The White Horse Country Pub – Marbledale, Connecticut

The White Horse Pub. They gave me more bread, I just ate it all.

Foodgasm Factor 4 :: Broke Factor 4 :: Repeat Factor 6

This wasn’t our first time here. Apparently it was our fourth, although I only remember three. It came highly recommended by a dear friend some time ago.

On this day, we stopped by on our way to a vineyard in Litchfield (Sunset Meadow — I highly recommend it). It was our last full day before The Kid came home from her mission trip so we wanted to get in another date.

The White Horse Country Pub is good. It’s a decent place that seems to be reliable. It sits along this body of water they call a river but looks more like a creek on steroids.

There are two outside patios, one off the restaurant area and one off the bar. The patios sit looking out over the river and is beautiful. The setting is tranquil.

There is a tall wooden wall that separates the diners from the parking lot and busy Rte 202. There are a few of those hot lamp things that keep you warm on cool days/evenings and a string of large bulbs hang from above. It looks like a great place to eat at night.

Inside, the restaurant and pub is rustic. It’s a very quaint and fun atmosphere. The bar in the tavern is large and a big fireplace sits opposite it.

Any time I have gone by this place, the parking lot is full. It doesn’t seem to matter what time of day it is. Good sign, right? Perhaps.

IMG_5132Everything seems to have their logo/name branded/stamped/etched into the sides. Wine glasses, beer mugs, pottery that holds bread. It’s very charming.  Just so you know, they give a generous pour of wine. Almost to the rim.

We were seated outside on the patio off the restaurant next to an older couple. They both had huge buckets of seafood in front of them. I looked and looked on the menu but couldn’t find it. When our server came over (great service, by the way), I pointed to the couple and asked what that was.

The river is behind DH. he suggested I get up and change seats for this photo op but I was too lazy to move.  After all, I had to save my energy for this meal.
The river is behind DH. He suggested I get up and change seats for this photo op but I was too lazy to move. After all, I had to save my energy for this meal.

“Oh, they must be regulars. That meal is only served at dinner, but I’m sure the chef will make it for you.”

It is called the WHITE HORSE SEAFOOD BAKE and it consists of shrimp, clams, mussels, calimari, salmon, corn, onion, potatoes in a white wine sauce. I thought he said something about some kind of licorice liqueur but I didn’t taste it.

It is served in a huge iron pot and a piece of branded pottery containing garlic bread accompanies it. He warned me that it was a lot of food for one person but I figured if two people who are at least 20 years older than I am can do it, so can I.

Ahhh. The excitement mounts.

DH ordered the BLT. A sandwich made of apple smoked bacon, fried tomato, greens and chipotle mayo on a baguette. This is served with a side of french fries.

It took a long time for our order to come. Probably because of my meal, I’m sure. I really don’t mind waiting for a meal as long as the company is good and I have a full glass of wine, to which I had both.

When my food was finally placed in front of me, I thought “this is no problem, there isn’t much food here.” I quickly learned I was mistaken.

It was a damn bottomless pit. It was steaming hot, the heat being held in from the iron pot. I am not a fan of extremely hot food. I had to take a sip of water after each bite. I did burn my tongue. Several times. It was difficult to eat because although they do give you a galvanized steel bucket to put all your shells into, I really could have used a plate to dissect everything.

Everytime I dropped a piece of the seafood into the pot, the liquid would splash up and burn my neck or stain my clothes (even though it was a white wine sauce, there were tomatoes in there). I would highly recommend asking for a bib.

The mussels and clams were steamed almost perfectly. The salmon was thoroughly cooked, which is good for this situation. They could have been a little more generous with the potatoes, but they were so hot anyway, I had a hard time eating them.

After a very long time, so long that DH ordered a cocktail after he was finished with his meal (he thought his sandwich was okay…but remember, Mr. Picky), I was done. I’ll have to remember to take a bite out of everything he orders, so I can pass on my findings. Be patient with me, I’m learning.

