Famous Foodies Like My Stuff

So I am perusing Food Network magazine the other day when I stumble across this!

It's my cow creamer, the one that started our first registry argument, featured prominently in the house of The Pioneer Woman.

Anyone see a pineapple corer there? No? I thought so.

Take THAT, Scott!

Wherein I Pat Myself on the Back

You guys? I want to kind of brag a little bit here. Some of you longer-time readers may know that I have been seeing a nutritionist. You can see the post where I first see her here and where she talks me off a ledge here and where I realize I need more help than just her here.

I am not going to pretend I met my weight, and consequently my BMI goals.

But another area I had focused on was triglycerides.  High triglycerides can be an indicator of Diabetes, something that is just rampant in my family. I've always been hyper-aware of the possibility that my weight, though less than it used to be, still puts me in a risk area for this disease. Seeing what my father has gone through, as well as myriad other people in my life,  I just don't want to ever have to deal with Diabetes if I don't have to.

My triglycerides  had actually gone higher from my first biometric screening to the next, so I was concerned about the trend. She immediately suggested fish oil and more fiber.

My screening was in February. I had it retested a few weeks ago. 38% lower.

While I am not proud of my lack of weight loss, I am very proud of how much my health has improved.

My nutritionist and I determined we don't need to continue to see each other, but I told her I owe her a lot, and I know I will keep what I learned going forward as I work on improving my body and my lifestyle.

Some of the biggies I learned:

1. Fiber is key for everything. Healthy digestion, weight loss (keeps you full longer), and lowering triglycerides and even bad cholesterol. My favorite sources of fiber have been high-fiber Trader Joe's bread and spinach.

2. Get water where you can. If you're like me and don't love just chugging boring plain old water, try flavored water or flavored seltzer (watch out for added sugar, though) or decaf tea. Lemonade counts, too (again, watch the sugar).

3. Check your sugar. Have I said enough about sugar? Honestly, guys, my diet focus was always on fat. So I did a lot of those 100 calorie packs and yogurts. But when you look at the sugar content of some of these items, it can be quite alarming. Keeping sugar at or around 6 grams is a good guideline. BUT, some things will be higher. I was nervous about these fruit bars from Trader Joes that I ate.

Source: Yummy Diet Food

Well, I needn't have been. My nutritionist declared them almost the perfect snack. Low calorie, has a serving of fruit and/or veggies, and all of the sugar comes naturally. If you see something high in sugar and it comes from fruit or something else naturally high in sugar, check the ingredients to make sure there's nothing added or processed.

4. Supplements can be your friend. I was a bit anxious about adding supplements to my diet. I mean, I take a multivitamin, but otherwise I'm sort of skeptical about adding a bunch of pills to my life. However, I can now say with 100% certainty that fish oil was integral in lowering my triglycerides. I also am taking Vitamin D. I can't point to any particular effect, but I do feel more energetic.

So overall I feel like I have the tools, and now the key is using them correctly.

Have I convinced any of you to see a nutritionist or dietitian? Do you take supplements? What nutrition fact surprises you the most?

Back on the Wagon

You guys, I had a wee bit too much vacation on my vacation, if ya know what I mean. I drank Dunkaccinos almost every day (please, Minnesota, get a Dunkin Donuts IMMEDIATELY), I drank some fabulous wine on the fabulous porch, and I enjoyed so much fried fish, I may have sprouted gills.

I had to face the music when I got back. I was most afraid of my new personal trainer, John. He was surprisingly easy on me. Easier than I was on myself when I saw myself in those gym mirrors. SHUDDER.

Epic diet fail, people.

My roommate and I also admitted that we spent the day I got back in my parents' hot tub (she's house-sitting) drinking Prosecco and downing a family-size pizza.

Sunday we got together and decided we had to get back on the wagon. We took out my humongo binder of recipes and set about creating a meal plan.

 

Instead of doing just a weekly plan, we decided to come up with entree/side combinations for about three weeks and shop every Sunday based on grocery store sales and what we could get at the farmer's market.

