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Tag Archives: Chili’s

Cinnamon Apples

When I make cinnamon apples, I use, um, cinnamon and apples.  What else do you need?  Apples are sweet enough!  I wonder what Chili’s puts in their cinnamon apples to make them three times more loaded with calories than their mandarin oranges.  Chili’s cinnamon apples have 210 calories to be precise. 

And while we’re talking about kid’s meals, did you know that Zaxby’s will not substitute celery for fries in a kid’s meal?  Yeah.  I’ll only make that mistake once.  I’m learning if we must eat out, it is best to order from the adult menu than from the mac/cheese, fried chicken kid’s menu.  Our favorite fast food is Salsarita’s.  Norah gets little cups of lettuce, tomatoes, black beans, shredded cheese, and grilled chicken. 

Wondering which kid’s meals are the best options?  Check out this handy-dandy report my zest quest mother just sent me.  Don’t have time to read it?  The winner is Subway.

Three Cheers for Laura

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Happy Day of your birth, Laura Clay! 

You work harder and play harder than anyone!  You taught me “you’ll never know until you ask” with all your bold ways.  And I’ve watched in awe at your ability to “get things” (well, expect that one thing).  You have listened to me rant and soapbox.  We’ve cried while sharing so many plates of bacon and eggs.  You are Nanoo to my child.  You supported all my mothering choices with such enthusiasm; even the choice to quit working which meant to quit working with you.  Oh great maker of cardboard playhouses and spoiler of children, enjoy your day!

Hip Hip Hurray to the only woman I know who consistently gets free chips and salsa from Chili’s!  Here’s hoping you’re not on call tonight.  Happy Birthday!     


Scott and I indulged in unintentional mimicry last night.  In our pre-parent times, when we lived on an escarpment above Albany, we had a standard date night:  chips/salsa at Chili’s, coffee/book-buying at Borders, and then the treacherous winding climb home. 

Helderberg Escarpment

For last night’s date, our plans went awry and before we knew it, we were sitting in Chili’s; a place I love only for salsa.  Unable to help it, we gravitated to B&N.  The coffee was not wonderful and–ahem–not fairly traded.  Like old times, I found myself on the floor passionately gazing at the poetry shelves. I could buy a book.  Which one?  I chose to pass over my beloveds.  I pushed Neruda back in place.  I lingered for a moment on Clifton, Sarton, Levertov, and Oliver.  Atwood held me for a breathless second.  I refused to make eye contact with Rilke–he is too powerful and would overcome my intent for new words.  Without looking back, I snatched Anne Carson’s The Beauty of the Husband.  Someone new!  Would I like her?  Would she me?  Clutching her in my hands, I sat in the car as we drove in the snow (also a frequent occurence on NY dates).  In the warmth of home, I absorbed her words:

Beauty convinces.  You know beauty makes sex possible. 

Beauty makes sex sex.

You if anyone grasp this–hush, let’s pass

to natural situations.

Other species, which are not poisonous, often have colorations and patterns

similar to poisonous species. 

This imitation of a poisonous by a nonpoisonous species is called mimicry.

My husband was no mimic.   

Off to a promising start.