I finished the entire pot. And the broth was still steaming. I was full but was I satisfied? Eh. It was okay. I won’t order it again. I had to really work at my meal. I don’t really like to work that hard for a meal, unless it’s lobster. And I wasn’t impressed with the broth it sat in. It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t to die for. I did not have a foodgasm.

The wine was average and DH’s cosmo wasn’t that great. It’s a pub though. I’m sure they have a great beer list, but I’m not a beer drinker and DH really doesn’t love beer either so there you have it.

If you go to their site, you will see all of the awards they have won. Lots and lots of awards. An entire page dedicated to their awards. So, you probably really can’t go wrong.

I would go back again because of the atmosphere. The other items on the menu seem like they would be reliable and something you can count on being at least good.

I really want to go back for a burger. Their menu is quite extensive and there is something for everyone. Including the picky eaters in your family.

Also, it’s really quite affordable. I didn’t ask for the price of the seafood bake beforehand, but DH made a comment about how this lunch would probably be more expensive than the last lunch we had ($150? I didn’t agree). We placed bets. I said my meal alone was $25. He thought it would be more than $50. We had three drinks (2 wines, 1 cocktail), no dessert and no appetizer.

The meal was about $56, with tip $67. My crockpot was only $21 (I won). It was a really great value for what I got. Overall, it was pricey for lunch, but that’s not a fair statement because if I ordered the burger, it would have been much more reasonable. Also, it’s probably not necessary to have two glasses of wine at lunch. But we’re talking about me here.

The meal was decent, I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t order it again, it was a lot of work. But, you may feel differently so don’t not get it on my account. That will totally make me feel bad.

Oh and by the way, when new people sat down at the table next to us, they wanted what I was having. Except the server said they can’t make any more and that it’s really for dinner. So, if you want that, go at dinnertime. I got lucky, I guess. Or not. I probably would have been happier with a cheeseburger.

Keep It In Your Pants, Son

This photo popped up on my Facebook newsfeed a couple of weeks ago:


The Men’s Half Thong.  It’s so wrong, it’s just wrong.  I’m not quite sure what I thought when I first saw it.  I think I was a little shocked.  Which is weird for me because really, I am pretty open-minded.  It takes a lot to shock me.  And a lot to totally gross me out.  But this did it.  It both shocked and totally grossed me out.

Come on people, really?  Lordy, keep your junk hidden.  Give us something to leave to our imagination.  Would you like it if we walked around with our….oh, never mind.

Then of course, I inevitably had the next thought that I know everyone else in the free world is thinking:  How does it stay in place?

The only thing I could come up with is it has sticky stuff all up and around it.  So, it kinda works like a pasty, but instead of for boobs, it’s for penises (peen-eye?).  And even though I don’t have one, it kind of pained me to imagine ripping that stuff off my junk at the end of a long day at the beach after sweating and sea salt and who knows what else.

I shared the photo with my followers on my Facebook page (if you don’t follow me there yet, you can do so here:  I got all kinds of reactions.  Mostly everyone was disgusted.  Some had some funny things to say about it.  One follower said her friend’s mom thought it was spring loaded like ear cuffs.  Someone else said they were wondering about the amount of waxing that would be needed.  Then the conversation turned to red, white and blue.  Get it?  Red, white and BLUE?  It was all quite entertaining.  Still I needed to get to the bottom of it.  I needed to know how it stayed up.

Then a nice follower of mine shared this photo with me and shed some much needed light:

Sorry, this pic is so small it’s hard to see. But you should be thankful.

So, it’s like a pant leg except it is missing the leg.  Well, it does have a “leg” but it’s the wrong leg.  It’s missing a lot of the material except for ahem, one little itty bitty part.  Or big part, depending on who you’re talking to.

You stick your leg through it and the string stays in place via butt crack.  Perfect.  Still not pretty.  Then random weird images ran through my mind like my dad wearing it and stuff.  Totally involuntary, by the way.  Sorry dad, I love ya, but….eww.