When we were done, we were both sort of shocked we hadn't thought of this before. Meal plans can feel so restrictive sometimes. And sometimes you just can't stomach 3 chicken dishes in one week. Sometimes the broccolini just looks so damn good at Trader Joe's, you must have it.

Anyone with me?

Anyway, it's great. Or it will be when we start it next week. We are trying almost 80% new recipes, including veggie sides. We're integrating some good fall-like foods like sweet potatoes.

It's amazing how having a plan can make you feel skinnier in moments.

We also may or may not have set our weight loss goals based on New England Patriots goals.

What? We're kind of dudes sometimes. It happens.

What do you do when you go totally off your meal and/or fitness plan? Do you dive back in or do you have to phase in? Do you go nutty on vacation or stay on plan?

The Corer Was Our Separator

Before we get started here, I'm looking for some good folks to guest post for me in August. Comment here or shoot me an e-mail if you're interested.

Recently, I've been reliving my wedding planning with Kat from Tenaciously Yours. Go visit her and offer your congrats on her recent wedding, which if the pictures are any judge, was a complete party.

I wasn't much into wedding planning myself. I was probably the worst bride, not in a Bridezilla way, but in whatever the opposite is. I just couldn't bring myself to care what colors the tablecloth were or whether the flowers matched the cake. Just didn't care.

I only really cared that I looked good in my dress, people had fun, and the groom showed up.

Also? I kind of cared about the registry.

Our registry was a challenge, our first real one in wedding planning. We had made most of our other wedding decisions very quickly (a necessity since we got engaged in February and married in October), but the registry was a bit of a stumble for us.

Scott was of the mind that we should go for the big ticket items, as we already had between us some of the best kitchen tools out there. I was of the mind that if we went for big ticket items, we'd get nothing from our registry and people would take to buying us what they THINK we should have, and spending the week after my wedding in return lines was less than appealing to me.

So we compromised and agreed we would do one registry at Target for the more reasonable registry items and Williams-Sonoma for our more extravagant wants and needs.

Scott virtually skipped into Williams-Sonoma on registry day. Under normal circumstances, we do not enter this store because I begin howler monkey screeching: "$25 for a measuring cup?? I could get four of those at Target for half the price!!"

So knowing he had carte blanche to wander and admire and shoot a gun at items in Williams-Sonoma may have made him happier than me saying I would marry him.

I began to dream of wine glasses, mugs, and serving ware when I heard my name shouted across the store.

Scott was standing near a saleswoman whose eyes told me she was getting commission and was about to buy herself a new living room set.

Thank God I was smart enough to keep the gun myself, but I wandered over and indulgently smiled at the saleswoman. She showed us what I like to call the "trinket aisle." You know the one, right? Magnetic conversion charts, mini spatulas, cookie cutters.

And the piece de resistance: a pineapple slicer and corer.

I wish I had taken a picture of Scott's face when he saw this.

Never mind we had never had a pineapple in our time together. Never mind that we had registered for some very expensive knives that would quite easily cut a pineapple.

HE.HAD.TO.HAVE.THE.EFFING.CORER!!

I could not talk him out of it.

In retaliation, I registered for a cow coffee creamer. The creamer comes out of the cow's mouth in a barf-like manner.

Source: Williams-Sonoma

So we do the gift opening, and I get the cow coffee creamer and everyone who has heard our story dies laughing.

Scott is slightly pouting. We are corer-less.

For Christmas this past year, my parents broke down and bought Scott the pineapple corer and slicer.

Scott, this is the closest you'll get to a "you were right."

I confess, we do buy pineapple once a month or so. I confess, the pineapple corer and slicer is pretty slick. I confess getting a whole pineapple and cutting it is more economical. I confess a grilled pineapple is one of the most amazing summer treats ever.

Allow me to demonstrate:


Cut the top off the pineapple.



THE CORER!

Corer goes in. I totally forgot to cut off the bottom of the pineapple. Rookie mistake.



So I had to cut the skin off the sides.

Out comes the core! Easy peasy!

Cut up to put on the grill. Is there ANYTHING better than pineapple on the grill????

 
So what registry arguments did you have, or what is on your dream registry when you get hitched?

