Ford's "Driving Skills For Life" Program

Alex and I had the opportunity, courtesy of the Ford Motor Fund, to take a little overnight jaunt to Chicago on Mother's Day to observe and take part in their "Driving Skills For Life" program. It's a safety program geared toward teen drivers, in which the kids get hands-on experience behind the wheel, guided by professional drivers. The exercises concentrated on things like hazard recognition, reaction time, speed, and vehicle handling.

We had an uneventful flight (well, once we got on the plane, anyway) into Chicago on Mother's Day, and were met by a very pleasant driver, who would prove to be a nice counterpoint to the next day's surly driver. Alex wasted no time at all in making himself right at home in the limo.

We arrived in downtown Chicago with plenty of time to check into our well-appointed suite at the Embassy Suites hotel, relax a bit, and get ready for dinner. At the nice, not-too-early, not-too-late hour of 6:00PM, we gathered in the hotel lobby with our hosts from Ford and Social Media Group, and headed out to Maggiano's Little Italy, where we were treated to an enormous "family style" meal.

The food was good, and more than plentiful, and the company was interesting and engaging. Seated closest to me, representing Ford, so that we were able to visit a bit, were Ford spokesman Wes Sherwood, and Vice-President of Sustainability, Environment and Safety Engineering, Sue Cischke.

Wes and I had a common bond in that we both have 5-year-olds who will be starting kindergarten in the fall, so we had plenty to talk about there! The Ford folks at our table that night didn't seem to have very much background in social media (double-kudos to them for hiring a liaison who is social-media savvy), so much of our conversation was centered around The Way Of The Internet. It's obvious to me that big companies NEED go-betweens to help get their messages out to the online community--and there's nothing wrong with that! These are busy people in high-powered, high-stress careers, who don't have time to be blog-surfing or Twittering all day long. At the same time, Ford Motor Company obviously does have some internet-savvy folks among their ranks, as evidenced by their Flickr stream. Check it out--what they've done there is very, very smart: They have a good Flickr presence, with high-quality, well-described and tagged professional photos which they've made free for anyone's use. They also use the account to comment on others' photos, and add their own photos to all applicable Flickr groups, for maximum exposure. Smart, smart, SMART.

In conversation with Wes, I sensed a sincere desire on the part of Ford to connect with bloggers, their readers, and the consumer in general--this was not a slick, fake "shill" in the least. This was a regular guy, dedicated to his job, and honestly excited about the opportunities ahead, especially the importance of the DSFL program.

I could have spent another several hours listening to Sue Cischke, too. This is an inspiring woman doing a BIG job, and she has an amazing amount of knowledge over a broad area of expertise in her industry. I was most excited to hear her describing some of the research that's being done right now in developing new fuel sources...if I give you my dumbed-down version of that conversation, it's this: CARS WILL RUN ON GARBAGE. OK, so, yeah, I'm over-simplifying. But it's coming, I tell you! I came away with the feeling that, if I'd asked Sue, "So, where are our flying cars?" she'd have explained to me just how far along the flying-car research is at this point in time. Long story short (too late for that?), I was quite impressed by Sue.

We were able to get back to the hotel at a very decent hour, which, after the madcap pace of the J&J event, I really appreciated, especially since we had to be checked out and ready to go at 8:00 the next morning. Alex and I rolled out at the appointed time the next day, had a lovely breakfast of custom-made omelets in the company of the lovely Zoe Siskos of Social Media Group, and then went outside into a beautiful Chicago morning to wait for the car service to come and take us to Cellular Field (home of the White Sox) for the DSFL program. And we waited. And waited. An hour and a half we waited, apparently due to some mix-up with the car service (their fault, thankyouverymuch). Because of that delay, we missed part of the DSFL program--the "hazard recognition" portion, specifically.

We were, however, able to catch most of the program, and got to observe the teenage audience soaking in the talks given by Ford's professional drivers, all of whom seemed to have racing backgrounds.

