Page 1

March 2017

“People who love to eat are always the best people� Julia Child

Volume 16, Issue 3

March 2017 8

Sasee Asks an Expert


Sasee Asks an Expert


Understanding Beef By Chef Angelo Antonucci

Cooking the Perfect Egg By Chef Danny Bonar

Read It

Review by Nicole McManus

12 Sasee Asks an Expert 15 Dinner and Dancing 16 An Evening to Remember Candy of a Divine Nature by Beth Pugh

Southern Comforts Buttermilk Fried Chicken! By Chef Greg Metcalfe

by Merry Cotton

My Least Favorite Question

18 Sasee Asks an Expert 20 by Diane Stark

Food Addiction is Real By Lori Sattele

22 Think “Pot”

by Erika Hoffman


Waiting for the Miracle By Rose Ann Sinay

Mama Mia Atsa Some Spicy Meat-a-Ball

30 It’s All in the Fingers 34 36 The Life of a Caterer: Max Goree 38 The Cake Crusader By Phil La Borie

By Linda DeMers Hummel by Leslie Moore

By Laurie Goldwasser

41 Kids Page 43 March Calendar



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Cover Artist

Leon Zernitsky

Kitchen, by Leon Zernitsky

Leon Zernitsky was born and raised in Russia. He began painting as a little boy and always knew he would become an artist. The artist remembers many long hours sitting at the riverbank and painting everything that the eye could see. Years later Leon graduated from Moscow State University of Printing Arts. Luckily, the little child within him was still thriving and he engaged in painting and drawing illustrations for books, magazines and newspapers. Following his imagination Leon knew he could go just about anywhere! The artist moved to Toronto in 1989 and began a successful career as a freelance illustrator and fine artist.

letter from the editor Those of you who have been reading Sasee for a few years know how much I love my mother-in-law, Faye. All of her sons and daughters in law feel the same way; Faye has a way of making everyone who knows her feel special. A few Sundays ago, I drove to Summerville for a visit with this sweet lady. We had seen each other several times during the holidays, but like all holidays visits, there were a lot of people around and not much time for a quiet catch-up chat. We sat in her kitchen and talked for a while, catching up on family news, and eventually went out to grab some lunch. The two of us have a tradition of eating lunch out together so no one has to cook, but this time we decided to get our meal to go and continue our visit at Faye’s house. We both love coffee, so after lunch coffee was made and served. Faye went to her counter and opened her special cake/pie unveiling a lemon meringue pie she had made in honor of my visit. And it was a beauty – perfect meringue atop a creamy lemon filling. Sometimes food is just food, but sometimes it is much more. My mother in law made sure I knew how much she cared; she knew making that wonderful dessert would let me know how special I am to her. We had a good time that day. And I enjoyed every bite of that pie – it tasted like lemons and love.

Today, after publishing over 30 books for children and young adults, after winning 13 Canadian and International Awards the artist’s paintings can be found in private collections all over the world. You can see his work in major North American magazines and newspapers, and his art is used for numerous packaging and wine labels, posters, murals, brochures, annual reports and outdoor advertising. Leon has been working with Fortune 500 companies, including IBM, Sony, 3M, Hilton Hotels, McDonalds, Coors, VISA, New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Oxford University, University of Toronto and McGraw-Hill. Leon feels that sharing his art is an important part of being an artist and is looking forward to many more years of creating beautiful illustrations and paintings. To see more of his work, visit

who’s who Publisher Delores Blount

Photographer & Graphic Artist Aubrey Plum

Sales & Marketing Director Susan Bryant

Web Developer Scott Konradt

Editor Leslie Moore

Accounting Kristy Rollar

Account Executives Amanda Kennedy-Colie Erica Schneider Gay Stackhouse

Administrative & Creative Coordinator Celia Wester

Art Director Patrick Sullivan

Executive Publishers Jim Creel Bill Hennecy Suzette Rogers

PO Box 1389, Murrells Inlet, SC 29576 fax 843-626-6452 • phone 843-626-8911 • • Sasee is published monthly and distributed free along the Grand Strand. Letters to the editor are welcome, but could be edited for length. Submissions of articles and art are welcome. Visit our website for details on submission. Sasee is a Strand Media Group, Inc. publication.


Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved. Reproduction of any material, in part or in whole, prepared by Strand Media Group, Inc. and appearing within this publication is strictly prohibited. Title “Sasee” is registered with the U.S. Patent & Trademark Office.



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Understanding Beef By Chef Angelo Antonucci

Number one, for the best steaks, don’t go to the grocery store to buy your meat – it’s fresh – and fresh meat is not flavorful or tender. Beef needs to be aged – as it ages it tenderizes itself. I would suggest Costco or Sam’s Club or a local butcher. Always buy choice beef, and you want it to be wrapped, so buy a whole loin, usually 12-16 pounds. If you like your steaks medium to medium well, choose rib eye. It’s fattier and holds moisture better. I like my steaks rare, so I choose New York strip; this cut doesn’t have as much fat, but will get dry and chewy if cooked too done. Fresh beef is cryo-packaged removing the oxygen and replacing it with nitrogen. This keeps bacteria from forming. When you buy your beef, find out what the pack date was and age it 45 days from that date in the refrigerator. Do not let it get warm on the trip home from the store. It will probably already be two to three weeks past the pack date when purchased. At 45 days, take the meat out of the packaging, drain and dry with paper towels. Cut your steaks to the thickness you desire. If you’re not cooking the entire loin that day, wrap each one individually and refrigerate for no more than three or four days. Once the meat starts to turn brown, eat it that day or the next. You can freeze your steaks individually wrapped and placed in a freezer bag for use within a month; however, you will lose a lot of moisture in the freezing process. When cooking steaks, grill, either charcoal or gas, on extremely high heat. I would suggest not walking away from it – the fat in rib eyes will cause flames, and too much can burn your meat. We use a blend of salts and black pepper as seasoning. If you don’t want to blend your own salts, try a seasoning blend, like Montreal Seasoning – season one side of your steaks with the salts and pepper and one side with only the salts. The amount is relative to the thickness of the steak. This may be harder for home cooks, but cast iron really adds a wonderful flavor profile to the meat. We will cook the meat nearly done, for example if a person wants medium well, we will cook it to medium, and then we put the steak into a cast iron skillet that has been heated over the flame to finish cooking. Enjoy!


If you’d rather have Angelo cook your steak, visit Angelo’s Steak & Pasta for some of the most delicious steaks in our area. Angelo’s is located at 2311 S. Kings Highway in Myrtle Beach. Call 843-626-2800 or visit Sara Mosseri Mobile: (843)461-5272

Shelyn Mosseri Lee Mobile: (843)222-3331

5213 N. Kings Highway, Myrtle Beach SC 29577 Office: (843)492-4900

Cooking the Perfect Egg By Chef Danny Bonar

First, always buy at least Grade A Eggs – they are required to be no more than 10 days old. Grade B eggs can be up to 30 days old before they arrive at the store! And, actually, medium eggs are a more “natural” sized egg. The bigger the egg, the older the chicken, and there is a higher chance the chicken may be stressed. You can tell how fresh an egg is by how high the albumen stands up when you crack it (the albumen holds the yolk in place). If the yolk is flat, you know the egg is not fresh. Local farm eggs are good, too, if you have access to them. Breakfast and Lunch are what we do, family friendly are who we are", opened daily from 6am - 2pm. Dine-in, carryout, catering and special events.

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8 Locations serving the grand strand area: pawleys island, garden city, surfside, myrtle beach, nMB barefoot, NMB main street conway university, west conway. coming this spring to market common!