You Don't Know Me! Death By Chocolate Chip

Since I have doubled my readership in the last few months (thanks for coming to see me!) I've decided to do a little experiment. On Thursdays I'll be posting some items from the first year of blogging under the title You Don't Know Me!
Posted originally in May 2010.



Oh my gosh, I almost experienced ACTUAL death by chocolate! You hear about it, but you don’t think it’s true. And then, it happens to you.

So, my girlfriend and I get together once a week or so and have movie nights. We pick completely random movies at least one of us hasn’t seen and we take turns hosting. It’s all very low key and relaxing: the host provides dinner (usually Chinese) and the guest provides dessert and booze.

So it’s my turn to go to her house and I am having a bad week. Like just record-breaking blahs. And while nothing cures the blahs like a good old-fashioned movie night, the idea of getting in the car and getting there just exhausts. So adding extra stops for booze and dessert? Forget it. So there’s a liquor store nearby that I know keeps champagne cold and I am in a cheap champagne mood.

Next door is a little Mexican gas station/taco stand. Yup, you read that right. In the middle of the country…in a gas station. Anyway, I get the lightbulb that I can just go ahead and buy the “dessert” right there in the gas station. So I go in looking for a bag of cookies. I’ll say this: bless my friend for loving cheap cookies and even cheaper booze. I’ve cooked for her and she’s graciously eaten it all, but I swear nothing makes the girl happier than a bag of Milanos and that’s why we’re friends.

Only this isn’t exactly that kind of gas station/taco stand, know what I mean? They’re selection isn’t exactly vast. But for some reason in my exhaustion, I find this funny and so end up purchasing the rather festive-looking cookie box you see here. Cute, right? She’s making a little Russian dish for me so I figure I’ll bring her a little Spanish dish of my own.

So I pay and leave and go get my champagne. I’ve parked between the liquor store and the gas station/taco stand, so about 20 feet from both. I am in my car, about to shut the door when I hear this little voice call out to me in a thick Mexican accent “hellooooo?” So I turn around and a Mexican man wearing an apron is waving at me. But he’s not moving off the sidewalk by the store. He’s just like yelling to me, which kind of weirds me out.

I start to stress a little because this is a small parking lot and it’s empty. And also, irrationally, I’m freaked out about speaking Spanish. I hate when I do this! The thing is: I know Spanish. And I know in situations like this, where he’s gearing up for a big conversation, I could probably speak Spanish and cut through it all much quicker.

Instead, I panic. I do this totally circular self-fulfilling prophecy when it comes to my fluency in Spanish. I am, in fact, half Puerto Rican. And also, in fact, am fluent in Spanish. But you get me around native speakers and I just melt into my little Irish girl half. I don’t know what it is. Well, that’s not true, I do. I am self-conscious about sounding stupid so I won’t speak it in front of native speakers. Which means I don’t speak it often. Which means when I DO have to speak it, it sounds awkward and I stutter and then that makes me not want to speak it in front of native speakers.

Ok, so all of this is going through my mind as I stare blankly at him. So he asks “how much did you pay for those cookies?”

So, remember I’m tired, right? Bad week? A million things are going through my mind like “did I overpay? Underpay? Is he going to tell me I got ripped off? Does he have some sort of cheap cookie connection he wants to introduce me to?

Side note: this is why I can’t do yoga anymore. My brain REFUSES to slow down and make sense. And it for sure won’t stop to concentrate on my breathing. The classes were TORTURE for me. The whole time, my mind would be going a mile a minute: “that girl shouldn’t wear such short shorts; I hope nobody is behind me, if they’re behind me they’ll see how fat my ass is; I wonder what would happen if I fell over right now? Would they laugh or are they too zen for that? Because I would laugh, but I also can’t do a perfect tree pose without falling over, so they’re all better than me.” And then the worst part is the end when you’re just supposed to lay there and like reflect on the beauty of a dewdrop on the water or whatever? Yeah, then I go into overdrive: “Okay, so just turn off, brain. We won’t think about anything. Is thinking about not thinking about something thinking about it? I should stop. The person next to me looks very serene. Crap! I’m supposed to have my eyes closed. But so is the instructor so if she calls me out, then she’s just a phony, right?” And then all of a sudden it’s like “Namaste” and I feel totally gypped.