The first session we observed focused on distractions, and many of the teens seemed genuinely surprised at how easily their attention was taken off the road, as the professional drivers riding along with them moved their mirrors, messed with the radio, pointed out landmarks...and then cheerfully informed the young drivers that they'd just missed a stop sign or taken out a road cone. POINT MADE. It was a hoot.

Then it was time for what we'd all been waiting for: The SKID CARS. We'd been watching the pro drivers spin out and skid the specially-customized Mustangs all over the Cellular Field parking lot all morning, and it just looked like a lot of fun.

The Mustangs were specially fitted with casters which took a great deal of the weight off the rear wheels, making the cars much more prone to skid in a turn.

Our next instructor, one of my favorites, did a fantastic job of explaining the physics of a skid in terms that the teenagers (and myself) could easily understand. I especially appreciated his detailed discussion of "target fixation," the phenomena which occurs when, instead of concentrating on where we're trying to direct our vehicle, we visually "fixate" on the object we're trying to avoid...which, ironically, makes us all the more likely to have a collision with that very object.

I was very impressed by all the professional drivers at work on this morning--they were cheerful, accessible, helpful, and very easy to understand. Also, they all had rockin' shades.

Alex and I exercised remarkable restraint in not shoving any of the kids aside to get our turn to drive one of the skid cars. We waited patiently, like grownups, and then got our chance. Our driver/instructor, who was impossibly young, was personable and fun. His name was David Bahr, and you can even check out his website. He showed us the basics of handling the car, then all too abruptly announced that it was MY turn. You know, to go too fast around the turn, so that I'd spin out, so that I could then try to correct the vehicle, pull out of the skid, and stay on the course.

I have to tell you, this exercise was very difficult for me to even attempt. Being a single gal with horses to tow and dogs to carry to shows for most of my adult life, I've only ever owned SUVs and pickup trucks. And if there's one thing that I'm cautious to the point of paranoia about in driving those vehicles, it is most definitely that you DO NOT NEGOTIATE TURNS AT SPEED, because that will cause your SUV or pickup truck to TURN OVER. David had to encourage me pretty vigorously to "accelerate into the turn!" To which I would answer, "I don't want to!"

Ultimately, though, I got up my nerve enough to let 'er rip (if David is reading this, I assure you that he is laughing his HEAD off at MY interpretation of "letting 'er rip,"), and felt the rear end of the Mustang sliding away from me, to the outside. My instinctive response? I let go of the wheel. This is not the right answer, for those of you following along at home. By "let go," I don't mean that I threw my hands up in the air or anything, just that I released my grip on the steering wheel enough so that it slid freely through my grasp of its own volition, until it reached the "home" position in which the wheels were straight. This tactic totally works... if you're going 3 miles per hour. But at skidding speed? Not so much. So my first attempt had me facing back the way I'd come, which is not what you want. But the next few times, I conquered that bugaboo, and manually corrected the wheel as David had instructed. I did not "target fixate," which kind of surprised me, because when I'd been outside the car, I'd been hyper-aware of all the nearby lampposts scattered between the skid courses, and was sure I'd be sliding into at least one of them, or, worse yet, another car.

But here's what I did NOT see coming, and herein lies the value of an opportunity like this, an opportunity to have a "controlled accident:" All through my skids, even the corrections, my tendency was to NEVER TAKE MY FOOT OFF THE GAS. That's right, something in my brain thought it would be a good idea to just keep on accelerating through the entire process. David had to say, "stop," every single time before I'd remember to brake. That, folks, was a rude awakening, and something I never would have guessed to be a problem. David informed us that it was a common accident response, because of adrenalin, tension, and inexperience (and really, how many of us are "experienced" at having--or avoiding--accidents?).

I'd also like to thank David for his take on one of my personal little pet peeves of driving instruction, which is the advice to "steer into the skid." That phrase, to me, is deceptive, and what I've always said to myself (and what my dad said to me long, long ago when teaching me to drive) instead, is, "steer in the direction you want the car to go." David said it that way, and it made ever so much more sense than "steer into the skid." He also pointed out the many things that come after "steer into the skid," chief among them the fact that, at some point, you have to STOP. So thanks, David--it was educational and fun, and I learned a lot, even if I'm old enough to be your...um, let's say "cool aunt," OK?

