I just got back from the store.  I have had a craving for grape-nuts for several days.  It is like a big bowl of childhood.  It gets me how breakfast cereal makes me think about my childhood.

See, I used to eat grape-nuts on Saturday mornings.  I made my own breakfast most of the time.  Consequently, anytime I didn’t feel like cooking, I ate breakfast cereal.  Grape-nuts remind me of Saturdays.

Bran flakes remind me of my grandfather.  We used to eat them together.  Our favorite was Ralston brand.  You can’t find those anymore.  I miss them and I miss him.  One time my grandfather put half and half on them for me.  I tried to act like it was good but couldn’t pull it off.

Raisin Bran reminds me of getting ready for school in a hurry.  It was a standby for getting up too late.

Captain Crunch signified the end of the month.  That is when my mother’s paycheck came and we went shopping.  We would polish off the whole box in the first day.  Then I would have those nasty little canker sores on the roof of my mouth.

Cheerios will always remind of me of church with the kids when they were small.  Eating them without milk is still a habit.  They are really good with Diet Dr. Pepper.

The kids all have their favorites. Zane loves a variety of stuff just like me as a kid.  His favorite is Cinnamon Toast Crunch though.  Tiger is a Fruitloops fanatic.  Zoe likes the Apple Jacks.

Well, I’m going to kick back and enjoy the rest of my grape-nuts.  Bon Appetit.

I was recently on a training junket to Bartlesville Oklahoma.

I enjoyed it.  I stayed in the Phillips hotel which is soon to be no more.

When the training was over, most of the attendees left town.  I however could not get a flight out of Tulsa and had to stay the night.

Any time I visit a town, I like to do something that is unique to that town.  The Tom Mix Museum was closed for that whole month.  So that was ruled out.  But it just so happens that Bartlesville has a landmark that I have wanted to see since I was a boy.  Bartlesville is home to the only skyscraper Frank Lloyd Wright ever built, Price Tower.

So, I went over to Price tower with the intention of asking the inn keeper to let me look around.  I walked in and was greeted by people from the Price Tower Arts Center.  They had an exhibit there and invited me into the arts center to see it.  They took my coat and walked me into see the art.  It was a fantastic exhibit featuring paintings of Wright’s Fallingwater, one of his best houses.

I met with a young lady who gave me a tour of the hotel.  Then she encouraged me to eat supper at Copper, the dinner club at the hotel.  This sounded great but I had to ask, “Can I afford to eat here?” She replied, “Oh don’t worry sir.  Your bill shouldn’t run more than $50.”  “Outstanding.”

Since I was by myself I opted to eat at the bar.  As you can imagine the place was covered in copper and was classic Wright architecture.

I looked over all three items on that evening’s menu.  I chose the bone in bison ribeye.  I needed to order a drink.  I was contemplating a glass of wine since the beer in Oklahoma is 3.2% and doesn’t even taste right.  The young bartender told me, “Sir, all of our imported beers are the real deal.  You look like the type to appreciate a Chimay with your steak.”   “You sized me up pretty well.  I would love a Chimay.”

The steak was good.  The beer was better.  But, the conversation was the best.  The locals that came in and out of the bar were very friendly and all somehow connected to ConocoPhillips.  Folks in the oil business are typically friendly no matter if they are ditch diggers or high dollar executives.

I told the bartender, “I may have to split my bill into what I can expense and what I can’t.  So, figure it up and I’ll figure how to split it.”  He came back with the bill.  It was more than $50.  Significantly more.  The beer alone was $14.  I can buy it at the store for $3.

As if the bill wasn’t enough of a shocker, the Arts Center was closed with my coat in it.  Nobody at the hotel could open it.  My flight left Tulsa before anybody was going to be available to retrieve my coat.

It all turned out alright.  My coat was mailed to me.  I’ll always remember the fantastic scenery. And, I learned a valuable lesson about eating above my pay grade.

Recently we attended Fiesta del West Texas.

The kids loved the rides.

This was the first time I have taken Tiger on a carnival ride. I laughed and enjoyed it for a bit. Then he was ready to get off as you can see.

We had a good time.

Some folks say there is nothing to do in a town like Odessa. I’m not certain, but I think I have more fun than those people do wherever I am.

I also ate some fajitas that weren’t around long enough to photograph. If you have never eaten fajitas in West Texas, you have never truly eaten fajitas. It is like comparing the scallops in New England with ones served anywhere else. The local mesquite is God’s perfect cooking fuel. The fajitas are the best in the world, hands down. The brisket aint bad either.

I love this town.

In Texas, brisket is the stuff of celebration. We seldom eat brisket for dinner. But it is our favorite meat when we celebrate. If we make a goal at work, we serve brisket. When we have a party, we serve brisket. We even served brisket at my own wedding feast.