So, you know what guys?  Can you stick to a real bathing suit?  One that covers up a little more?  We know you have a penis.  You don’t need to prove it to us.  And I would like my lunch to stay where it was intended.  Thank you, the world at large appreciates it. 😉


The Bookless Book

My mom texted me the other day.  Here is how it went:

Mom: I have a book question.  Is “We Are Water” better than other Wally Lamb books or on par?

Me: Geez, I don’t remember.  I know it was really really good probably one of the best books I ever read.

Mom:  We Are Water is his newest book.  U finished it?  I was asking cuz I was looking for a recommendation as to which of his older books I should read next.

Now, you wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with that text exchange, right?  Except I am currently reading “We Are Water” by Wally Lamb and I am about an eighth of the way into it.  And it is new.  My memory is bad, but come on.

Why didn’t I know she was talking about a book I am currently reading?  Because I own a Kindle.  And I don’t know any freaking book that is on that thing because it doesn’t have a cover.  If it doesn’t have a cover, then I can’t be reminded every ever-loving day and night when I pass by my nightstand.  It’s a problem.

That looks like a cover but it's an ad for another book.  See what I mean?
That looks like a cover but it’s an ad for another book. See what I mean?

So, if it’s possible to be embarrassed by something you said to your own mother, the answer is “yes.”  I felt like an ass and had to explain myself.  Also, because she is a book worm and can read 2-3 books at one time.  Me on the other hand cannot do that.  Because I have ADD/Squirrel Brain.  Not possible.  No way, sista.

Anyway, she recommended I read this Wally Lamb book.  I didn’t realize he wrote another book and he is one of my favorite authors ever so I was glad to hear this.  But my mom has a habit of asking me how I like books she recommended.  Like from the moment she recommends them.  Okay, so I may be exaggerating a little.  But just a little.  (It’s okay mom, I don’t mind really.  Kind of.)

Here’s my other problem:  Lately it takes me weeks, sometimes months, to finish a book.  Mainly because I am absolutely obsessed with this blogging gig I started for myself and also because I can no longer read a book for more than a page or three without my eyeballs doing the back-of-the-head roll thing.  But I digress.

The Kindle.  I’ve owned it for a year or two.  Maybe longer.  I don’t know because time marches as if it’s being chased by a one-eyed monster on methamphetamines.  Two years is really ten.  Get what I’m saying?

I was looking through photos the other day and I swore a vacation we took to Boston was only about 4 years ago, but it was more like 8.  How can that possibly be?  But I digress.  Again.  I am the Queen of Digression.  Called me Queen D.

Do I like my Kindle?  I’m not sure.  The jury is still out on that one.  I’ll write a pro/con list like I did in high school when I wanted to break up with a boyfriend.  Okay, I actually didn’t do that because that would have required too much work.  But I had friends who did.  I think.  Whatever…

Pros:  1) I can download a sample. So I can check it out later.  This way I can’t forget.  Which is a problem for me.  Well, the forgetting part isn’t the problem.  It’s the remembering part that gets me every time.  2) I have a bookstore at my fingertips.  3) It fits in my pocketbook real easy-like.

Cons:  1) No cover.  But I already said that.  2) It’s a pain in the ass to charge the darn thing.  3) I can’t get used to that little percentage number in the bottom right hand corner that tells how much of the book is left.  4) Sometimes I think I’m just scrolling back a page but then realize that I scrolled back, like 10 pages.  What???  5) I miss holding a real book.  And smelling a real book.  And seeing a real book.

So, I guess the answer is “No.”  No, I don’t like my Kindle.  But I think I do.  Did I ever tell you I also have a problem with making decisions?


Queen D


We Interrupt Your Life For An Important Commercial Announcement

My cute little niece’s handprint. And some stubborn streaks.

When did my life turn into one big commercial?  From the moment The Kid was born, conversations range anywhere from what diapers do you trust most to what college does your child want to apply to.  I used to laugh at those commercials where women are having coffee and talking about bladder control all the while wondering who actually does that?  Unfortunately, I literally could be the star in that commercial.

