Upcoming Events at Erin's Fine Foods

Coming soon:

Cooking Classes for Adults and Children

Limited Space Available!

Singles Cooking Class Series $39/class or $150.00 for all 4
Dates: October 6, 13, 20 & 27, 6:30-8:30pm

Date Night Cooking Class 6:30-8:45
October 21, November 4, December 2

Gourmet Cooking from the Pantry $39/class or $150.00 for all 4
Dates: November 1, 8, 15, & 29, 6:30-8:30


Thanksgiving 101 Course

November 10 9:30-12:00
November 17 6:30-9:00

Coming This December

Edible Gifts from the Kitchen
Fancy Holiday Appetizers
Cooking Decorating for Kids

If anyone is interested in taking cooking classes from Erin's Fine Foods, check out her website at erinsfinefoods.com

Weekend with my Granddaughter

The weekend lightened my dark mood. I was going to pick up my oldest granddaughter from her job and then I would spend the weekend with her at her house. My son and his wife and youngest daughter went camping for the weekend.

Friday night, we spent our time watching the cooking network – enjoying the Iron Chef show and the Cupcake show where three pasty chefs try to outdo each other and make it as the cupcake chef at the Oscar Show.

Saturday, we got up and watched a few more cooking shows before heading out of the house. We went to Dick’s for a school backpack and then to Office Max for school supplies. We stopped at my one son’s new house, Barnes and Noble for books, drinks and pastries, Pizza shop to pick up a pizza and sandwich to take to my oldest son’s house and see his and his wife’s new baby.

Later that evening we went out for a Chinese dinner before seeing a movie. Throw in going to Borders to look for deals at their “going out of business” sale. After all of that, we went home and went to bed.

Sunday was more of the same. I went to breakfast with one of my daughters, while my granddaughter stayed home, and ate the Chinese leftovers. Eventually the three of us went to a fun store called Five Below, where everything is $5.00 and under. It’s a store for kids but even my adult daughter and I bought a few things for ourselves – nail polishes, and some DVDs.

Another stop at Borders, where we all found more books to buy. After we killed enough time, we headed to the show to see a movie. Afterwards, I dropped my daughter off at her house and then said goodbye to my granddaughter as I dropped her off at home.

All in all, it was a busy weekend, a bit out of my ordinary weekends. It was a fun way to spend a “one-on-one” weekend with my oldest granddaughter. I have already been booked for a week in February to stay with my oldest granddaughter and her younger sister, while my son and his wife to go on a cruise. You can be sure I will blog about that week. But more important, besides being with my granddaughters, I can’t wait to sleep on my son and daughter in law’s comfortable mattress!

Madeleine Cookies and Murphy's Oil Soap

The 20th Century French novelist, Marcel Proust dedicated a few pages of his book to the memory of a Madeleine cookie after dunking it into his tea. This Proustian experience did a lot for French literature and Proust became one of the most beloved writers of his day.

As I pulled out a bucket and filled it with hot water and added Murphy’s Oil Soap, the pleasant sudsy smell evoked a Proustian memory of the past for me, just as the Madeleine cookie did for Proust. My memories get triggered from food, life experiences, and now from a golden liquid cleaner, Murphy’s Oil Soap.

I first encountered this cleaner, while going to a Catholic grade school in Cleveland. Our hallways and desks at St. Patrick’s always smelled of that wonderful distinctive odor. In high school, I worked for half of my tuition. My job during the summer was to clean the desks and lockers with that same trusty cleaner.

Murphy’s Oil Soap takes me back to my grade school and high school days. In my home, I always use that cleaner for my walls, woodwork, wood trim, doors and floors. I love it. It has a mild, gentle smell but it cleans everything so well. It is also a comforting smell. It takes me back to my grade school and high school days. Those were the days that connect me to my mother, father, and brother. Days and times were good ones, holding good memories for me. Murphy’s Oil Soap connects me from the present to the past. Murphy’s Oil Soap is a reminder of a job well done.

Working With My Daughter the Caterer

For the past few years, I have been working with my daughter in her catering kitchen. I respect her for the hard work and long hours that she puts into her business. I used to work at a greenhouse and I also respected the people who worked there because the work was long and it was physical. When I first began to help my daughter, I helped to decorate her reception area and her tasting area. I along with a friend found the furniture and bought the additional accent pieces, and some of the pictures, and even added some wallpaper and borders for pizzazz. Then I would change the decorations for the seasons, I also did some of her press releases and writing.

Eventually, I graduated to running my daughter’s dishwasher. I kind of liked this job. It seemed easy and harmless enough, except when I would forget and open the door just before the rinse cycle. Usually the floor and I got drenched. My daughter, the chef was not amused. This didn’t happen all the time but enough of the time to get dirty looks from my daughter.

As time went on, I started cutting up vegetables and arranging them on trays. I learned how to cut up fruits. I loved working with the long serrated knife and cutting off the skins of the fruit, and cutting or slicing the fruit and arranging it on a platter. I actually became quite good at this job and my daughter would congratulate me and tell me how good and creative my platters looked. I also did a good job with the cheese platters.

Over time, I realized that despite cooking for a family of 11 for over 30 years, making food in my daughter’s catering kitchen was totally different. She is my boss, teaching me new tricks. She is the chef and knows how she wants things done. I help her but sometimes I hinder her. I have learned or tried to learn not to react and keep my mouth shut and at least make an attempt to follow her directions. Sometimes I fail but most of the time, I manage to get the job done. I know how to sharpen my knives but I can’t seem to keep my apron clean.