In another little gem of unconventional wisdom, the female race driver we rode with in another session informed us that, in her opionion, the "10:00 and 2:00" position of your hands on the steering wheel doesn't give you nearly the control that you get at 9:00 and 3:00. I've got a feeling that you could take lessons from these drivers for weeks on end and keep learning new things. I know I'd LIKE to.

And then, for our trouble, Ford gave us this sweet, sweet car. Cool, huh?

I'm KIDDING. They gave us a nice lunch. Which Alex and I skipped in favor of a visit to Giordano's before our flight out.

If you'd like more information about Ford's Driving Skills For Life program (I know I, for one, would like to know how to get them to come to MY hometown), follow the links in this post, or leave a comment here, and I'll make sure the right person sees it. This is a company that has always been on the forefront of driver safety research and development, and I found them to be quite open and responsive. Thanks to the Ford Motor Fund for giving us the opportunity to learn more about this great program for teens.

Click here to see my full photo set from this trip.

Victoria & Albert's Restaurant, Disney World

I decided to finish journaling our Disney vacation from December, when I stopped after just posting about the first two days. You are thrilled to hear this. No, you ARE.

That Sunday happened to be Alex's and my wedding anniversary. Seven years, and I'm not even itchy. How 'bout that? Let's observe a moment of silent wonder and appreciation at what the two of us have come through, and that we are, in fact, more or less happily married still. Done? OK.

Alex's delightful mother (honestly--I feel like the luckiest woman alive, because I not only have a fantastic mother, but a fantastic mother-in-LAW...it seems greedy), who is something of a Disney World expert, having made several trips with grandchildren before, had, months ago, made reservations for Alex and I at the very posh Victoria & Albert's restaurant. You might be wondering why that name sounds familiar, and it's because it was recently in the news for officially "banning" children under the age of 10. My input on this is that no one with half sense would bring a young child to a 3-hour, 7+ course meal, but that's just me. There may be people who also like poking themselves in the eyes with mechanical pencils, but I'm not one of them.

Victoria & Albert's is a AAA 5-diamond restaurant, and you get a feel for what's in store right up front, when they present you with your very own, pre-printed keepsake menus.

Intimidating, much? Well, yeah, you could say that. Let me take a moment and share a little secret about fancypants dining, especially 3-hour-long seatings of gourmet meals in places that are so dignified and quiet that you can hear OTHER people breathing, despite the soft harp music: Gentlemen, as you sit normally in your upholstered chair, in your coat and tie, supported by the seat back comfortably, and enjoying your meal, APPRECIATE the fact that the lady in your company is perched on the edge of her own chair, holding herself ramrod-straight, because, in the female version of "semi-formal" dress, well...we just must. There is no leaning back in our chairs, because that would make us look decidedly unladylike, and there is CERTAINLY no slumping. I can honestly say that the only not-entirely-positive thing about this amazing meal was the ache in my back and shoulders by the time it was over. But you can overcome a lot of pain with the right amount of gourmet cheese and/or chocolate ganache.

When people keep asking my why I'm persisting in my attempts at learning how to cook duck, I tell them it's because of this dish.

That is walnut oil seared duck with hearts of palm, huckleberry vinaigrette, and Fourme D'Ambert foundue. And it was DIVINE. Well, everything we had was divine. I don't even recall what Alex had while I was eating this, BUT, I do know what he had next, because he would not shut up about it for DAYS. He had pan-roasted foie gras with Fuji apples and Mostarda di Cremona, and it came in this funky dish:

This is just not something I can eat, because the flavor of the liver and the taste of the insanely high fat content are just too strong for me. Alex could not believe that anyone would be so dense as to pass up this delicacy, and declared it to be "possibly the best thing [he had] ever eaten." While he was doing that, I was minding my own business over on my side of the table, with a festival of mushrooms and truffles, more formally known as ballotine of poulet rouge with chicken consomme', Scottish Chanterelles and black truffles. Also known, immediately upon serving, as IN MAH BELLEH.