Anyway, so I told the man I paid $3.99 for the cookies. And he says “too much, they’re really bad, you should get your money back.” And I’m like, wow, there are lots of things in life I don’t like, but I can’t think of a time that I’ve actually stood outside to persuade someone not to do it. I mean that’s ballsy! So I shout back “well, I don’t mind giving them a try” because I can’t imagine going back in and explaining to the man behind the counter that the other dude who sells tacos told me these cookies sucked and could you please return my $3.99, thank you? It’s just too awkward.

So I see him turn and look at someone, who I later realize is the dude who sold me the cookies, and then he says “they’re old!” And again, stupid brain goes, old, like old school? And I start thinking about pop rocks and other candy I haven’t seen in awhile and maybe he’s just letting me know that his generation is smarter about these things and therefore knows that they’re total crap cookies.

And he’s getting more and more riled up. And I’m getting more and more weirded out because, dude, no matter what you say, I’m not getting out of my car to return the cookies. The whole reason I got them at your gas station/taco stand was because I was too lazy to go down the street to the multiple grocery stores or gas stations I could encounter that would have had Milanos instead of your, apparently, crap cookies.

And for some reason this like rebellious teenager in me comes out and I’m thinking: “well, now I will try the damn cookies and I will love them. Who tells me not to like cookies?” The gall! And again while I am doing this he is frantically whispering to the dude who sold me the cookies and finally as I am putting my seat belt on yells “expired! They expired! It would be better for you to return.”

And now I’m just embarrassed. And guilty because maybe if I had just spoken Spanish to the guy we would have been on the same page. Only I don’t know the Spanish word for expired. Crap, my fluency is fading.

So I’m feeling bad in general because I was all “I should speak English, it’s better” and made him struggle to explain to me the cookies I purchased were bad. And also feeling bad because first I’ve pegged this guy as some sort of back-alley cookie connection, then as some sort of anti-cookie crank, when in reality all he’s doing is trying not to poison me. I’m too embarrassed to reply so I just wave and take off.

I stop a ways down the road. And sure as hell: expired June 2009. Think about that. Think about the shelf life of a crappy generic cookie. I think that cookie could have been made while I still had braces on!

But don’t think for a second I wasn’t still tempted to try the cookies. Instead, $3.99 down the tubes.

Keeping the Home Fires Burning

On one very hot day in May when my husband was away, I looked at my roommate and declared "I am going to have to use the grill."

We've had the grill since we moved into our house three years ago now. I refused to touch it. Refused, in fact, to go near it until early spring when Scott insisted I learn how to turn it on.

Luckily for all of us, the instructions on turning this machine on are also on the grill itself. Yet, still, I held my breath.

When it was time to hit the ingite button, I scooted as far back as humanly possible so that only the EDGE of my finger was near enough to be singed off when the entire thing exploded. I mean, let's face it, I would NOT look cute sans eyebrows.

In a frightening WHOOSH, the thing was alive and I was cooking with gas.

I managed to burn neither myself nor my dinner.

I was pretty damn proud of myself. But also still totally petrified of the grill.

During another heat spell here in Minnesota, I bucked up. Because I telecommute, I am the one who is responsible for at least getting dinner started. And there was no way said dinner was going to be made in my house.

Having not experienced my first success at the grill, I was excited to show Scott what I knew. And to my delight, so was he. In fact, three grilled meals later, he declared me a Grill Mastress.

For Father's Day I suggested we grill and asked him what he wanted. He gave me the menu and then dropped this little bomb: he was turning the tongs over to me!

You read that right, the man told me I was a better griller than he, and that I should go with my strengths.

My strengths being, I think, an ability to not open the grill to check on meat 100 times in five minutes, therefore regulating the grill temperature to some degree of accuracy.

Anyway, I was only too glad to take the task on, feeling like kind of a badass. Kind of like the first time in my single life I used an electric drill and did a Tim Allen grunt before putting together my Target bookshelf.