Today, I am trying to get some housework done.  I have close to 7 stainless steel items in my kitchen that need cleaning.  SEVEN.  Because when we were redoing our kitchen, I HAD to have the “in” thing.  Which is weird for me because I don’t really care that much about that stuff.  My master bath still has wallpaper from 1979.  And I actually own and wear a jacket my mother bought me before I got married 21 years ago.  Oh, how I love that jacket.  But I digress.

I haven’t cleaned my appliances in a couple of weeks because I dread it.  Ok, maybe it’s been more than a couple of weeks.  Ok, so it’s been exactly 7.35 weeks because my cute little niece’s handprint is still on my fridge from their September 7th visit.  Yes.  It has been a while.  But come on.  I think I’d rather be forced to watch an “Overhaulin” Marathon on the Speed Channel for a week.  Ok, that’s not entirely true because I could really go for a good eye gouging before that happens.  But cleaning stainless steel really, really sucks.

Anyone who has stainless steel in their home, knows what a pain in the f@#*ing ass it is.  I do love the way it looks (minus the streaks).  So I’m not quite at the point where I am having buyer’s remorse.  I think I’ll wait a couple of years for that to kick in so DH doesn’t smother me in my sleep with the plastic wrapping our toaster oven came in.  So, back to my commercial.  Here is a text exchange between a friend and me earlier today:

Me:  What do u use to clean ur stainless steel?

K:  Perfect Stainless

Me: Does it work? Cuz everything I try leaves freaking streaks.

K:  Yeah.  Until my kids get home.

Me: how I long for the days of white appliances

Really?  What happened to our conversations geared around going out dancing, grabbing a beer or shopping? (ok, so I never actually called a girlfriend to go for a beer because I can’t drink it anymore after this specific episode in high school.  And I would have said wine, but that sounds a bit too Buffy, don’t you think?)

So, what am I doing now?  Writing this blog.  In my kitchen.  And looking at my cute little niece’s handprint on my fridge.  Not getting a damn thing done.  But the streaks are so bad.  Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.  And my cute little niece’s handprint is on my fridge.  How can I erase that?


Liquid Gold

550px-Relieve-Stuffy-Nose-in-Toddlers-Step-4I have a love affair with nasal decongestant spray.  AKA Afrin.  Zicam.  Vicks.   Who cares what the name of it is, it’s what is inside that counts.  Like my Oxi Clean, this liquid is a miracle.  And I absolutely, positively CANNOT live without it.  God bless the inventor.  Johnson & Johnson or whoever.  God bless you.

I am currently suffering from a mean head cold.  And every single night for the past few nights, as I’m trying to fall asleep, one or both of my nostrils closes up like a sphincter during a rectal exam.  Some people will sit up in bed praying for some air to get into their swollen membranes, some will put on one of those strip things.  Some will hold their head over a pot of boiling water.  None of that helps me.  Not at all.

So I have to go straight to the good stuff.  Pulling no punches.  Why waste time sniffing in steam when I can sniff in some instant gratification?  But be careful, because “they” say it can be addicting.  I make sure I only do it once every 24 hours and then stop after about a week.  Which is how long my colds usually last.  If it goes longer, well, then, I cannot tell a lie.  My Afrin stays on my bedside table.  Within my reach.  Just in case.

When I was pregnant, DH was a little anal about what I put in my body.  Sometimes it worked in my favor.  He didn’t want me inhaling chemicals.  Which meant no cleaning bathrooms for 9 months.  He was freaked out about nitrates too.  So anytime I had a craving for a ham sandwich, I had to go underground and ingest one illegally.