We use special griddles, just for cooking eggs, that enable us to use little or no butter or oil, but the home cook should use low sodium butter or oil. When you crack an egg into a pan or on a grill, there is a membrane surrounding the egg white. Break that membrane so the egg white flattens out. This way, you can cook the yolk exactly the way you want it without overcooking the white. If you are scrambling the egg, we recommend just adding a little bit of water. A natural flavor is always better. Whip the egg with a small whisk until there are bubbles throughout the mixture, allowing oxygen to incorporate. Keep your egg in one piece while cooking – never chop the egg mixture, instead flip with your spatula. On a 200-225 degree griddle or skillet, your egg will cook in 30-45 seconds. For poached eggs, heat your water to 160-180 degrees and do not add anything to your water. I tell people to turn the water on medium high heat and when the water boils, turn it back a quarter turn. You want some small bubbles, but not a rolling boil which will disperse the egg white before it has a chance to solidify. Gently stir the water in a circular motion. Then gently crack the egg in the middle and allow to cook for 2 ½ to 2 ¾ minutes. This is the secret to a poached egg that never sticks to the pan.

For delicious eggs cooked to perfection – and much more, visit Eggs Up Grill, open daily from 6 am – 2 pm. Eggs Up Grill has eight locations in our area: Pawleys Island, Garden City, Surfside, Myrtle Beach, North Myrtle Beach Barefoot, North Myrtle Beach Main Street, Conway University and West Conway. Watch for a new location this spring in Market Common. For more info, visit


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–Read It!– Nicole Says…Read

A Bridge Across the Ocean (Release Date March 7, 2017)

By Susan Meissner Review by Nicole McManus 10

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Post WWII, the RMS Queen Mary turned into a portal for young European women to be reunited with their American soldier husbands. Katrine Sawyer anxiously awaits the chance to land in America. Simone Deveraux has been forced to flee her home after her father and brother were killed. Phoebe Rogers looks forward to seeing her husband again. Each woman has a secret past, and a different reason for wanting to leave Europe, but will they survive their journey? Brette Caslake grew up knowing she was different. Inheriting a trait that few women in her family possess, Brette is able to see ghosts. Unable to hide this from her friends and family any longer, she decides to go searching for help, but will her family’s secrets be more revealing than her gift.

book you can read in multiple sittings. Once you open it, the various pointsof-view will bewitch your spirit, haunting you, long after you have read the final page. This book sent chills down my spine as I read each penetrating passage. Susan Meissner will speak at a Moveable Feast on March 3rd, and I am thoroughly excited to hear what inspired this intricate tale. Not only does the Queen Mary provide the basic meeting ground of these young wives, the fact that the author takes the time to develop each character’s own story, and gives readers a world tour throughout the chapters, proves this author should be on everyone’s must read list.

Nicole McManus

Colors Susan Meissner has a way withMOG2170201 words that forces readers intoDe: her character’s Job#: bp Nicole McManus loves to read,Notes: to the point that she is sure she was world. In this case, readers are taken on an epic journey throughout the born with a book in her hands. She writes book reviews in the hopes Size: 4.4167” x 6.6944” Ae: jm C M others Y find K the magic found through reading. decades since WWII as each woman’s story unfolds. The relatable characters of helping Publication: 02.10.2017 will feel like friends, as readers try to connect the dots. This isDate: not the type of Contact her at ARIESGRLREVIEW.COM. Client:

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Candy of a Divine Nature by Beth Pugh

“Do you have the recipe for her divinity candy?” Joe smiled before he asked the question, a smile filled with anticipation. His face resembled that of a young child just before opening a neatly wrapped Christmas present. His eyes widened as he waited for my reply. Divinity is a southern delicacy. Take one bite and you’ll never forget it. The texture is so light and airy chewing is nearly unnecessary. It simply melts in your mouth. The flavor is rich and sinfully sweet. One piece will satisfy the biggest sweet tooth. It is the epitome of what candy should be. This candy, in all honesty, is elusive to most. Few people will even attempt to make it because of the likelihood of having a failed batch. My mother, though, somehow had the magic touch. Despite her cooking skills, she always got it right. I can’t say the same for her dinners, but when it came to candy, she knew her way around the kitchen. She only made it a couple of times, but that was enough for me and Joe to fall in love. “No, Bub. I’ve looked for it and can’t find it.” His smile disappeared and sadness replaced his anticipation. He was not alone in his disappointment.


In the weeks, months and years that followed my mother’s death, I tried to keep her memory alive any way I could. I surrounded myself with old photographs. I visited her grave religiously. I looked for anything I had left of hers to hold on to. I had looked for her divinity recipe numerous times, but to no avail. No matter how many times I lifted and closed the lid of her recipe box, the card I desperately sought never appeared. For Joe’s sake, though, I looked through the old tin box one more time; praying I had overlooked it. I hadn’t. I sat beside Joe on the couch, deflated. Suddenly a light bulb came on above my head. I had searched the recipe box, but not her cookbook. Just days prior to Joe’s visit, I had reorganized all my books, including my cookbooks. While knee deep in dusty magazines and textbooks, I stumbled upon an old cookbook that had belonged to Mom. Hope stirred inside my heart as I leapt from my seat, making a mad dash for the bookshelf. It didn’t take me long to locate it. The cookbook I held in my hands was older than I was. It was printed in the era when cookbooks had illustrations and detailed instructions. It was hard backed, too, not held

together by plastic rings the way most are now. From cover to cover, it was bursting with dishes – entrées, sides, desserts, glazes. If you could think of it, there was a recipe for it. As quickly as my fingers could, I flipped through the yellowed pages searching for Desserts. I scanned the text hurriedly, searching for the title of the elusive treat. It wasn’t there. I turned to the table of contents and found the page the desserts started on. Turns out, there was a whole section devoted to candy. I turned to the number it listed and looked. Nothing. I flipped the page back as I realized I had started on the second page of the section instead of the first. To my amazement, there it was. I stared at the words, hardly believing they were real. Right before my eyes was the recipe. The stain beside the title left no doubt. This was Mom’s recipe! We wasted no time. After all, I had waited years to make this candy. I grabbed my car keys, Joe and my husband Ryan. Together we almost ran to the car. I could barely contain my excitement as we walked into the grocery store to gather the ingredients we needed. We rushed the cart up one aisle and down the next until everything was gathered. I paid the cashier for my items smiling like a lottery winner. Once home, we quickly discovered why few cooks attempt divinity. Its difficulty level is unrivaled. It didn’t help that we were inexperienced in the ways of making candy. It took all three of us in the kitchen, adding ingredients, checking temperatures and stirring like mad men to finish it. It was the first time I’d ever seen Joe cook, which in and of itself was a sight to see. It’s not too often a six-foot four, lanky twenty year old stands over a stove to stare at a candy thermometer. The sight warmed my heart. I know it would have Mom’s, too. The candy turned out perfectly, just the way Joe and I remembered. He ate so much I thought he’d be sick! The adventure made the perfect memory to wrap in Mom’s love and tuck away in my heart for a rainy day. I’ve always loved divinity and that night I realized why. This tasty treat will forever stand as a testament of Mom, not only because of her superior candy making skills (even though it’s the hardest candy I’ve ever made), but because of her imprint on our family. That, more than its taste, makes it divine.