You know who wasn't glad? Scott's dad. HORRIFIED, in fact. Throughout the entire dinner, he just kept shaking his head and said "can't believe you turned grilling over to your wife. It's the only thing we men can do other than sit and drink beer."

Well, no argument on the latter part, anyway.

My husband shrugged his shoulders, complimented me on an awesome kabob, and went about his beer drinking.

That, my friends, is why I married this man. Secure enough in his manhood to occasionally give me good shoe advice and gracious enough to let the best man win in the grilling war.

Who does the grilling in your house? Safe to say I'll be grilling our 4th food. What's on your menu this glorious LONG WEEKEND??

It Amounted to a Hill of Beans

In reading the Baconista's post on Memorial Day Baked Beans, I wrote a rather snarky comment back about my husband.

My husband, since I have known him, has created much ado about his mother’s baked beans recipe. They called them “funeral beans” because apparently everyone in their family (and all around Minnesota, actually) brought this type of bean casserole type thing to funerals. Other events, too, but they were just known as “funeral beans.”

There’s really nothing less appetizing to me than sugary beans right up until you put “funeral” in front of them. I’m about as interested in sampling those as I am attending an open-casket wake, which is to say not at all.

But my husband has had something of a rough year and so this year when he once again brought up the funeral beans, I agreed we should get the recipe.

Then I came down with what is known around these parts as “The Baby Plague,” which any mother with a child in daycare or school will know all too well.

For those not familiar, The Baby Plague is when your child brings home some sort of Rhesius Monkey Transplant bubonic nonsense every other kid has at school.

One of us ALWAYS fall victim to The Baby Plague…typically whoever it would be most inopportune for. My roommate’s experience with The Baby Plague came when she was about to take the bar exam. My husband’s came right before a week-long trip for work. And mine came right before our week-long baby-less vacation. And apparently the universe thought it would be my turn again.

This has little to do with anything other than that I was in no condition to make funeral beans for Memorial Day. Or anything.

So he gets the recipe and sets to work, and his mother calls repeatedly to second-guess the recipe, until she goes to Target and assures him the measurements are right. And I am delirious and trying to keep the toddler entertained while simultaneously coughing so hard I throw up, and so I’m just not overly interested in the whole endeavor.

So the beans are made and he seems happy and Wee ‘Burb ingests, oh, approximately 100 pounds of beans.

And this is when I sort of become alert because I’m thinking “oh the hell that will be this diaper” and already touching my nose for the universal sign of “not it” when I kind of giggle.

Because my husband was distracted by my threats of divorce if he thought for ONE SECOND I was changing the diaper when HE was the one who made this child eat BEANS for Pete’s sake, he did not notice my chuckle. .

The super secret mystery Funeral Beans recipe? Was basically a couple cans of Bush’s baked beans, some hamburger, and a buttload of sugar.

Now some of you who enjoy the kind of comical banter I enjoy with my husband are waiting now for the punchline of what I said and how I got him to confess that this mystery was kind of a letdown.

I said nothing.

And here’s why.

Growing up, my mom baked twice a year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. We savored EVERY treat that woman made because we knew once the holidays were over, so were the cookies and bars and peanut butter balls. And most important to me growing up: The Jello Pudding Pie.

You guys, I still salivate like a Pavlovian dog at a dinner bell when I see the box of Jello.

I thought my mother did something magic with that box, you see, because we’d had the jiggly fruit Jello and ain’t no pie coming from THAT! And because she made it but twice a year, I was sure there was some magic in that old black box she found.

So cut to YEEEEARS later when I am going over to Scott’s sister’s house for one of the first times, possibly the first. You need to know before I tell the rest of this that his sister is like super insane gourmet girl. We should just call them The Foodie Family and we should just all bow to their superior food knowledge and culinary skills.

I thought: I will wow them, I will make my mom’s super famous delicious Jello Pudding Pie.

But it was last minute and I was racing through the aisles trying to figure out what I would need so I could call my mom and get the recipe on the fly. And Scott, he was so good, he was so quiet. And finally he could take no more and he showed me the back of the box, where the recipe for Jello Pudding Pie was.

