I’ll be the first to admit, I do enjoy watching a good makeover.  It’s amazing what the right hair, make-up, lighting, wardrobe and camera trickery can do for a person.  Look at Barbara Walters … she’s gotta be 104 and yet still looks like she’s in her 70’s.  Babs even had her very own special camera filter created to erase any unflattering lines, wrinkles or bags.  That lens is a miracle worker.

Last week, I got to a story on a local company that does a very specialized type of make-over.  They transform the average hausfrau into one of those iconic pin-ups from the ‘30’s, ‘40’s or ‘50’s.  And the weird thing?  The studio is within walking distance of my house.   Who knew?

The owners, Nikki and Candy, made an appearance at our company’s retro-themed holiday party … glamming up a few of my co-workers a la’ Veronica Lake or Betty Grable.  I was instantly drawn to both of them because they were so intriguing.  There’s cool.  There’s cool as shit.  And then there’s Nikki and Candy.  From the multi-colored hair to the multiple tattoos to the larger than life bosom … they were the single most interesting people I have laid eyes on in five years.  I was determined to make them my new BFFs even if it KILLED me.   I envision us doing cool things like going to the roller derby or getting high at a foreign film festival. 

Nikki started “Vixen Pin-Up Photography” several years ago after dabbling in the industry for a while.  She’s self-taught in the ways of vintage hair and make-up and can duplicate nearly any look.  She makes it look easy.  When I did the story she was busy pulling, teasing and spit-curling hair while maintaining her Chatty Cathy demeanor. 

Check out the story here.

The two friends who I suckered in to getting the make-overs absolutely loved the results.  When we started, they both gave me the ol’ “What have you gotten me into?” look.  But that quickly subsided after seeing some of the amazing before and after shots.

I think the thing I’m most proud of is that Vixen’s phone has literally been ringing off the hook since the story aired.  “And our e-mail blew UP,” Candy mentioned in an e-mail.  It’s always nice to know that people with a unique skill or talent are rewarded.  Both these gals do what they love and love what they do … and it shows.

When I was growing up, my mom worked as a credit manager for a well-known spice conglomerate.   Every day after school, I’d catch a quick whiff of her and instantly know what spice they were processing at the plant.  Even though she worked in a separate building from the factory, she’d still, uh, bring work home with her.

Black pepper days were the worst, she’d say.  She’d complain she was coated in a fine layer of pepper dust.  I always despised when they were packaging curry at the plant.   In small doses, it’s fine.   Otherwise … blech!  Curry permeates and then permanently invades any airspace.   The aroma (read that: smell) would tend to linger on, near or around my mom no matter how many showers she took or spritzes of perfume she’d spray.  To this day, my dad can’t be near the smell of curry without cringing.

Sometimes Mom had a spring in her step.  Those were vanilla extract or lemon verbena days.  She liked working there and made some good friends over the years.  And sure there were a lot of perks – like free spices from time to time.  Or random test recipes that somehow included 46 different spices in varying amounts.

I am forever adding spices to every dish I make.  It reminds me of my mom.  I don’t know if she would be proud … or appalled.  For instance … this morning’s oatmeal had a dash of ginger, a sprinkle of nutmeg, a healthy dose of cinnamon and a light dusting of something called Pumpkin Pie spice.

A tasteless meal is the work of the devil. I simply cannot handle bland food.   Call me Emeril – because it must have a kick.  Or else.  I think my mom’s palate has changed over the years – and not for the better.  She can cook up a storm, but rarely anything with a lot of spice in it anymore.   Case in point, even though she probably has a lifetime supply of cumin, she refuses to so much as try it.   One time my mom and I had a full blown argument about how much garlic I put in a dish.   She will, however, add a sprinkle of paprika to her deviled eggs though – so I know she’s still get a little boom in her bada bing.

So here’s to every chef or chef-in-training out there who goes a little nutty with the nutmeg or psycho with the saffron.  More power to you.  And if you have any ideas how to breathe  new life into my mom’s meatloaf … lemme know.  I’d be eternally grateful.