Divinity Candy Ingredients 3 cups sugar 1/2 cup light corn syrup 1/2 cup water 2 egg whites at room temperature 1 teaspoon vanilla extract Directions 1. Avoid making Divinity on a humid day; candy will not harden. In 2-quart saucepan over medium-high heat, heat sugar, syrup, and water to boiling, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Set candy thermometer in place and continue cooking, without stirring, until temperature reaches 248 F. 2. Meanwhile, in medium bowl with mixer at high speed, beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. Beating at medium speed, slowly pour half of syrup into whites. Continue beating while heating other half of syrup to 272 F. 3. While turning bowl and continuing beating, slowly pour remaining hot syrup into mixture (mixture will be stiff). (Don’t scrape saucepan; mixture on side may be sugary.) Add vanilla; beat until mixture holds stiff, glossy peaks. Working quickly, drop by heaping teaspoonfuls onto waxed paper. Cool completely before storing. The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook

Beth Pugh

is a wife, mother and daughter striving to live a life of contentment, like baby bear soup. I hope telling my stories help others to do the same


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Southern Comforts Buttermilk Fried Chicken! By Chef Greg Metcalfe

Ladies and Gentleman, here is our recipe for our award winning Buttermilk Fried Chicken w/ Warm Bleu Cheese Slaw and Milk Pepper Gravy. Start off by taking two boneless, organic, hormone-free chicken breasts (your local supermarket will have them) and soak in buttermilk overnight in your refrigerator – please make sure they are completely covered. In a mixing bowl take 2 cups of self rising flour and mix with 1T of sea salt, 1/2 T of ground black pepper, 1 T of granulated onion, 1 T of granulated garlic, 1tsp of cayenne pepper, 1 tsp of paprika and 1tsp of cumin.

le a S y aper r D om t s u ff C O % 20

In a sauté skillet, place 1 cup of canola or olive oil and heat to around 300 degrees or until the oil is completely clear – don’t heat up too high or it will burn. Place your chicken breasts in the flour mixture and cover on all sides. Place in the skillet and brown on both sides. When brown, place chicken on a baking tray and place in the oven preheated to 350 degrees for about 15 minutes. While the chicken is cooking, shred 1/4 head of green cabbage, and sauté with 1T of butter. While the cabbage is still crunchy, add1/4 cup of bleu cheese crumbles and 1 T of heavy cream. Cook for two to four minutes, or until it begins to thicken a little (we call that Nape) and divide cabbage between two dinner plates. In the same skillet, add 1 cup of heavy cream, 1tsp of sea salt and a couple of cranks on your fresh pepper mill (if you don’t have a pepper mill then 1 tsp of ground black pepper will work). Reduce in the pan until Nape as well. Place your cooked chicken breast on top of the bed of cabbage, and pour your milk gravy on top of your chicken. Garnish with chopped parsley or a little paprika and voila! Our award winning Buttermilk Fried Chicken w/ Warm Bleu Cheese Slaw and Milk Pepper Gravy – your family, friends and/or dinner guests will think you’re a southern chef! To have Chef Greg cook this wonderful chicken for you, visit Southern Comforts Restaurant and Bakery at 13089 Ocean Highway in Pawleys Island. The restaurant is open Monday-Thursday, 11 am- 9 pm, Friday and Saturday 11 am-10 pm, and is closed Sundays. For more info, call 843-314-9369.

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Dinner and Dancing: An Evening to Remember by Merry Cotton

A while back, Bill, he’s my husband, and I were having an unplanned restaurant dinner – the kind one has when “the cook” in the family has no inspiration, divine or otherwise, as to what to prepare at home. So we went to a Tiki-style restaurant here in the south – decorated with all the sensory delights of a ceiling in thatched-grass, hurricane lamps with lighted candles, faux bamboo furniture and a touristy atmosphere. But, desperate not to cook on this very warm evening and finding a restaurant without a waiting list longer than the menu, we decided this quiet little restaurant was the place. It was a quiet place until an older couple, that is to say, someone older than we are, was seated at a table next to us – when I say next to us – the edges of our tables seemed to be less than a foot or so apart and even closer when the action began. But first, I must say the husband of the couple wore a T-shirt that foreshadowed the event soon to take place. He had a picture of a Dalmatian’s head – as in a spotted dog usually associated with riding on fire trucks – wearing a fireman’s hat on its black and white head and the entire picture circled with the words Volunteer Fireman of the Year. The T-shirt appeared to be newly silk-screened with its emblem to warn of the evening’s event. To complete this man’s appearance, he had rested his eyeglasses on the tip of his nose, and he sported a new pair of white tennis shoes. In minutes I decided kind of husband I’d like. We telling his order She


he was not the or companion overheard him wife what she could from the menu. seemed to

acquiesce to his directive and then he snapped his fingers to get the waitress’ attention and proceeded to order for the both of them. The wife then murmured something to him that appeared to be about going to the ladies’ room and excused herself. His only response was pushing his glasses onto his forehead. He never looked up or acknowledged her comment whatever it was. He was much too busy opening his road map that when fully open, the edge of it rested close to the edge of our table. With a final noisy jerking of the map to flatten it, he began studiously examining whatever was at the bottom of the map and peered closely at it because his glasses were still perched on his head. He was totally, absolutely totally, oblivious to the fact that the top portion of the map was now resting on the hurricane lamp just above the candle’s flame. Unnoticed by this man, the map quickly began to smolder – it turned brown; it curled; it began to burn. Attempting to be casual but in a high-pitched, panicky voice, I recall squeaking out, “Excuse me, Sir, but your map is on fire!” He didn’t even look up…in fact; he appeared to be a master of not listening. In a second, the entire map burst into flames. That got his attention. He threw it on the floor, and being the “Volunteer Fireman of the Year” – that’s what his T-shirt said – immediately sprang into action and began stomping out the blaze with his gleaming white tennis shoes. He twisted, he gyrated, he turned and stomped – first with just one foot, then as the fire intensified, with both feet. The only things missing were the click of castanets and shouts of ole’. But the flames continued to lick up around the soles of his new white tennis shoes, and the sparks flew upward to the thatched-grass ceiling of the Tiki-style restaurant.

In one desperate grandiose jump, he completed his flamenco-like dance with his glasses falling from his forehead onto the floor with one of his feet shattering the lenses of his glasses…terrifying would only describe the situation.

While we skipped our dessert, the map-reader at the next table surely got his – but his may have been just desserts.

Finally, to add to the chaos, but appropriately so, an employee grabbed a fire extinguisher and foamed the floor and his new white tennis shoes with lots of bubbles. Dripping with sweat and ashen-faced (no pun intended), his embarrassment and humiliation were obvious as he stood in the midst of white foam and on the burned carpet with just a wisp or two of smoke curling from under his not-so-new-looking white tennis shoes. Another shot or two of foam took care of the wisps. By then, the restaurant was in chaos. Eventually, everyone got past what might have been a horrible disaster. The calm and composed waitress stepped around the remains of the carpet, came to our table, and asked if Bill and I wanted dessert – but we decided we’d rather just have our check – we weren’t taking any chances – dessert might have been something flambé. We headed for our car and just sat while we attempted to recover from the shock of the near catastrophic event. Finally, with time we have found humor and laughed – but only at the “dance scene.”

Merry Cotton

arrived in Pawleys Island nearly 20 years ago and loves living in the South, especially the weather, friends, food and her church. She was published in professional education journals while teaching high school English and is also a history buff, member of DAR, writer of Civil War profiles, and has appeared several times in Sasee. Merry and her husband have two adult children, two inlaw children and several grandchildren who have also become spokes-people for southern living.


My Least Favorite Question by Diane Stark

“Mom, what’s for dinner?” I sighed. It was 7am, and my children were eating breakfast. And one of them just asked me what’s for dinner. It happened nearly every morning. Finally, after being asked about dinner over breakfast one time too many, I asked, “Why do you guys ask me that all the time? It’s not like I make liver and force you to eat it.” My middle son, Jordan, shrugged. “I just like knowing ahead of time.” “But why? You like everything I make.” “I know I’ll like whatever it is. But if I know in the morning, I can make sure I’m in the mood for that kind of food come dinner time.” Jordan smiled. “I like being prepared.” I laughed. In a strange way, it made sense. For a few weeks, I tried posting a dinner menu on the fridge so the kids wouldn’t have to a s k m e what we were having. But all too often, I go t b u s y and ended up having to change the dinner plans at the last minute. This led to a lot of griping. “Spaghetti?” A child would inevitably say. “But the menu said we were having chicken parmesan.”