Pregnancies typically last 9 months.  I usually get a cold once a year.  So what are the chances I would get a cold while I was pregnant?  Well, I don’t know because I’m not good at math but my chances were pretty good.  During this cold I had while I was pregnant, I needed a dose of nasal decongestant.  I had to wait until DH was asleep.  This was not an easy task because he is not much of a sleeper.  I tiptoed to the bathroom to my private stash.  Not only did I have to flush the toilet, but I had to run the water as well, as I squeezed 1 shot up each nostril.  Ahhh.  Sweet, sweet relief.

Hey, don’t judge me.  I’m usually a 2-3 shot user.  Anyway, did I feel guilty?  No.  Not really.  Because it was only a little bit.  And besides, a pregnant wife who can breathe freely is a happy wife.  And we all know what happens when pregnant wives are happy, don’t we?  Well, me neither.  But I do know my nose is stuffy, so I have to go.  I have some business to attend to.  See you on the dark side.

Miracle In a Spray Bottle

oxi cleanIt’s called Oxi Clean Max Force and it is a miracle worker.  I kid you not.  This stuff is the shit.  If you do not own a bottle of this, I suggest you stop what you are doing this very minute and get your butt down to the Stop & Shop and purchase yourself one.  You will not be disappointed.

I am, by nature, a stain maker.  I even have a bad habit of staining DH’s clothes.  And I don’t even wear his clothes.  That is as much of a mystery as this cleaner is.  How his clothes happen to appear dirtier after a wash.  I don’t know what they put in this stuff, but it is truly amaze-balls.  A-MAZE-BALLS.  I don’t care if it causes some weird neurological twitch that will appear in 20 years.  Because I am not stopping.  It’s like a drug and I am an addict.

I have a confession.  I have been using it for some time.  My mother suggested it when I was complaining to her about stains and my inability to remove them.  But the enormity of its power didn’t quite hit me until yesterday when it took a ridiculously hideous stain out of a fairly new shirt.  A stain that has been washed in hot water at least twice and sealed even further by an iron set on the hottest, steamiest setting.

I am not lying when I tell you that it gets stains out that have been there for years.  YEARS!  When I realized this, I scoured every closet and drawer in my house.  I got together crap that hasn’t been worn in ages because of stains.  And let me tell you, there was quite the pile.  This stuff took out all of it.  All Of it!  Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.  If it doesn’t work, I’ll eat my stainless shirt.

A Movie Review by Mo

Vera Farmiga as Lorraine Warren
Vera Farmiga as Lorraine Warren

Do you like to have the crap scared right out of you?  If so, then I have a movie for you.  Just be sure to wear your Depends because you’re gonna need them.  DH and I went on a date night last weekend and saw the movie “The Conjuring.”  Two words that pretty much sum it up:  Holy Shit.  I loved every creepy moment of it.

It’s fun to watch a movie like this on the big screen with mixed company.  The girl in front of us crying while clinging to her boyfriend was really quite funny.  And men and women alike were screaming. Even DH, who is hard to frighten, got startled a couple of times.  I saw him jump more times than he would care to admit.

In case you don’t know, the story takes place in 1971 and is about a family who bought a house in Rhode Island that was possessed by demons.  I won’t tell you any more details because I don’t want to spoil it for you, but if you love a good scare, I highly recommend this one.  It had me from minute 1.

The story is true.  The “ghost hunters” portrayed in this film are real.  I have had the distinct pleasure of meeting Lorraine Warren.  She is a good friend of a good friend of mine.  Lorraine is an amazing woman and I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to meet and speak with her.  Lorraine had me pegged the second I walked in the door, but that’s a story for another time.

So, if you love to scare yourself silly, go see it.  But just be prepared to never go into your basement alone or hang your feet and arms over your bed.  Because you never know what could be lurking.  It could be this:


Nighty-night, sleep tight.  Don’t let Annabelle bite.

Pee & Tweet

Tweetpee: a wet idea?

I know you are probably sick of me talking about pee.  But this product intrigued me so much that I just had to share.  So, here’s one more pee story (well, until the next opportunity arises and we all know that could be at any time).