From time to time, I’ll be blogging about my helping my daughter. In the mean time - I know one thing – the chef is always right.

A Treasure in a Purse

As I continue to clean out my closets, I pull out a basket filled with a number of items. I open one big plastic bag and find two things: a pair of brown slippers, which belonged to my father, and a purse. But it is the purse that makes a surprised “Oh,” escape from my mouth.

I stare at my mother’s purse, which is well over 40 years old. It is probably the last purse she bought and owned. After she died in 1972, my father gave me some of her personal items. This purse, along with her jewelry, is one my personal treasures.

The purse is a small black one with a handle and a gold snap. It is hard and sturdy. It reminds me of an old fashion lunch box but not as big. I realize the maker of this product made it to last forever. It seems these days…no one makes things to last.

When I snap open the purse, I intended to be able to smell my mother’s scent. But it wasn’t there. It was like walking into a room that was kept cool and had no odor, pleasant or unpleasant. Inside the purse were a few things: two match books, a miniature ash tray with a lid, a white handkerchief with a tatted edge made by my mother, a small drawstring purse with a few coins inside, a bulletin from St. John’s Cathedral, dated January 30, 1972. I was sad to see the date on the bulletin because that was four days before she died.

There was also an avocado green wallet with an embroidered flower on the front. Inside the photo case was a lone picture of my oldest son, Matthew, with the date, May 8, 1971. At the time of my mother’s death, he was only 20 months old. He was way too young to ever remember his grandmother.

There is $7.00 in bills and 1.37 in coins, plus two tiny figures of religious statues, one of the Infant of Prague and the other the Sacred Heart of Jesus. There used to be a small silver rosary case with a rosary in the purse. But I took this out years ago and put it into one of my dresser drawers.

When one of my daughters came to visit, I showed her the purse and she looked through it. She thought it was cool. You know something…cool was a good word to use, because my mother was a very cool person, from head to toe. As for the money – I think I will hang on to it. I just don’t want to spend it. Not now, not ever.

The Names by Billy Collins

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name --
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner --
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

Fleece Blanket

A few weeks ago, I took one of my granddaughters out to buy her the rest of her birthday present. We went to Joann’s Fabrics and spent some time selecting fabric for her tied fleece blanket. She finally selected a solid purple fleece for one side of the blanket. The other fleece had a wild pattern of blues, pinks, purples, and other colors, along with skulls, a guitar, rocket and other figures.

We had the fabric measured and cut, and then purchased it. Our next stop was to share an early dinner together at Panera’s, which consisted of their delicious bread soup bowl of broccoli and cheddar, a small French baguette, and a cold glass of lemonade.

After that we drove to my house, where I cut the fabric. When I was finished, I handed the blanket to my granddaughter to tie both the sides together. While she worked on the blanket, we watched the Iron Chef cooking show, commenting on each dish, and trying to figure out which Chef should win. Within an hour, my granddaughter had tied her fleece blanket and completed it. “Now when I am invited to a sleepover, I can bring along my blanket,” she said, as she wrapped the blanket around her body, flashing a big smile. “Thanks, Grandma,” she added.

It was the end of a perfect day with my granddaughter from the trip to the store, sharing dinner together to working on a fleeced tied blanket. Life doesn’t get any better then this for me!

O'Reilly's Pub

I am not much of a drinker – ask my friend or relatives. But while I was visiting my friend in Cleveland, I wanted to do something different. I kept saying – “Let’s do something different.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Let’s get a drink – but at a bar.”

“You, you want a drink?” My friend was surprised.

“Yes, I want a Mojito and I want to go to a bar,” I added.

“Okay,” my friend said, staring at me like I was already a little tipsy.

She drove into the parking lot of a small strip mall in Cleveland Heights and parked in front of O’Reilly’s Pub. It was close to five o’clock and the place wasn’t opened yet. So we popped into a small shop and walked around until it hit five o’clock. We walked into the pub and we were the first patrons of the day. The bar was dark but clean and had some Irish photos and some Cleveland memorabilia on the walls. The bathroom was spotless and there was a glass vase filled with real tiny carnations, which was a nice touch. The bartender was friendly and greeted us and asked us what we wanted. My friend ordered a glass of Chardonnay and I ordered a Mojito.

“Can’t do that one. What do you want?”

“Why? I want a Mojito.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have any mint.”

I was disappointed and ordered a Corona Light.

“With a lime?” he asked.

“Definitely.”

After he put the Corona in front of me he asked, “Why did you want a Mojito?”

“I don’t know. I just had a craving for one.”

My friend went into the Rest Room and I ordered a basket of onion rings and battered zucchini strips. The appetizers came out quickly. The zucchini was accompanied with a tangy horseradish sauce. Both were good and they weren’t greasy.

A second chardonnay was ordered and then my friend asked the bartender about some flavored vodkas. She asked him to make me a martini. I debated and ordered a chocolate one. The bartender pulled out a cold martini glass and made me a martini.
I quickly tasted it and thought..dessert! Yeah…it was that good.

This was probably the fourth time I had sat at a bar and mainly drank. It was different and fun. For the first time, in a long, long time, I sat with a friend at a bar and laughed and talked with her and the bartender.

Why? It was just something that was different for me. It was fun. A Chocolate Martini---my new drink. Goodbye Jager (Jagermeister) and hello Chocolate Martini!