“I know, but I got busy today and didn’t make it to the grocery store. I don’t have all of the ingredients for chicken parmesan, but I always have the stuff for spaghetti.” My little complainer would then notice that the menu said we were having spaghetti later that week. “So do we have to eat spaghetti again on Thursday? Or are you going to make the chicken parmesan then?” “I don’t know, Honey. It depends on how busy I am.” “Your dinner menu ends up being wrong so often,” the griper continued. “I get in the mood for a certain dinner and then that’s not what you make. It’s very annoying.” I decided to put an end to the posted menu – since I found my children’s annoyance w ith it extremely annoying. When my youngest daughter was eight, she made what she thought was a fabulous suggestion. “Mom, since there are seven people in our family and there are seven days of the week, you should let each person choose what’s for dinner one night each week. We can just come home from school and tell you what we want when it’s our day to choose.” W h i l e , l o g i c a l l y, h e r s u g ge s t i o n m a d e s e n s e, logistically, it would be a nightmare

for me. “Baby, that’s not going to work,” I told her. “I don’t have time to go to the grocery store every day to shop for ingredients for specific meals each day.” Her face fell. “But I think we could do it weekly,” I added. I explained that one night each week, I could make someone’s special request. “But when it’s your week, you’d have to tell me what you want by Sunday night,” I said. “That way, I’d have plenty of time to buy the ingredients, and I could make the meal on a night that was convenient for me.” I smiled. “So each of you kids could choose our dinner one time each month.” Julia nodded. “It’s not as good as every week, but I guess that will work.” For many years, that’s the way we did things. Each of my kids would submit a request, and sometime that month, I would make each child’s favorite meal.

But now, strangely, I do miss it a little. Maybe not the question itself. But I miss being needed by my children. Thankfully, I still have two children who cannot yet work due to child labor laws. My youngest daughter is 14, and she already misses dinner on a regular basis due to basketball games and time with friends. But, she does need me to drive her to these games and friends’ houses. For a little while anyway. My youngest son is only eight, so I’ve got some time with him yet. He’ll be posing the “what’s for dinner” question for several more years. Thankfully, he still needs help with his homework, he still wants to be tucked into bed at night, and he still likes to snuggle with me while he watches The Lego Movie. Thank goodness.

For the past 18 years, “What’s for dinner?” has been my least favorite question. I actually don’t mind cooking, but I despise figuring out what to make.

But I know how quickly time passes. What felt like it would last forever 18 years ago has now gone by in the blink of an eye.

But for 18 years, I’ve been asked that question every single day, often while I’m still wearing pajamas and before I’ve had my first cup of coffee. It was not a question I enjoyed being asked.

I can’t, so instead, I’ll cook their favorites when they’re home and pray over them when they’re gone.

But now, in some bizarre way, I kind of miss it. My three oldest children have jobs now, and they aren’t home for dinner every night the way they used to be. They don’t ask me what we’re having because they plan to grab pizza or tacos at the restaurants where they work.

I don’t know how it happened, and I wish I could make it stop.

And I’ll smile – not sigh – when one of them asks me my least favorite question over breakfast.

These days, I’m the one asking the questions. “What nights this week are you working?” I ask them. “Which nights will you be home for dinner? What would you like me to make on the nights you’ll be home?” It’s so strange the way time works. For years now, little old ladies have stopped me in the grocery store, urging me to enjoy my children while they were little. I think I took their advice to heart… for the most part. But if you’d told me a few years ago that I would someday miss being asked the “what’s for dinner” question over breakfast, I would not have believed it.  

Diane Stark

is a wife and mom of five. She loves to write about her family and her faith. Her essays have been published in over 20 Chicken Soup for the Soul books.


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Think “Pot” by Erika Hoffman

“You left the candle burning all night,” my husband, of 40 years, greeted me. “Sounds like lyrics to a song,” I said, yawned, and grabbed eggs from the fridge. “It didn’t burn all the way – luckily.” “Scented candles are slow burners.” After his omelet, he packed up his laptop, full coffee mug, and bundles of forms. He headed to the door and pivoted. “You smell something funky?” he asked. “Like broccoli?” “I need to empty the trash,” I answered. Truth be told, I’d smelled something wretched since the kids left after Christmas. Between the pine aromas of the Tannenbaum, the baking smells of overflowing concoctions in the oven and cooking odors that lingered, my kitchen reeked. “Hope the dachshunds didn’t leave a deposit, somewhere,” I yelled, giving him a comforting thought to mull over on his 30 minute drive to work. “Humph. You’d better look around.” After he left, I poked my head into rooms where those two wieners have secreted off before – the tiles in the bathroom, utility room, laundry room – spotless. I meandered into 22

the sun room. A ragged, old, white rug lay with a yellow blemish in the middle of it, but I wouldn’t think that little pee stain would cause this “Pepé Le Pew” odor. The aura worsened as I neared the clutter in the kitchen. Numerous pots and pans sat on the counter. After washing them Christmas night, I’d left them there. Too many folks, too much cooking, too busy was I to stow them away that day or the following ones. Mesmerized by our one year old granddaughter crawling through a cloth tumbling tunnel; astride on a glide-and-stride, noisy, plastic lion or ripping open her many presents, I watched and didn’t attend to much straightening up. Photos snapped. Videos recorded. Wrapping paper wadded up. As I scoured the den with a probing gaze I saw the gifts to us from my grown kids and their spouses still standing where we’d unwrapped them. A Lenox deviled egg tray from one son; a Coach handbag from a daughter- in- law; hand cream from my youngest kid – my daughter – who also gave me a coffee latte maker. Off to the side was the plastic squatty stool my son-in-law gave us. (Last year, it was toilet paper with an elected official’s face on it.) Near the squatty stool was the piecede-resistance that he and my daughter had covered in silvery, ornate, inviting holiday paper. A heavy item! My husband and I tore off the paper to discover our present. They howled with laughter. It was their old, cumbersome TV

which they’d wanted to discard because they had no room for it in their tiny DC apartment. While all our “adult” children were guffawing over this booby prize, I had to excuse myself to stick a thermometer in the sizzling turkey and check the gizzards boiling on the stove. I don’t eat the innards in my stuffing, but I thought I could chop them up for the dogs. I turned off the flame and put the covered pot on a back eye. As more gifts were unwrapped by my expectant daughter in law for the babyto-come soon after the holidays, we gazed at the cuteness of the onesies and oohed and ahhed over the baby Santa hat. Then, my granddaughter needed feeding and a nap; next we descended on the Noel feast in the dining room. Yes, I was busy that day. While remembering the 25th with fondness, nine days ago, I returned into the kitchen and recalled why I lit the aromatic candle the night before: Something rotten. I sniffed inside the refrigerator. I tied up the trash bag and hauled it outside. Upon reentering and re-smelling the unpleasantness, I ambled on to the sun porch to check for dead plants or dead mice. I spied the doggies, scooped them up, and bathed them for good measure. As they shook off in the bathroom with a space heater running, I returned to the kitchen to tackle the mess of china, silverware, pots and pans amassed on my long granite counter.

knotted it shut in record time, and dashed to the outside garbage can, like Santa carrying a load over his back with dawn fast approaching. I marveled I didn’t heave-ho my lunch as I heaved-hoed the bag into the bin. When I returned to the scene of the crime, I gagged and scrubbed that pot over and over again. Even after it sat in vinegar for half a day, I still contemplated dumping it. When my husband arrived home, he sniffed the air but made no comment. I considered revealing the stinky culprit. It might be worth a chuckle to repeat the story to him about the decaying turkey detritus. On reconsideration, I realized the takeaway message would be that his wife is either too old to multi-task or has lost her few remaining marbles. Neither of these story themes appealed to me. Instead, I asked, “Honey, if I light a scented candle, would you be so kind as to put it out for me, in case I forget?” We settled down for some good TV watching in an aromatic ambience with two dachshunds under a quilt, their noses protruding, enjoying the cinnamon air, with no trace of stinky pot.