Now, here is where things took a typical turn, for us. As you might well imagine, service up to this point had taken a good hour or more, and our supply of genteel manners was running on the lowish side. The stuffiness of the restaurant was starting to seem less serious, and more funny. This is dangerous, if you're out with us. Fortunately, we had only each other's images to damage. Naturally, my highly-sophisticated husband waited until I had taken a sip of the mellowest iced-tea ever, sweetened with honey collected from highly-sophisticated bees, to lean over and whisper conspiratorily, "Oops...got a little goose-grease on my tie, there." Composure: BLOWN. Thanks, Honey.

I blame myself, partially, because on our way to the restaurant, I'd dared Alex to sit down, look over the menu, and then ask the server, "Y'all got any nachos back'ere?" which of course he wouldn't do. But once the ice was broken with the goose-grease remark, the flood-gates were open, so to speak (and with mixed metaphors, even). I also blame the butter, because I think it made us a little stoned. I'm not kidding. This butter they had--it was naturally cultured butter from Vermont cows, cows which I imagine spend a lot of time getting spa treatments and dining on alfalfa cakes and drinking spring water, because only INSANELY HAPPY COWS could have produced the milk that made that butter, and therefore there must have been some sort of giddy endorphins buttering our bread that night. In fact, we discussed the truth that on this occasion, the bread was merely serving as a butter-delivery system, and had there been spoons on the table between courses, we'd have likely skipped the bread altogether and just mainlined the butter.

We did manage to get through the fish course (turbot for Alex, Alaskan sablefish for me), but the delay between that and the meat course left way too much time on our hands and way too much "material" for Alex to riff on. Probably my favorite exchange of the evening had to do with the lovely harp music, which was being played right next to our table by a lovely lady. It began during a particularly heartfelt rendition of "Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming," with Alex once again leaning over to whisper to me.

Alex: "How much you reckon I'd have to tip her to get her to play 'Turkey In The Straw?'"

Me: (laughing) "I don't know, but for a heavy tip, you'd want to get your money's worth--something like 'Dueling Banjos.'"

We paused, locked eyes, and had minor meltdowns as we imagined the opening strains of "Dueling Banjos" being played on a harp. Go ahead--imagine that. It's FUNNY.

We hummed softly together, until we got to the "busy" part of the song, and I allowed that at that point, it was probably a moot question.

Me: "No, I don't think one harpist could do that part by herself--there's too much going on."

Alex: (without missing a nanosecond of a beat) "Oh, well, she'd have to rare back and kick her shoes off, for sure."

And then we LOST IT. For quite some time. And were not again settled until the arrival of some steak that demanded serious attention. Alex had Kobe beef tenderloin with smoked garlic puree, and while that garlic/potato puree tasted like it had been prepared earlier that day by angels in heaven, my Kansas City Angus beef with caramelized Yukon Gold potatoes was, in my opinion, WAY better. Great galloping kumquats, but it was good.

After the steak, Alex was the wise soul who ordered the cheese plate for our next course, and I'm grateful to him for not stabbing me with a cheese fork as I pilfered from his plate, because I'm not sure I'd have shown the same restraint, were our situations reversed. There were five amazing cheeses, but the highlights were the Comte' Saint Antoine, the 4-year aged Gouda, which transcended all Goudas that ever came before it, and the melt-in-your-mouth Cabra al Vino, which I believe is the one we were told translated as "drunken goat." Listen to me, all ye people who raise milk-goats and make cheese: START GETTING YOUR GOATS DRUNK ON WINE IMMEDIATELY. That was the most incredible cheese ever.

Just when we were almost ready to die, we were served our desserts, which had been in the making since the beginning of our meal. Alex had a Grand Marnier souffle', which I'm sure was perfectly wonderful, but I really wouldn't know, since I was occupied having the chocolate version of an LSD trip, with my trio of chocolate desserts: Tanzanian chocolate pyramid, Hawaiian Kona chocolate souffle', and Peruvian chocolate ice cream and puff pastry.

