Kansas City: A "Three Brewery" Tour

Please note the Spike Photobomb

Sing along with me as I work to share the tale of the Labor Day weekend road trip to Kansas City to the tune of the Gilligan's Island Theme Song. In case you need a refresher, click here. If it is stuck in your head until mid-January, 2016 please forgive me.

Just sit right back

And you'll here a tale

A tale of a (beer-filled) trip,

That started from (drive in CO)

Aboard this (Rav-4)

The mate was a mighty (drivin' woman)

The Skipper brave and sure,

(Just two passengers) set (out) that day,

For a three (brewery) tour,

A three (brewery) tour.

Just like Gilligan and his friends, it was supposed to be a three brewery tour. Of course, the picture of the beer that came home with us, you can see our adventure took a detour. Let's start from the beginning. Danny and I had long talked about taking a road trip to Kansas City, and the fact that my White Sox were playing the Royals that weekend felt as though the stars aligned telling us to go. So I purchased the tickets, booked a room in Independence, Missouri, and started exploring things to do in Kansas City on Trip Advisor. As an aside, a resolution for 2016 is to contribute to Trip Advisor as I have become an avid consumer; if nothing else it sure is a fascinating sociological experience. I digress. Anyway, Trip Advisor listed three breweries in Kansas City, so those were added to our list of places to visit.

(The driving was windy)

The (Rav) was tossed,

If not for the courage of the fearless (ha!) crew

The (corn would get us)

The (corn would get us)

The (Rav arrived in Independence)

Of this uncharted area

With (Laurie)

And (Danny too)

No Millionaire (though that would be nice)

(Or) his wife

(Definitely no) movie star 

The professor was missed and (so was) Marry Ann

Here in (Kansas City).

We arrived in Kansas City on Saturday evening with just enough time to change and head to Kauffman Stadium, arriving for the bottom of the first inning. I am fairly certain a beer was consumed at the game, but the real ridiculousness started on Sunday morning. Being Labor Day weekend we had to cram a lot in to Sunday as many things were going closed on Labor Day (i.e. the Wizard of Oz Winery). More on that momentarily. 

The original itinerary went something like this: BBQ for lunch (because when in Rome...); National World War I Museum and Memorial; Negro Leagues Baseball Museum; Boulevard Brewing Company; 75th Street Brewery; Kansas City Bier Company; Truman Presidential Library. When I spell it out, I think we accomplished about half of those things. Here's a more accurate (read: actual) itinerary, and you'll see why we were as ridiculous as Gilligan and his fellow castaways:

• The place we were told (by a local) to go for BBQ was closed on Sunday, which led us to turn to Yelp, which suggested Fiorella's Jack Stack BBQ. Excellent food AND happened to be located across the way from Union Station. So their traveling exhibit from the National Football Hall of Fame replaced the WWI Museum.
• Next while driving to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum (fascinating and well done) we stumbled upon Double Shift Brewing Company and Border Brewing Company. During this stop I was able to watch the Sox SWEEP the Royals (!!!) Those two breweries replaced Boulevard Brewing as that one is easy to get in Colorado. Then we drove to 75th Street Brewery and Kansas City Bier Company. Now this is when things got silly, and truth be told it was my fault. Just call me Gilligan...

While in the bathroom at Kansas City Bier Company I saw an advertisement for an upcoming event that included a brewery called Flying Monkey Brewery. Again the idea of "when in Rome" felt applicable. Well I became a little possessed and determined that Danny was going to try this beer. Apparently they do not have a tap room, they only distribute, which of course meant I had to find it at a liquor store. After dinner we (read I) was on a mission that I thought would be simple. There was a nice looking liquor store not too far from the KC Bier Company, so we stopped there, and they were sold out. Still the first two beers (starting from the left) came from that store. The second one from the left is actually from Nebraska (the horror!). After that the liquor stores were going down hill in quality - the last one of which was probably not the safest place to be, and included a proprietor who thought I was asking about Rum. I shook my head and gave up (for the night).

The next morning we started home, but not without stopping at the Truman Library. I even met a Truman impersonator! The Library was fascinating as it included all kinds of documentation around the decision to use the Atomic Bomb in WWII. After having visited Hiroshima, I found particularly interesting. One will never know if it was the right decision, but having the background helped understand the decision a bit better.

Driving through Kansas we had seen signs for the Eisenhower Library, and decided to stop there on our return trip. Of course just before crossing into Kansas (from Missouri) we did another liquor store search. This one yielded the middle bottle of beer, but still no Flying Monkey to be found. So our trek /quest continued. Now would be the time to mention that I try to get a shot glass for a dear friend on my travels, but decided that she probably already had a shot glass from Kansas City. So I wanted to get her a bottle of wine from the Wizard of Oz Winery in Wamego instead. Much to my dismay, the town of Wamego, literally the whole town, had shut down for the holiday. While there, we regrouped and did yet another liquor store search. This led us to a liquor store called, "The Library" in Manhattan Kansas (home to Kansas State University). I called and much to my delight they carried the beer! So to Manhattan we went. This liquor store produced the three beers to the right, as well as Kansas City Royals wine for Beth. Apparently the wine was sub-par, but the cork was fantastic!