Pots and pans sat on the eyes of the stove, too. I grabbed a frying pan and deftly tucked it away in a bottom drawer. I lifted a casserole dish and stored it away under the oven. I spied the big metal pot with lid on the back burner and picked it up. Heavy! “Huh?” I pulled up the lid. The stench rolled out, consuming me, choking me, disgusting me. Encrusted in purplish mold sat a turkey’s heart, neck and other gross bird parts.

Erika Hoffman

writes personal essays for magazines, e-zines, and anthologies. She also pens a column once a month on the craft of writing, which is featured the last Friday and appears in the category “The Writers Table” of the e-zine Page & Spine.

At Godspeed, of which I didn’t think myself capable, I sprinted for a trash bag, dumped the pot’s contents in it, 23

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Waiting for the Miracle by Rose Ann Sinay

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my daughter, but all our thoughts were centered in that New York hospital. Our optimism was perforated as fear started to creep in. The waiting had to be the worst of it, we thought.

I am a private person, though you might not know it if you’ve read any of my stories. My family has been both irritated and moved by my public recollections of our lives. Writing allows me to find joy in small moments as well as big ones, dissect and digest what I don’t understand, and remember seemingly insignificant moments in-between. I try to find the upside to my serious subject matter, so my writing is cathartic for me. I’ve become my own therapist.

“It’s so hard to see her with all the tubes and wires stuck in her body,” my strong, exhausted daughter cried over the phone. I knew not to say that Mila was going to be just fine. Nothing was fine. “We will do what we have to do, one day at a time,” I said, instead.

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Recently, I discovered that some things cannot be fixed or understood by writing about it. I am stuck trying to find the words to illuminate that proverbial dark tunnel. But, I will keep plugging along until it comes to me. If you have followed my stories, you know about my baby granddaughter’s difficult journey through emergency open heart surgery and our anxious wait for the second, more complicated operation to repair Mila’s heart. We were desperate to circle a date on the calendar, as if that marked the end of the “scary problem” and the beginning of “happy normal.” Of course, nothing is that simple. The day of the surgery finally arrived. My husband and I were back in North Carolina after a two month stay with 26

After thirteen hours in the operating room, the surgery was a success. There were smiles and collective sighs of relief, both here and there. Our little girl was going to be all right. The reprieve lasted a day or two. Then came fevers, irregular heartbeat, a delay in coming out of the coma, taking her off the ventilator–putting her back on the ventilator, possible repercussion from six hours on the heart-lung machine and powerful medications. Our emotions peaked and plummeted. The shininess of that circled date had dulled.

Mila is not the first child or the last child to have a difficult beginning, but she’s ours and each complication has taken its toll. My daughter and her husband are consumed with the expected and the unexpected. There are good days and bad days. There is the reality of getting back to work, taking care of the dogs, sorting through bills and fighting with the

insurance company who never seems to have the correct information or codes.” Just write another appeal,” they say to an emotional, over-stressed mother. Fortunately, there are the special days when a nurse stays past her shift to personally get Mila through a rough patch, urging Kailey and Ryan to get some sleep. The day a volunteer made our baby an adorable hat with a bow almost bigger than she is – the silliness turned into precious. Or, the times a busy doctor has sat down with Mila’s parents in the hospital cafeteria when he could’ve been taking a much needed break. Last week, a hand-crocheted baby blanket appeared in her crib, the sweet crafter unknown. I hope the volunteer who made it (and that wonderful hat) will read this so they know how much it touched us. I want them to know it will be with Mila forever, and passed down to her daughter as a part of her story.

that passed by us hoping to hear our granddaughter’s name and any information connected to it. I noticed other parents and grandparents doing the same thing. We were groups of people together in our circumstance; yet separate as we juggled our own worries, fears and hopes. A young woman sat down across from me. She was crying. “My son is so sick,” she blurted out. I was embarrassed that I hadn’t reached out to her first. I switched my seat next to hers. I covered her hand with mine. Neither of us spoke. There was just too much. The doctor came in and called her into the room. I wish I knew how her little boy is doing. I wish I had given her a hug. Fifteen days later, Mila is still in the hospital with no release date to circle on the calendar. But, she’s improving. She’s where she needs to be. We will keep on keeping on, just like all the others who wait for their own sweet miracle.

Many friends have called and left messages of support. It’s physically and emotionally impossible to return each call, so my daughter has written updates on Facebook to keep this wonderful group of concerned people informed. Tip of the iceberg information that doesn’t include their minute to minute worries . . . the ifs, ands and buts. Kailey tries to end each update on a positive note. Day nine in the hospital was the day from hell. Something was wrong, and the doctors weren’t sure what was causing the problem. It was a wait and see condition. Kailey posted her “not so positive” update, but at the end she wrote: “Mila’s heart is pumping strong and she’s starting to get her feisty personality back. Even smiling now. She kept the nurse and me up all night pulling out her nasal oxygen tube and laughing. I’ll take that!” Those four sentences made it okay; not good, but okay. We could take a breath. The power of writing it down. Seeing it on paper. Believing it. When Mila was born, my husband and I spent a lot of time in the waiting room while her parents sat by her crib in the NICU (only two people allowed inside at once). We strained to overhear the conversations of the physicians

Rose Ann Sinay

is a freelance writer typing away in sunny North Carolina. Her articles/stories have been published in The Carolinas Today, The Oddville Press and The Brunswick Beacon.


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Mama Mia, Atsa Some Spicy Meat-a-Ball! Alka-Seltzer TV Commercial*

by Phil La Borie

In the midst of enjoying a great dinner at one of the terrific Italian restaurants in our area the other night, I thought back to my grandmother’s cooking. When I was growing up, I was fortunate enough to have two grandmothers. First off, there was Grandma Gertrude who was my father’s mom, and Grandma Josephina was my mother’s mother. Grandma Gertrude was of German ancestry and, I have to say, about as stubborn as could be – especially so when it came to cooking. Despite the many great German recipes for creating delicious ethnic food, she just wasn’t interested in following any of them. And even further, after a while, she wouldn’t cook a single item in her house - Nein, Nicht, Nix! It hadn’t always been that way, but when her children were old enough to handle it, they took over the culinary chores. My father, his two brothers and his sister did all the cooking; apparently with indifferent success. At least that’s what my mom told me. She was “keeping company” with my dad at the time, and was a frequent dinner guest at my dad and his family’s modest house in the Germantown section of Rochester, New York. At one point, in answer to my question about how she liked my dad’s culinary efforts, she sat thoughtfully for a minute and then quietly said, “Well, it certainly was filling.” Talk about damning with faint praise! On the other hand, Josephina, who had 30

emigrated from Italy with her kids in tow, was an amazing cook! Il meglio! (The best) She and my Aunt Minnie (yep, her name really was Minnie) did all the prep, cooking and clean-up in their house on Mohawk Street. In addition to her fabulous cooking skills, Grandma Josephina had an amazing green thumb. Any and everything she touched, flourished. Her tiny back porch was crowded with miniature orange and lemon trees, herbs in planter boxes and huge tomato plants. The tomatoes in particular were so big and juicy that one summer I ate so many tomato sandwiches that I developed a serious rash! The Mohawk Street backyard was packed with a big, carefully organized vegetable garden and several fig trees. Now, fig trees don’t like Rochester winters, so every fall Grandma J. would carefully bend the slender trees down to the ground, secure them to the earth and cover them with generous piles of leaves to protect them from the savage winter weather. And every spring, she’d uncover her treasures, and the trees would snap back

to attention and in due time yield a great amount of wonderfully tasty fruit. Tasty, that is, if you like figs. Like most Italian households in the Rochester area at that time (1950s/’60s), Josephina and family kept two kitchens – one upstairs and one in the basement. The one upstairs was utilized when the weather was cooler; the one in the basement was employed during the hot and humid summer months. The basement kitchen also featured a tasty variety of hanging smoked sausages and fragrant cheeses as well as rows and rows of Mason jars packed to the brim with preserved peaches, plums, apricots and other goodies. As part of her culinary skills, Grandma J. made all the meals from scratch – everything from hand-made pasta, tomato sauce and meatballs to enormous Easter cookies in the shape of a chicken, complete with a hard-boiled egg in the middle! Grandma J. couldn’t read or write in English, in fact, she barely spoke it. When I was in fifth grade, I read to her from my Days and Deeds social studies book on an almost daily basis. Eventually, I taught her how to read simple sentences, and she took great delight in reading about Davy Crockett, Wild Bill Hickok and other heroes of the old west. To the end of her days, she remained firmly convinced that these characters were alive and well, and that the old west was still somewhere out west.

