if I did) to planked salmon, chili and sea food dishes, he tried it all. If he didn’t cook at home, there were a variety of restaurants to be enjoyed. 

And life was changing. We became so busy that what we were doing was more important than what we were eating so, you guessed right, I started putting weight on again. Breakfast was about the only meal we ate at home. Dash here, grab pizza on the way. Dash there, oh we’ll just pick up coffee and donuts.  Then there were the days when we didn’t make time to eat until the evening by which time we could have consumed half a cow because we were so hungry.

Everything changes, and life changed again when my husband passed away. Being a consummate shopper, he did the shopping for what groceries we did have at home. Faced with not much more than an echo in my fridge, I had to start taking care of myself again and I reverted to what the cashier in my local grocery store laughingly referred to as ‘English shopping’. I bought fresh produce on a day to day basis which is almost anathema to the average Canadian shopper.  I started eating more meals at home, boring and time consuming though preparing food for one person was. I’ve never been fond of frozen meals, and could easily live without a microwave, so my meals at home were mostly salads.

Now being more mature than I’ve ever been, in years anyway, it really does matter what I eat. Over the years I’ve weathered the various theories that have been touted around. You know- the ones like apples-are-bad-for-tooth-enamel versus eat-an-apple-before-each-meal, coffee-is-bad-for-you then one-cup-in-

the-morning-is-fine. It all boils down to eating sensibly. A little of everything does you good as my grandmother used to say, with the emphasis on ‘little’.

And where, these days, do you find ‘little’ of anything? Supersize this or that, MSG-laden pre-packaged food products and the question about a bag of chips, ‘Can you eat just one?’ I have discovered for myself the truth nutrition gurus have been telling us for a long time – diets don’t work. Diet programs are great for initially losing weight, but how many people actually learn the lesson of smaller portions of the right foods aligned with exercise? Many don’t so, when they stop the program, the weight piles back on.

So where am I on a scale of 1-10? I must be honest. I’m pretty low on the totem pole actually. I know I could and should pay more attention to my diet. I know I could and should take more exercise than my walking and yoga. With each book I start I plan to take my exercise first thing in the morning to get it out of the way, but my characters have a siren song and I often find myself sliding out of bed into a housecoat and sitting down at the computer to get to grips with them. The walk can wait until later in the day, the yoga stretches I’ll do in a minute.

I’m starting another book now. I have a schedule up on my white board of how each day Monday to Friday is going to be. By the time I finish this one I hope to have lost the few pounds I put on with the last one. Come December I’ll let you know how I did.

 Find me and my books at:

http://bookswelove.net/authors/chatham-victoria/

and follow me on:

www.facebook.com/AuthorVictoriaChatham

http://victoriachatham.blogspot.ca

Food, Family, and Traditions, by Kathy Fischer-Brown

Food is a topic that, for me, needs little excuse. Not simply preparing and consuming food, but the occasions that have food at their center. And there is no better time to discuss the sharing of good food with family and friends than at holiday time.

While attempting to organize my computer this past week, I happened on a slew of videos. Actually they are converted home movies from my late father’s collection of 8 mm film from the late 1930s when my parents started dating to the 1980s when video supplanted celluloid for recording memories. It was a trip down Memory Lane in many ways, filled with a few tears and laughs, and also a time to appreciate where my love of cooking and baking came from.

There were my grandparents looking young, slim and hardly gray-haired. I quickly did the math and realized I was watching images that were 70 years old or more, which meant that my grandparents were a good 25 years younger than I am today. Back in those days my parents, a few lifelong friends, along with cousins, aunts and uncles all converged on my grandparents’ large Bronx apartment. Invariably, there were scenes of overflowing tables, smiling faces, the special cake…and the women all in full aprons.

My gram was renowned as a good cook. Her brisket was legendary. It was always a treat to arrive at their place greeted by the warm aroma of chicken soup and even warmer feelings of having the family assemble for an event of sorts. My mom and aunt would always lend a hand and we kids would amuse ourselves until time came to dig in at the table.

Over the years, after my family moved from The Bronx to Long Island, our house or the cousins’ alternated at being the epicenter of our culinary gatherings. My mom was a great cook, often replicating in her own kitchen what she’d learned from her mother. She didn’t “experiment” much back then, but after we moved to Connecticut, her talent for throwing sumptuous dinner parties took hold. My sisters and I would help out in the spacious kitchen, mostly chopping this or peeling that, but as we were then in our teens and tweens, food preparation was not at the top of our priority list.

By the time my parents retired to Florida, my mother’s skills had blossomed into the awesome category. Long before that, when I was a new bride and my husband and I moved away for a while to teach at a college in Indiana, I often asked my mom how she made certain dishes. She sent me recipes, some in her impeccable script, others typed on office memo sheets, which I still have tucked away into my first and still favorite cookbook. 

Over the years, as distance separated me from sisters and cousins, and the older generation passed on, cooking became a passion, a way to maintain a hold on the past and a link between those of us who remain. We no longer spend our holidays, birthdays, and other celebratory occasions in those large joyful gatherings of my childhood. We have scattered over distances that make such get-togethers impossible. My two kids are grown, and there’s a grandson, and my sisters have their own families. But when we do get together for whatever reason, the highlight of the visit invariably involves the preparation of an incredible meal, riffing on an old favorite or discovering something new.

The only things missing are those cool aprons.

~*~

Kathy Fischer-Brown writes historical novels for Books We Love, Ltd. To find out more about Kathy and her books, please visit at: www.kfischer-brown.com