If either of us had had a "library card" that would have yielded a discount. This exchange alone may have been enough to make the whole escapade worthwhile as the Flying Monkey beer was only so-so. I felt the same way about Eisenhower's Presidential Library as he was a very reluctant President. Much of the exhibits were dedicated to his time as a General in WWII. While I am not diminishing those accomplishments, it was just an interesting in comparison to other museums I have visited. Although I do have President Eisenhower to thank for the interstate highway system, which I use quite frequently.

Eisenhower's Electric Car

So this is the tale of our (road trip)

(We were there for not such a long time)

(We sure made the best of thing)

(Not such an uphill climb)

I hope this proves a couple things: first, the beer escapades are not all Danny's fault, and I do get mine. The history lover in me really enjoyed this trip, and I am grateful that Danny goes without protest. We have an unspoken agreement: I don't complain about beer, he doesn't complain about meeting my various cultural needs.

Next trip though, I want to find that millionaire! Please join me in 2016 as I hope to re-engage in my blogging adventures/tales of ridiculousness. Never a dull moment here in the Pechie household, except perhaps on NYE where the two sickies will be lucky to make it to 10:00 PM (Mountain Time).

God's Sense of Humor OR Tales and Lessons from a Grown Picky Eater

Fear, Joy, Disgust, and Sadness from
Disney Pixar's Inside Out

I am at that stage of life where a number of my friends have kids. One of the byproducts of this fact is that my Facebook feed is filled by all sorts of parental anecdotes and/or lessons. One such article that caught my attention was an article that appeared in the Huffington Post entitled, "6 Words that Will End Picky Eating." Before I tell you the six words, let me share my story.

I am living proof that God has a sense of humor. S/he made me an introvert who shies away from any sort of attention while also making me a terribly picky eater in a family of people who were foodies before there even was such a concept. I am also the grandchild of people who lived through the Great Depression, so food was not something to be wasted. In fact my Grandpop, who was also a butcher, once wrote me an email dedicated entirely to soup. At the end he asked if I was hungry, but fortunately I did not have to explain that none of them were particularly appealing to me. On the soup front, I have come to appreciate a solid cream based option (i.e. the lemon rice soup of Northwest Indiana that I fill other people's Facebook feeds talking about, Lobster Bisque, etc. while I am not a fan of broth soups, which is what my Grandpop was writing me about that day).

Back to the six words, "You don't have to eat it." While this was apparently life changing for this particular mother, it was not at terribly helpful for me. The way I see it, this makes the assumption that there is a conscious battle between parent and child about what will be consumed. Perhaps at times I was just trying to be a defiant little sh*t; I was known to do that more than once (sorry Mom/Dad - thanks for still loving me). Honestly though, more often than not, it was a texture/consistency issue for me. Let's be clear, I WANTED to like "normal" food such as hamburger, eggs, carrots, peas, milkshakes. For whatever reason I could not do it. The food felt strange in my mouth. In my junior year of college I had pretty major nasal surgery, which I consider a great turning point. My palate has expanded quite a bit as I have gotten older, yet I often cannot seem to shake the "picky eater" moniker. Again, we're back to the normal food thing - I have given up on the egg or pea thing ever happening, but I have been known to eat a hamburger. And steak - my Grandpop was thrilled when I ate steak. Even though I put blue cheese on it, which he considered to be a sin, I was eating steak!

Back to the article, "Somehow I [the author] stumbled across Ellyn Satter's groundbreaking 2000 book Child of Mine: Feeding With Love and Good Sense, and it was literally a life-changing read. Satter, a registered dietitian nutritionist and family therapist, promotes a "division of responsibility" for meals: the parent decides when to eat, what to serve, and where to serve it, and the child decides whether and how much to eat. There is always something on the table you know the kid will eat, like rice or fruit or bread, so all new, experimental foods are paired with familiar foods." 

Thankfully my parents seemed to subscribe to this theory way before the book existed. They made sure I did not starve, but they also recognized that I was never going to be what is irritatingly (some call it affectionately) known as a "good eater" nor was I going to be a member of the "clean plate club." Yet, they worked very hard to adapt to my needs. There was one night where my Mom tried so very hard to get me to drink the milk from my cereal. I sat at the table for what felt like hours (probably 7-10 minutes) pouring more and more cereal in to the bowl without adding any more milk with the hope that it would all go away. After the milk turned a color that must have resembled a rainbow assorted vomit, she mercifully let me be excused. 

I also remember conversations when I became a teenager about what I was going to do when I started dating. Sure I was nervous when I would go out with a new guy about what I would order on the menu, but I managed to get through it. I also became a bit more adventurous, especially when going to meet the new family - I did not want to embarrass myself (again there's that whole not drawing attention to myself thing). I still feel bad that my now mother-in-law made me a special dessert the first time I met the family because Danny mentioned I was unsure about carrot cake. As an aside, she was very understanding about my inability to eat anything really cold at that point because of my esophageal spasms. Again, there's God with that sense of humor. I was diagnosed at 27 with pronounced (acid) reflux that finally required surgery. Yes, I was the woman in her 20s who had regular appointments in the gastroenterology department.