nephews. One false move by any of us, such as trying to slip away or pinch one another, and his eyes would immediately fly open. Basta, (enough) he would bellow. It was a command you’d ignore at your own peril. It stopped us dead in our tracks and brought Grandma J. on the run! You’ll hear more about Uncle Al in a future column. Finally, the name Josephina means “God will add” in Hebrew. Whatever special ingredients that great woman added to her recipes was a secret she took to her grave. My memories of her great cooking, the warmth of a big family meal around the kitchen table, the coolness and quiet of the cellar kitchen and sunny days surrounded by the fruit trees and herbs she had planted comfort me like a bowl of her wonderful pasta. * Quote from a 1969 Alka-Seltzer 60-second TV commercial. The spot was genius in that George, the character who was on camera, could never get his one line right. “Mama Mia atsa some spicy meat-a-ball.” With his patient mother serving him huge helpings of pasta and meatballs, he went through take after take trying to get his line right. The oft-repeated line hammered home the product’s benefit – upset stomach relief right now!

But despite all the historical reading she did, I never saw her crack a cookbook. All her secrets were in her head. Now, after a big noontime meal, everyone in the house wanted to relax, especially on Saturday afternoons. In fact, relaxation was mandatory for us kids. My Uncle Albert, (Grandma J.’s youngest son) commanded my cousins, my brother and me to sit with him in the living room and listen to whatever opera was being broadcast that afternoon live from the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City. As you might imagine, Uncle Al was asleep in minutes. Rossini’s Le Nozzi de Figaro was especially effective. But, even more amazing than his ability to instantly fall asleep was his ability to detect any subversive action by his captive nieces and

Phil La Borie

is an award-winning writer/artist based in Garden City, South Carolina. His work has been published in AdWeek, The Kaiser-Permanente Journal, Westworld Magazine and online at Phil is the 2015 winner of the Alice Conger Patterson Award offered through the Emrys Foundation. He can be reached at



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Over 60 Teas • Homemade Quiche Sandwiches & Wraps Scones/Pastries • Soups High Tea Served Daily by Reservation Only

No special occasion is necessary to eat at the tea room. Anytime you eat at the tea room is a special occasion!

Serving a spectacular lunch Monday - Saturday, 10-4. No reservations required. Call ahead seating encouraged. 843-651-3071 • Oasis Plaza • 2520 Highway 17 Business South • Garden City

Broadway at the Beach • 843-445-7910 Barefoot Landing • 843-281-0736

We have moved! Our new location is 800 Front Street And we now carry a wide array of toys such as Melissa & Doug!


800 Front Street • Georgetown, SC 29440 Mon-Fri 10:00-5:30 & Sat 10:00-5:00pm


It’s All in the Fingers by Linda DeMers Hummel

I was guilty of being a typical college girl – falling in and out of love too hard, spending hours in front of my mirror, whirling around town on the back of someone’s motorcycle. Predictable except for one thing – Thursday afternoons. On Thursdays at 2 o’clock, my cousin, Kathy, would put her son down for his afternoon nap, and she and I would tiptoe to her tiny kitchen at the back of the apartment. I’d reach up for the flour. She’d grab the butter from the back of the refrigerator where it was sure to be coldest. All our lives, Kathy and I had shared meals and holidays and shimmery afternoons playing hideand-seek in the apple orchard across from her house. As kids, we lived only a few miles from each other, and now, by coincidence, we lived in the same college town, hundreds of miles away from what was once so familiar. I was her helper, doing the easy jobs, like whisking the flour and salt together or coaxing ice water from cubes. Kathy would use her pastry blender to cut in the butter with quick, deliberate motions that came from her wrist. She knew how to drizzle just the right number of drops of water into the mixture. “I think I’m going to break up with Jack,” I might say as we worked the dough. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” she would answer. Then after some time discussing the merits and demerits of Jack (or Tim, or Peter), it would be her turn. “Someone in the grocery store thought I was the babysitter again. Do I really look that young?” I learned how to move my fingers quickly enough in the dough so it looked like cookie crumbs. “The thing with dough,” she’d say, “is that you have to get in and out quickly, before it realizes you’re there.” That was probably something she’d heard her mother say. She came from a cooking home where my aunt made everything from scratch, even brioche French toast. My mother was most comfortable reaching for an easy fix in the freezer and had a whole comedy routine about it. She called herself “The Swanson family’s best friend.” There were other disparities between us. Kathy had always been the cute one – as if blonde and perky were not enough, she was a cheerleader. I was gawky and shy, the kid you only noticed when Kathy walked out of the room. In our late teens, without notice,


it all changed. She got pregnant and quickly married. She became a mother the same year that I went off to college. There I blossomed. Back at home, she was sleep deprived. When Kathy’s husband was accepted at my college two years later, she and I were reunited, though for a while it felt odd. As I was coming into my own with all excitement of dates and football games and concerts, she was planning meals on a budget and researching preschools. On Thursdays, Kathy filled the crusts with heavy quiches or with apples or blueberries when she could get them. If her food allowance could handle it that week, she might make shepherd’s pie. We’d talk up until the last minute, until her toddler began calling, “Mama!” from his crib or her husband came through the door after a day of classes. A few weeks before my graduation, she reached for an index card and started writing in blue marker – the only writing utensil she could find at the moment in her kitchen junk drawer. She laughed and said, “Not that you’ll ever need it,” as she wrote the recipe out, with amounts and directions, like “Don’t kill the dough. Just frighten it.” I’ve made Kathy’s pie crust for every holiday since I left college. Her recipe still makes me laugh when I come across it in my file, but she was right. I’ve never used it. Now, when we talk on the phone, sometimes we reminisce about those Thursdays so long ago. The afternoons we thought would last forever. Pie crust is so simple – four ingredients. But even talented cooks could read the recipe for Kathy’s crust and fall short. It’s in the fingers. And best made when you’re laughing or sharing a secret. Standing next to a person you don’t want to lose. Letting a slow, delicious afternoon wash over you. Maybe on a Thursday.

Linda DeMers Hummel

is a Baltimore-based writer who has recently completed a memoir, “I Haven’t Got All Day.” She spends a lot of time lately hoping to get good news from her agent.

