BAD DOG HAS GOOD TASTE; OR, THE GOOD LIFE OF BAD DOG

Got Milk?

“Oh my God! We’ve been robbed!” my brain screamed as I entered the kitchen after having come home from work only to find the refrigerator wide open and half-eaten food strewn all over the hardwood floor. I tried to remain calm by taking a few deep breaths.

I didn’t understand. The front door was locked. I checked the back door, basement door—all locked. No one could’ve have gotten in through a window since they’re all painted shut. If a burglar did open a window I will hunt them down just so they can open the rest of them since in ten years my husband hasn’t been able to.

Then I panicked. Where’s the dog? She’s always waiting at the door for me. Was she harmed? I ran around the house shouting her name. Nothing. It wasn’t until I grabbed the phone to call the police that I saw the burglar prostrate, dead to the world, beside the couch. The burglar was none other than Bad Dog, her bad self. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I’m pretty sure the clues pointed in her direction--strings of spaghetti crusted to her snout; her beard drenched with Sunday gravy. Anger replaced the panic. I nudged the hairy culprit with the toe of my snow boot but nothing. No response.

          I bent down and put my face next to hers to make sure she was breathing. Her pungent breath almost knocked me over. I recognized the sour smell but it took me a few seconds before I…Dear God!  She was drunk. Full-out stinking drunk! No wonder, really, because lying among all the food on the kitchen floor was an empty bottle of 2003 Malbec that had only been open the night before. I had an open bottle of Malbec and cheap Chardonnay in the fridge; she went with the Malbec. Good choice considering the menu of leftovers she chose: artisanal cheese that my friend had sent me from her Seattle dairy farm, four marinating Porterhouse steaks from the butcher at Fairway that I was planning on grilling for dinner, Godiva Chocolate, leftover eggplant parmigiana, spaghetti, and Sunday gravy with Johnny Meatballs meatballs! (She ate all the meatballs, so 2 thumbs up from Bad Dog and the canine crowd for Johnny Meatballs meatballs!)

How did Bad Dog get her bad self into the fridge? Well, my good man Watson, I’m going to conclude that someone to whom I said “I Do” to almost 20 years ago forgot to close the refrigerator as he was returning the gallon of milk that he had just poured for his and Katie’s cereal. Since I had left for work before he and the children left the house, I’m going to further conclude that he did not notice the refrigerator door was ajar when he left the house. Now, I can’t entirely blame him since our house is well over 100 years old and no longer level. (Hell, I’m over 40 years old and no longer level.) The kitchen is so slanted it’s like working in a ship’s galley during a raging storm. Things just toss and roll at will. My kitchen could definitely qualify for Weird New Jersey.   

          After I had cleaned up the mess I sat down on the sofa with a cup of coffee. (Unfortunately, the Malbec was all gone.) I watched as the carcass of Bad Dog began to stir. She pried one, then two hairy eyeballs open and, after a few feeble attempts, was able to lift her head. Talk about the hair of the dog! When her eyes were able to focus she just stared at me. It was a knowing stare that said, “Do you have any idea how many times I had to look at you like this? At least I licked your feet to ease your pain.”

          As she tried to rise on all four paws I could relate to her staggering imbalance, but still I said, “So, you had to eat the marinating Porterhouse? Johnny Meatballs and eggplant weren’t enough for you? Hope you enjoyed the wine!”

          She wobbled unsteadily to the back door reminding me of a drunken sailor’s drunken girlfriend who gets paid by the hour. I mused about taking her to A.A.

“Hi, this is Bad Dog and she’s an alcoholic.”

“Hello Bad Dog!”

As I watched her repeatedly fall sideways into the snow I thought that as bad as Bad Dog is, and she is bad, at least she has good taste. Artisanal cheeses, Johnny Meatballs, Porterhouse steaks tartare, and Malbec. Not a bad life for a bad dog. 

MY BIG FRIGGIN WEDDING: MEET THE MEATBALLS

It’s so refreshing to see a group of New Jersey meatballs simmering in a pot of sauce where they’re being useful, and not simmering in a beach house in Seaside Heights or Miami Beach doing absolutely nothing interesting. Johnny and Megin DeCarlo are possibly one of the most real and inviting couples I have met in a long time. When they invited me into their home in East Rutherford and allowed me to interview them about their roles in Vh1’s upcoming series My Big Friggin’ Wedding I had no idea what I was in store for.

As I crossed the threshold of their home, I was not only overwhelmed by Megin’s warmth and beauty--hugs and kisses on the cheek; smiles and sincere welcomes--but by the fusion of aromas mingling in the air: tomato sauce, parsley, garlic, pork, salt, parmigiano cheese, and braciole. As I stepped into the inner-sanctum of the kitchen, Johnny was standing at the altar of his stove. The noon sun burst through the windows anointing the pot of gravy over which Johnny kept watch. (“Whenever there’s meat in the sauce it’s always called gravy,” Johnny instructed as he swirled the seasoned wooden spoon around his seasoned pot.) As he stirred the sauce, I mean gravy, all you could hear was the slow burp and bubble of the gravy thickening, the tick of the clock on the wall, and the contented murmurs of a baby in his swing. All that was missing from this scene was my Nonna in her housecoat. I swear, I felt like it was 1968 and I was back in my grandmother’s kitchen at 116 Main Street in Fort Lee. Johnny is authentic old school North Jersey Italian.

After making sure that the sauce was seasoned to perfection, Johnny and Megin sat and talked with me about planning a wedding, starting a life, and building a business all while the cameras were rolling. Megin put it perfectly when she said, “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to carry groceries and a baby up the stairs with a camera focused on your behind?”  Johnny found the cameras a little less intimidating which is no surprise since it was his idea to audition for the show. “I saw Vh1’s listing for the show on the internet and I thought, ‘Why not?’”

Why not, indeed! Unlike other reality stars, Megin and Johnny actually have a talent that extends beyond the cameras. They have a business that they are building together “Johnny’s Meatballs.” Let me tell you, coming from a family where Nonna’s meatball recipe was taken to her grave, and my mom and aunts closely guard theirs, I know a little something about meatballs. Mom, cover your ears. Johnny’s meatballs are the best meatballs I have EVER tasted. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s a definite combination of taste and texture that makes them fantastic.  Like every serious Italian cook, Johnny won’t give up his recipe. All he’ll reveal is that his recipe is a blend of both his grandmothers’ meatball recipes. But you don’t have to take my word for it. Corrado’s Market in Clifton and Wayne is now selling them so you can taste them for yourself.

After meeting Johnny and Megin, and seeing the trailers for Vh1’s My Big Friggin’ Wedding, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that they will be the break out stars of the series. It doesn’t matter though. Regardless of what notoriety the show may bring them, they’ll do well for themselves because it’s not all about the show. It’s about staying true to their dream of building a business together. The show is simply an opportunity that may help them to achieve that goal. Finally, hard-working people who make New Jersey proud!  

Vh1’s  My Big Friggin Wedding premiers Monday, November 1^st at 9pm. You can watch full episodes at www.vh1.com.

To see the video of my interview with Megin and Johnny click on the link below:

http://momtomomtv.com/picspicks/mybigfrigginwedding.html