So what in the world am I saying? Besides the obvious fact that my body and I have a weird relationship with food. More than that, I feel that I need to be able to talk about being a picky eater, instead of being super sensitive, bordering on being ashamed of it (as I have long been). Did you see the Disney Pixar movie, Inside Out? If you haven't, please do. From the moment I knew that it was a story of an 11 year old girl, Riley who moves from Minnesota to San Francisco, I wanted to see it! I don't want to be a spoiler, but what I took away from it, which my Mom helped me articulate, is that you have to let people (of all ages) feel what they need to feel. The same goes for having a child who is a picky eater. It is easy for this non-parent to say, but if you have a picky eater in your life I would encourage you to, first, take them to an ear, nose, and throat doctor. So much of what we taste is based on our ability to smell; and as someone who cannot that had a profound effect on my ability to taste. Next, please work with them on it. Being a meanie-poopie head (very technical term) about it will more than likely not help the situation. Finally, keep (re) introducing things. As my parents said more than once, but I did not believe them at the time, I enjoy things now that I would not have dreamed that I would like as a kid. 

Again, eggs, never going to happen; so let's give up on that one. Nor am I the person to take to an incredibly fancy restaurant as it may be lost on me. Still, I can make a mean bowl of cereal. In fact, I would be called a cereal connoisseur, if there is such a thing...

The Spike Series: Meet my Sister, Ceres

Two Peas in a  Momentary Pod

Hi, people, Spike here! First things first, I want to use my Constitutional right to air my grievances. My woman has not posted anything in many days, which means telling you all the story of my road trip back in JULY has not happened yet. Then she goes and compounds that by making her first post of 2015 about my new sister, Ceres. I don't know why I am shocked though, Ceres is taking a lot of my stuff, so why should my blog series be any different. Oh well, The Man says I have been a champ about everything else so I will try to be good about this too... Everyone I want you to meet Ceres.

Proof she gets fed

My people adopted Ceres from the Colorado Pug Rescue, which is the same organization that brought Laurie and me together. The Man and my Laurie were not really actively looking for another dog, but after reading about her story on Facebook she touched their hearts. Ceres, aka Siren or Baby Girl, is believed to have been part of a puppy mill and was either hit by a car or thrown from a car. Either way no one came to get her from the shelter where she was taken, and so the Pug Rescue helped her get better, just like they did for me! Ceres has had surgery on her hips, some teeth were pulled, and she has been spayed. Everyone keeps saying she is extremely well-adjusted for everything that has happened, and are also amazed at the fact that she does not need any on-going medication. She one ups me there as I still require twice-daily eye cream.

She came to us with the name Siren (because she does this occasional whine/howl thing that kind of sounds like a siren), but her foster parents had taken to calling her baby girl. Either way she did not recognize her name, so The Man proposed changing it to Ceres. Laurie wanted to keep it as Siren, so they took it to Facebook; well as you can already tell, she lost. 

Why Ceres? 

A picture of Ceres taken by the Dawnspacecraft 12 February 2015. 

When The Man first proposed the name, Laurie thought he was saying Siri (the Apple Woman) because she is not a science NERD like him. Then he explained that Ceres (minor-planet designation 1 Ceres) /ˈsɪəriːz/is a dwarf planet located in the asteroid belt, which lies between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. Considering how tiny she is (about 14 pounds soaking wet), the name seemed to fit. Plus, I reiterate, Laurie lost.

So how are things going in our house? Honestly, they are going well. We had a couple minor setbacks - it was really cold the other day AND the WHITE STUFF came back so she and I both struggled with it. Then there was the matter of "during the day" sleeping arrangements. My people bought Ceres an enclosure, a soft kennel type thing, that she Houdini-ed out of in about three seconds; so they tried me in it. I was not loving that option, which means we are experimenting with us each having our own bed in the powder room. Fingers crossed, but that seems to be going okay - although Ceres and I seem to entertain ourselves with musical beds because she STEALS MY BED! Still, I move out of her way, share my toys as needed, and even share snuggles with my Laurie, which is kind of a really big deal...

Although the snuggles and the day-time bed sharing does bring up an even larger concern - sleeping arrangements in the big bed at night. Laurie has this theory that I grow bigger in the bed, kind of like those magic growing capsules that turn into a shape in water. So you can imagine that two pugs and two people has brought about conversations of getting a king size bed. Until that happens, I have taken to throwing myself against Laurie to the point that she almost falls out of the bed because Ceres has taken the prime real estate (in between my, I mean our people). Still the picture below, taken this morning, would indicate we may be figuring things out. More to come from the soon to be called, "Spike and Ceres Series," but I still get one more post to myself when Laurie finally lets my tell the story of my really long road trip!