NATIONAL WOMEN BUILD WEEK 2017 May 8 - 13, 2017

Our family, serving your family. 24/7 on call nursing staff

Habitat for Humanity of Horry County invites women to devote at least one day to help build decent and affordable housing in our community. Habitat’s National Women’s Build Week enables women to help eliminate poverty housing by building homes and communities. Through Women’s Build, thousands of women volunteers and homeowners gain the confidence and skills to lay bricks, pound nails, raise walls and create hope. For more information please contact

Care where you call home

Expertly trained, local staff

4612 Oleander Drive, Suite 102, Myrtle Beach, SC 29577 1-800-932-2738 South Myrtle Beach 843-626-7272 Myrtle Beach (Kings Rd) 843-839-1777 North Myrtle Beach 843-280-3222 Garden City 843-357-6400 Socastee 843-293-7272 Conway 843-347-7272


The Life of a Caterer Max Goree, Pawleys Island Bakery We've all enjoyed the hard work of caterers at some point – delicious hors d'oeuvres, a fabulous dinner or gorgeous wedding cake. Max Goree of Pawleys Island Bakery has been catering for 43 years – with overwhelming success due to his love of his work and meticulous attention to detail. Max is well known in our community for his involvement in local non-profits and his work with special needs students who he hires and trains before sending them on to bigger and better things. “I love it when a kid comes to me barely able to fold a box and leaves able to go on to other jobs and even continuing their education.” Sasee asked Max to share a little about his love of preparing delicious food for others. “All of us who work in this industry have a horror story and here's mine. I was catering a wedding in Connecticut and put the food in the truck to drive it 45 minutes away to the hall. When I got there, I opened the back of the truck and realized the food had not been secured. It was everywhere – and most of it was ruined!” Luckily, Max had arrived early and immediately called his staff to tell them to get busy. He drove back to his restaurant and picked up more food, turned around and drove another 45 minutes back to the wedding hall. “When I arrived, I walked in one minute before the bride,” Max said laughing. “I just beat her. Luckily she had a sense of humor, and it all worked out fine. But, I was missing some hair

and added a few more grey ones by the time this was finished.” “Most of my catering jobs are a lot of fun though,” Max went on to tell me. “One of my favorites is catering the Culinary Symphony, a fundraiser for the Pawleys Island Festival of Music & Art, one of the non-profits I work with.” This fundraiser places groups of people into homes and local chefs go in and cook a gourmet meal. “I was supposed to have a party of 12 and at the last minute it turned into 16 – that was fine with me – I love cooking for a crowd.” At the party, one of the guests turned out to be a superb storyteller and by the end of the evening some of the stories and jokes became a little risqué. “The guests were all rolling on the floor laughing. Everyone had such a good time, and the food turned out very well. I really enjoyed catering that party!” “I love my work. Every party – from a wedding with 150 guests to a small cocktail party of 12 – gets the same respect and service from me. No matter the size, the host and hostess are concerned about their guests and want them to have a good time. Whoever I'm working with is the most important person in my world at the time.” Stop by and say hello to Max at Pawleys Island Bakery, located at 10517 Ocean Highway in Pawleys Island or call 843-237-3100.

JoIn tHe PeoPLe of SuRfSIde unIted MetHodISt CHuRCH AS we CeLebRAte A MoSt IMPoRtAnt tIMe of ouR CHuRCH yeAR!

The Sweetest Little Place in Pawleys Island


12:30 - 1:30 PM: Drop-in prayer anD imposition of the ashes. 5:30 PM: pancake supper in the family life center, which will be prepareD by the uniteD methoDist men. $8 for aDults, $4 for chilDren. please call (843)238-2734 before noon on monDay if you will be attenDing the supper. 6:30 PM: ash weDnesDay worship service in the sanctuary.

Catering available - Our Location or Yours!

We can deliver lunch platters, dessert trays, etc...

During the season of lent, our church will participate in a stuDy of the founDations of our faith through the statements of the apostles' creeD.


12:00 - 2:00 PM: spring festival. this will be helD outDoors aDjacent to our picnic shelter weather permitting. your chilDren will have fun participating in an easter egg hunt, games, face painting anD more. hot Dogs will be serveD.


8:30 AM & 11:00 AM: on palm sunDay april 9 our aDult choir with orchestral accompaniment will present a cantata entitleD

“sacreD places” at both traDitional worship services in the sanctuary.


7:00 PM: on holy thursDay we will worship anD share in communion.


7:00 PM: on gooD friDay we will worship with a tenebrae service, with lessons anD hymns.


843-237-3100 10517 Ocean Highway Pawleys Island, SC 29585


Hours of Operation: Monday-Saturday 6am-6pm Sunday 6am-1pm

6:00 AM: easter sunDay will begin with the community easter sunrise service at the surfsiDe pier. 8:30AM And 11:00 AM: we will have traDitional worship services in the church sanctuary

11:00 AM: the wave, our contemporary service, will be helD in the family life center.

surfsiDe uniteD methoDist church • 800 13th avenue north surfsiDe beach, sc 29575 • 843-238-2734 37

The Cake Crusader by Laurie Goldwasser

Mom suggested I coax them out in pieces and patch them together with the frosting. I followed her directions, even though she never laid eyes on the frosting she confidently declared could salvage my masterpiece. I was devastated when my efforts produced a cake that looked more like a Dr. Seuss drawing than the edible art on display at the local bakery. The only thing that remotely resembled my vision of Pauline’s cake was its color. I managed to coax the perfect shade of pink out of that tiny bottle by patiently dropping red food coloring into the mixture one drop at a time. My disappointment was only slightly assuaged by my mom’s declaration “It’s the thought that counts!” To my surprise, my teacher’s reaction to the cake was enthusiastic. Encouraged by her approval, I set out to find Pauline. The sheer delight on Pauline’s face erased my embarrassment. I knew my effort pleased two very special women that day. I also know my mother’s assessment was right.


y 4th grade teacher was an impulsive nun whom I felt compelled to please. Her standards were exacting, and I knew if I met them I was doing well. The custodian at my school was a joyful woman with Down syndrome. Her quick smile and excited reaction to a simple “Hello, Pauline!” made me glad to see her in the hallways. When my teacher dedicated class time to making cards for Pauline’s upcoming birthday, I knew I wanted to do more to please both of them. I devised a plan to bake my very first cake, a birthday cake for Pauline. I envisioned a two-layer cake with pink frosting and decorative borders like those in the window of the local bakery. But of course those cakes were produced in a professional kitchen where parchment paper lined pans and skilled bakers deftly controlled pastry bags outfitted with a variety of tips. Those things were never found in my mother’s kitchen nor would she have known how to use them. My mother didn’t enjoy cooking. She never had time or the inclination to consult a cookbook. Left to my own devices, a cake mix was prepared and poured into two worn nine-inch pans. After baking, the cakes were left to cool in the pans while I made frosting. I relied on my mother’s instructions, which were offered from another room. She was busy taking care of one of the many things a mother of five is compelled to do. Without any detail, she instructed me to “beat a stick of oleo with powdered sugar and milk.” In the absence of a recipe or any previous experience, I proceeded to make a sweet concoction that was the consistency of a cream soup. I tried to remove the cooled cakes from the pans but they were stuck.


My vivid memory of that oozing, cockeyed cake provided me with all the incentive I needed to do better. Determined to make food look as good as it tasted, I focused on presentation and technique. My selfdirected curriculum included spending time with my friends’ mothers who were great cooks, reading women’s magazines and checking out cookbooks from the local public library. As a ten-year-old, I began a life-long passion that I still enjoy fiftysomething years later. Cookbooks outnumber novels in my personal library. Family vacations have been planned around cooking schools and food tours. I enrolled in a cake decorating class and took my younger daughter with me. My kitchen drawers are filled with gadgets used so infrequently I forget I own them. I planted watermelon radishes in my own garden when I realized their colorful slices would provide unique garnishes for my plates. French words such as bain-marie, mirepoix and amuse bouche are part of my vocabulary. My culinary pursuits began with a lopsided birthday cake and a desire to please special people in my life. I’m still perfecting my skills while surrounding myself with extraordinary people.

Laurie Goldwasser

People are the essential element in Laurie’s life. She strives to live by the bumper sticker pasted in her pantry – “Love people, cook them tasty food.”