And yes, the apex of that sweet little pyramid is topped with 24k gold. I am now worth slightly more than I was before I ate it.

The only thing I can add about this meal is that, even if you don't particularly care for coffee (I don't), if you're ever offered coffee that is brewed at your table in one of these contraptions:

By all means, HAVE SOME. Wow. I am now of the opinion that all coffee should be prepared in a flame-powered vacuum percolator. Gotta get me one of those. And some of those wonderful little pear/mint/ginger sugared cubes that were served to top off the meal.

Victoria & Albert's sent us on our way, a little over three hours after we'd arrived, with a long-stemmed rose and a loaf of apricot breakfast-bread, stuffed to the gills with good food and memories of a special occasion. It's an experience I'd highly recommend, though if you're easily embarrassed, I'd suggest not taking us along. The really good news on this night was that the restaurant is located at the Grand Floridian Resort & Spa, which is where we happened to be staying, so we only had to waddle a short distance before we could fall into bed and try not to die of instant-onset gout. SO WORTH IT.

Stupid Wendy's Commercial

Is it just me? Does anybody "get" that stupid Wendy's commercial with all the tree-kicking people, and the doofus in the "Wendy" wig? If I'm not eating Wendy's, I'm a tree-kicker? Maybe I'm just old. If you are young, and this commercial is funny, please let me know. I'm off to get some kasha and have a nap.

My issues with the current Burger King ad campaign inovolving "the King" would just open up a whooooole 'nother can of worms, and...well, my nap, you know. Must go.

Haute Cuisine, With Toddler

I'm here to tell you, it CAN be done! On Mom's birthday, we celebrated at our very favorite restaurant, one I've raved about here before, chef extraordinaire Peter Brave's "Brave New Restaurant." This is a fabulous place, and pretty fancy-schmancy--it's not overly pretentious, but it's the kind of place where Alex and I can drop $100 on dinner with ease. And we don't drink, so...that's just for food, chil'ens. And it's worth every penny, the food's that good. Peter Brave is...well, my culinary hero.

Obviously, we don't get to go often, so we don't want our experience (or anyone else's) wrecked by the Wrath Of She Who Is Capable Of Sonic Screaming At A Moment's Notice. This very topic was just discussed on a friend's blog recently, so I was acutely aware of the various pitfalls of including a just-three-year-old in an evening of fine dining. We also had her eight-year-old cousin Grayson with us, but he is fortunately well beyond the age at which he would suddenly go Tasmanian Devil or spit directly ON us.

We've learned something. The secret to the success of such a venture lies not only in the hands of the child and her parents, but also in the savvy of the restaurant owner, management, and staff. This is not a booster-seat place, but I have a feeling that had we needed the "boost," they'd have come up with something. First up, the quick service upon our arrival. We all had something to drink and our orders taken swiftly. Then, greatest of all, and to our surprised delight, before appetizers or salads were served, our children were presented with beautifully arranged, complimentary fruit and cheese plates. Genius, I tell you! GENIUS!That, my friends, is a happy child eating a grape, instead of a restless child regaling the other patrons with her Very Special, Never-Sung-The-Same-Way-Twice arrangement of "Santa Clause Is Coming To Town." This is not a "kid's menu" place. All the better, because we had all the options in the world! Bella had some not-on-the-menu angel-hair pasta, with Basil Shrimp and fresh seasonal vegetables, and there was much proclamation of, "yummmm." Grayson had fresh breaded chicken cutlets and rosemary-roasted potatoes, and was also quite happy. He enjoyed Vanilla-Bean ice cream for dessert, while Bella and I each polished off a chocolate creme brulee'--a specialty of the house. The chef was even nice enough not to "cap" hers, and no one got all snooty about it! And see? We did not leave a giant swath of destruction in our wake! A perfect evening! Well...close. Right? You can't have everything. Oh, and in case anyone is worried, I was totally prepared to whisk my little darling out of there at the first sign of noise or trouble. Fear not, if you see us at a fine restaurant with you some evening.