I can’t even buy a brisket sandwich for lunch without conjuring up memories of celebrations from the past. My mind wanders back to happy times and for a moment I forget about many of my troubles. The smell of burning mesquite and the sight of big long smokers make me happy.

Heaven must be full of big long smokers. I’ll bet their lined up end to end and five rows deep. I’ll bet the smell of the mesquite wafts up to the Nose of the Almighty and makes Him happy. Can you imagine the feast?

A feast is the most often used symbolism for communion between God and man. God likes to party. He always invites us.

A bunch of folks seem to be writing about Luke 15 lately. So give it read and try this on for size. Jesus tells three parables about restoring the lost. All of them end with a party. According to Him, Heaven parties when a lost one is found.

So it seems to me, religious people suffer from a lack of brisket in their diet.

Hungry?

I don’t have a lot of time right now.  So the Picante recipes will wait for a later post.

Some of the best things in life are extremely simple.  Pico de Gallo is one of them.  This is my real simple pico de gallo recipe.  You will notice a complete lack of precise measurements.  That is intentional.  This is pico not rocket fuel.

First, I have a special safety concern.  You will find that I chop and add the peppers last.  This is by design.   If you cut them first and wipe your crying eye later, the onions will be the least of your concerns.  Pepper oils hurt soft tissues.  I have warned you.  Do the peppers last.
Ingredients:

• 1 large fresh tomato (or an equivalent number of small tomatoes)
• 1 small fresh onion  (smaller than a baseball)
• 2 or 3 fresh jalapeño peppers
• 2 sprigs of fresh cilantro
• 1 palmful  of coarsely ground salt
• 1/2 palmful of black pepper
• 4 dashes of lime juice

Directions:

Take a sharp, real simple food processor (chef’s knife) and dice the onion and the tomatoes.

Put them in a bowl.  Stir them.  Stir in the salt and black pepper.   Make sure that these are evenly mixed.

Finely chop the cilantro then stir it into the mixture.

Add the lime juice.  (Lime juice is highly acidic and decreases the pH so the pico won’t go bad quickly.)

The preparation of the peppers will determine the overall heat of the food.  You may want to switch to a paring knife.  Cut off the stems and throw them away.  Quarter the peppers from end to end creating four long strips.  For mild salsa remove all seeds and veins.  For medium, remove the seeds and some of the veins.  For normal pico, just leave it all in.  Chop your peppers then add them.

Wash your hands.

Stir the mixture until the peppers are evenly distibuted.

Serve.

For the pepper heads out there, add a habeñero.   You know you want to.

As you can see, there is no real need for a recipe.

Some folks add Cumin.  I don’t because this is pico not picante.

Don’t try to can or keep this stuff.  The yield is small on purpose.  Pico is meant to be served fresh.

My preacher is doing a series on communion.  He has also posted about it and you can click here to see that post.

See, in our tradition we take the Lord’s supper each week.  It is awfully easy to lose the meaning of the rite to our own disregard.  So Sunday morning’s sermon was about stopping and giving pause and examining ourselves before we just go through the motions.

This stimulated some deep thought for me.   I started to compare some things in my life.

Many of you will remember an old post of mine where I told you what chocolate cake means to me.  I’m going to reprise a little of that thought to make my point.

My grandparents lived in Brownfield.   I lived in Odessa.  Grandad was a roughneck.  So he made the trek to my house each week so he could work.  Each week he brought a pan covered with foil.  In it was a good old Texas style chocolate sheet cake.  Each week I would hear how she baked it just for me.  She knew it was my favorite.  I always felt like her favorite when he brought it.

I did not deserve this favor.  I was just a scrawny little runt that was adopted into the family.  But she saw me as her own.  To this very day, I look at chocolate cake through the eyes of a happy little grandson.  There is far more there than just flour, eggs and butter.  The memories don’t fade fast.  The expression becomes more vivid as I get older.

Christ prayed over the bread and the wine.  He told his disciples “Do this to remember Me.”  He likened the bread to His body, a holy sacrifice to be shared.  He likened the wine to His blood.  One’s cup symbolized one’s destiny.  They were to share in His life and His destiny.  The tradition lives on among us today.

I do not deserve this favor.  I am still some little runt that was adopted into the family.  But He sees me as His own.  Every time the trays are passed I see my self as a grateful little child of God.  There is far more there than just matzos and wine.  The memory has lasted 2000 years.  The expression becomes more vivid as I get older.

I get to sit at the table of God Almighty.  He has prepared Himself for my consumption.  I don’t deserve this.  I must be loved to be so privileged.