*Manufacturer’s mail-in rebate offer valid for qualifying purchases made 1/14/17-4/10/17 from participating dealers in the U.S. only. For certain rebate-eligible products, the purchase of multiple units of such product is required to receive a rebate. Rebate will be issues in the form of a prepaid reward card and mailed within 6 weeks of rebate claim receipt. Funds do not expire. Subject to applicable law, a $2.00 monthly fee will be assessed against card balance 6 months after card issuance and each month thereafter. Additional limitations may apply. Ask participating dealer for details and rebate form. ©2017 Hunter Douglas. All rights reserved. All trademarks used herein are the property of Hunter Douglas or their respective owners. 17Q1MAGS01X17Q1MAGS01

Tuesday - Saturday: 10-5 Stop in and meet the owner Linda Falls

Piedmont Springs Interiors 671 Jamestown Dr. Garden City, SC 29576 • (843) 353-8369 Website: Email:

Lic#: CRC-1403

Large Selection of Fabrics! In house custom drapery, bedding and upholstery workroom , blinds & shutters! Interior design service available

Sasee Bridal Guide arriving April 2017 We would LOVE for your business to be a part of our annual Spring Bridal Guide! For advertising information Please call 843-626-8911


Vintage & Shabby Chic Home DĂŠcor

Seminar Schedule Thursday, March 9, 2017 at 6:15pm Topic: Autoimmune Disease Kristen Richardson, PA-C. Carolina Holistic Medicine (Dr. Saleeby), Murrells Inlet (formerly Priority Health)

Thursday, April 6, 2017 at 6:15pm Topic: Low Libido and Sexual Dysfunction in Men and Women Susan Wilson, MD. Charleston Healthspan Institute, Pawleys Island/Daniel Island

Call 843-293-7979 to reserve your seat TODAY and ask us about BEAUTYCOUNTER!

Save the Date! Sat., April 8th

Cherry Blossom Blast!!!

Celebrating the beginning of spring with lots of new items! Big Savings and refreshing snacks all day!



The Oasis Shopping Center 2520 Hwy.17 Business, Garden City


3072 Dick Pond Road, Highway 544, Suite 2 Myrtle Beach, SC 29588

Nicole Says...Read


Recommended for ages 3 and up

edited by Kate Kuhn, Review by Nicole McManus

Do you have a child who loves to be in the kitchen while you are cooking? Are you looking for some fun, kid-approved recipes for the week? The Budding Chef is an adorable little cookbook, perfect for sparking children’s interest in meal preparation. With 50 recipes, there is something for everyone to enjoy, including standard classics, as well as exciting, edible, art projects. The book is divided into five sections: Breakfast, Lunch/Dinner, Snacks, Desserts and Butter Up. Each recipe contains ingredients, tools needed and instructions, most of which are things you already have in your cabinet. Some include family activities,

Bunny Biscuits Tools

Cookie Sheet

A couple of years ago, I reviewed The Budding Gardener. If you have little ones in your life, I highly recommend the Budding series. These cute books are dedicated to teaching children about the world and inspiring their imaginations. The charming activities will delight the inner child in all of us.

5. Suggest that your child use paintbrushes to paint a face on their biscuit.

6. Once your child has painted their bunny face, help transfer

Paintbrushes Small Bowls

Food Coloring

discussion topics and other books to tie into each meal! Multicultural recipes, nutritious snacks and animal-themed meals are all included. Adult supervision is required, but fun will be had by all!

it to a cookie sheet. Bake the bunnies according to the


Green Coconut (optional)


Refrigerated biscuit dough Water

directions on the biscuit package (adults only). If possible, turn on the oven light and watch as the dough rises.

7. If desired, add raisins to make bunny eyes.

8. Allow the bunnies to cool. Serve them on a plate with green coconut. Enjoy!

Directions 1. Preheat the oven according to the directions on the biscuit dough package.

2. Give two uncooked biscuits to your child. Help your child

cut one of the biscuits in half. Each bunny will require two biscuits–make as many as you wish.

3. Form the two halves of biscuit dough into the shape of

rabbit ears and attach them to the whole biscuit to form ears for each bunny

4. Pour a few drops of food coloring into separate bowls and then help your child add water to each color.

Makes 4 Servings The Budding Chef


Advertiser Index


Angelo’s Steaks & Pasta . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Barbara’s Fine Gifts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 B. Graham Interiors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Belk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Bloomingails . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Broadway Grand Prix . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Brookgreen Gardens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Butler Lighting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Bygone Beauties . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Carolina Car Care . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 The Citizens Bank . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Clark’s Seafood & Chop House . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Class LLC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Coco Salon & Spa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Doodlebugs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Dr. David Grabeman . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Dr. Sattele’s Rapid Weight Loss & Esthetics Centers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 Eggs Up Grill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Fowler Life Coaching. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Good Deed Goods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Grady’s Jewelers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Habitat For Humanity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Homespun Crafters Mall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Hospice Care of SC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Inlet Printing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Just Because IYQ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33

Long Bay Symphony . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Mickey’s Travel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Morningside of Georgetown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Myrtle Beach Estates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 North Carolina Azalea Festival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 North Myrtle Beach Woman’s Club . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 OM Yoga . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 Palmetto Ace Hardware . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Papa John’s Pizza . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Pawleys Island Bakery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Piedmont Springs Interiors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Pure Compounding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 Resourceful Realty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Rose Arbor Fabrics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Sea Island Trading Co. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 Shades & Draperies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 A Silver Shack . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33 Socastee High School Performing Arts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 South Atlantic Bank . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 Southern Comforts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Surfside United Methodist Church . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 Taz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Thrive Assisted Living & Memory Care . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Two Sisters with Southern Charm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 WEZV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42


2017 4

Princess Gala to benefit American Red Cross, 8:30 am, themed breakfast, parade through the Market Common, red carpet entrance to princess movie, princess or prince in costume required. All inclusive tickets, $30. For more info or tickets, visit


The Art Museum’s Annual Spring Home Tour 10 am - 4 pm, $45 in advance, $50 the day of the tour, buffet luncheon at Dunes Golf and Beach Club, tickets, $22. For more info, call (843)238-2510 or visit


From Classic to Modern Long Bay Symphony, Myrtle Beach High School Performing Arts Center, 4 pm. For tickets or more info, call (843)448-8379 or visit


Annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade & Festival Parade at 9 am, festival from 11 am - 4 pm, Main Street, North Myrtle Beach. For more info, call (843)280-5570 or visit

5 12 19 26

6 13 20 27

7 14 21 28

1 8 15 22 29


Coastal Kayaking Mondays, Huntington Beach State Park, 10am-noon, $40, reservations required. For more info, call (843)235-8755 or visit


Myrtle Beach Can-Am Days Various events. For more info, call (843) 916-7276 or visit

2 9 16 23 30

3 10 17 24 31

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34th Annual National Shag Dance Championship Finals The Spanish Galleon, North Myrtle Beach, Thurs. 8pm, Fri. 7:30 pm, Sat. 7:30 pm. For more info, visit


Luck of the Marshwalk 5-10 pm, Murrells Inlet Marshwalk, $1,500 in cash and prizes. For more info, visit


Special Saturday Movable Feast Cookie Roberts discusses Ladies of Liberty, 11 am, Pawleys Plantation, $30. For more info, call (843)235-9600 or visit


“Diggin’ It” Spring Garden Festival Brookgreen Gardens, events throughout the day, free with garden admission. For more info, visit or call (843)235-6000


Sertoma Charity Ball to benefit SOS, Dunes Club, $300 per couple, live band, open bar, food and raffles. For more info, call SOS at (843)449-0554


70th Annual Prince George Plantation Tours Georgetown County, 9:30 am - 5 pm. $40 each day or $70 both days. Advance tickets by mail only, (843)545-8291 or

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Myrtle Beach 843.839.0100

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Murrells Inlet 843.848.2000

Mt. Pleasant 843.972.4300 ©2017 South Atlantic Bank. Member FDIC | Equal Housing Lender


People You Know & Trust.

Sasee Magazine - March 2017  

"Delights and Disasters"

Sasee Magazine - March 2017  

"Delights and Disasters"