While I was sitting in a doctor’s waiting room the other day, a commercial came on the television.  Actually the news was on and the news aired it.  You can currently find this product in Brazil.  But I’m afraid it may be coming to a Walmart near you sooner than you wish.

It’s called Huggies TweetPee.  Somehow this little birdie is part of an “app.”  You know, for your smart phone?  At first glance, it seems kind of weird.  At second glance, it seems even weirder.

Here’s the lowdown: This little bird attaches to your baby’s diaper, in the general area of where urine comes out.  Upon sensing the “wet”, the bird does what it does best — tweets.  No, it doesn’t actually tweet, like “chirp chirp.”  It tweets.  To your Twitter account.  Let me repeat that in case you don’t understand:  The plastic little birdie who is attached to your child’s groin, sends you a message to your twitter account to let you know that you better stop watching General Hospital,  get your ass up off the couch, and change your baby’s diaper.  Pronto.  Or what?  I suppose the pee police will come.

I am feeling a mix of emotions here.  A little bit of jealous with a whole lot of dismay.  The jealous comes from the fact that I had to check my baby’s diaper the old fashioned way.  You know… sniffing, feeling, looking.  What a waste of time.  I feel deprived.

The dismay comes from the fact that someone or somepeople actually spent time and money to come up with this gadget.  Okay, so sure.  We have all been guilty of sometimes letting our babies sit in a wet diaper for a a little longer than we should.  Did it kill them?  No.  But we can still be too lazy to get up and change them.  The difference is that now we will know that the diaper is wet therefore adding more guilt to our already Guilty Mother Conscience.  Well played Huggies.  Well played.

Oh and hey you.  Go change your baby’s diaper.  How do I know?  A little birdie told me.

My Cup Runneth Over


A cup for your vagina.  A cup.  To collect your menstrual flow.  And it’s one size fits all.  Even though I’m sure uteruses (or is it uteri?) come in all shapes and sizes.  And it claims you can wear it for up to 12 hours during any activity.  ANY activity.  Yup.  Even that.

I wasn’t quite sure how one would remove a softcup from their vagina because there isn’t a string.  Then I looked it up.  You have to insert your finger up into your hoo-hoo until you hit your pubic bone, then grab it with your finger and pull down.  But be careful.  You don’t want to spill the contents of your cup.  I can tell you with certainty that this would be a major fail for me.  Since I can’t get through the day without spilling something.  Just ask DH.

How do you dispose of your collection?  You pour it into the toilet.  Because it’s a cup.  A cup for the vagina.  Just like any other cup.  Red solo cup, sippy cup, vagina cup.

Did I mention it’s reusable?  “They” say you can wear one cup for an entire menstrual cycle.  So a box should last over a year.  We are saving the earth one vagina cup at a time.

I read that these have been around for 10 years.  How did I not know that?  I guess I missed the boat on that one.  Or, er, the cup.


Ur-ine Trouble


I’m one of those people who pee when I laugh too hard.  Ask any one of my close friends.  They know not to make me laugh until after I’ve emptied my bladder.  Even then, it could still happen.  There are certain friends who, when I have plans to see them, I have to carry a change of clothes with me.  You know who you are.

Now I have a new problem.  It literally started about a week ago.   If I wait too long to go, it just kind of comes out.  Look, I know I act immature, but this is ridiculous.  I feel like a damn toddler.

I was telling my mom about this new development.  She has the same problem.  The only difference is she’s pushing 67.  Mom’s always have the best advice.  She told me to start wearing these:


Sex in a box.  30 of them.  I love how it says “Serenity” on the carton.  There was a time when that meant taking a long hot bubble bath because you’ve had a rough day.

The other problem I have with their advertisement is this:

Screen Shot 2013-02-09 at 1.26.36 PM

Remember this?


Well, I peed a little there too.  It didn’t help that the kid was outside snapping pictures of me and having a good laugh at my expense.  That was not one of my finer moments.

Can you imagine me in, let’s say, 20 years?  Unpeelievable.