But…surely that couldn’t be my Mom’s Jello Pudding Pie. Because…well, no, because this had approximately 3 steps and required ingredients everyone has at home.

I think you guys can guess how this ended. I went to his sister’s house with a Jello Pudding Pie of SHAME and they were nice enough not to mock me incessantly, and Scott married me anyway, and his sister is the sister I never had…

And this is why I could not put the fun in “funeral beans.”

Where were you when you first demystified a super secret family recipe? It reminds me of the episode of Friends where Phoebe discovers the cookies she grew up were not from Nestlay Toolhauz, but rather Nestle Tollhouse.

Veggie Tales: What I Learned This Month

Today I'm also blogging over at Imperfect Home where you can witness organization gone wild when I tackle how to organize meat. Yup, you heard me, MEAT. I also give away a great recipe for sweet potato cottage pie. And if that doesn't tempt you, Kristin's amazing ideas of working with small spaces and organizing a home with the ptitter patter of dirty feet surely will!

Last week I completed another meeting with my dietitian. I'm still not happy with the way the scale is going. But I do notice I am almost down an entire size of pants and my bathing suit fits significantly better. Also, my energy levels are AMAZING! Since I've cut out caffeine and focused on eating cleaner, I am finding I don't have that 3:00 crash I used to have.

Don't worry if you don't believe me, I didn't either until I experienced it.

Because she is looking to distract me from my uber-focus on the scale, this meeting we focused on two things: water and veggies.

The focus on water was brief. She had previously recommended I get 70 ounces of water because of how much I work out. You guys, I TRIED! I did. But as I put it to my very amused dietitian: "I'd have to quit my job." I told her the second I hit 60 ounces, I have to move in to the bathroom. So we agreed 60-64 would be sufficient. And not require that I usurp Wee 'Burb's potty chair for my office.

So the veggies. I struggle a bit to get the right amounts of fruits and veggies. Fruit I like to snack on. I have switched one snack a day to either apples with cheese or a smoothie. So fruit and I are simpatico.

Veggies? Well that's a bit tougher. I'm good at getting them in at dinner time as a side dish. But throughout the day, it's just not that exciting. So we discussed at least making half my dish (versus a quarter) veggies to at least get what I can in.

The benefit to doing this at dinner is also that it would reduce portions of other food. Filling up on veggies would mean less of whatever the main entree was, ultimately reducing calories.

I told her this would be simple pimple because we've been hitting the farmer's market lately. She asked what we get and I ruminated on the pretty zucchini and corn. I bragged about this sweet potato cottage pie I had made full of corn and peas. And she's kind of coughing and going "That's...great. Only those are starches, not really vegetables."

Mind? BLOWN!

I had been slipping corn and peas (frozen) into a ton of dishes recently. These are also starches. Add to that list any potato, parsnip, pumpkin and other assorted squash.

Now it's not that they're bad, necessarily. I mean a starch like these are better than pasta or bread. But still, a bit of a heartbreaker. Especially because Scott has been giving me the eye when I serve spinach of late, an expression that clearly says "We are going to review our marriage contract if you serve me wilted spinach with lemon juice ONE MORE TIME, Woman."

So because I haven't been doing well with weight loss goals, I'm switching it out and focusing on what I eat. This month's decision was made for me: we'll be focusing on veggies. Specifically, how to dress up the sides so we can eat non-starchy veggies and meet the recommended servings.

Do you love veggies? Did you know the difference between starches and veggies? How do you dress up your veg and still keep it healthy?

What's In Your Kitchen?

When Scott and I were registering for our wedding, we were totally stuck. Because we had both lived on our own for quite some time, and we were both foodies, it was virtually impossible to find something that we didn't have. A lot of our presents were things like mugs and serving dishes that were upgraded versions of what we had.

I saw this list from Gal Time and it made me think about what I have in my kitchen now, and my top 5 kitchen loves.

1. My Cuisinart. For the obvious reasons of chopping and shredding. But I also used it extensively when I was making baby food, and it saved me from having to purchase one of those $300 combo baby food makers. I just used our steamer and then threw it in the Cuisinart. Because this bad boy wasn't cheap, I also got a cheaper Hamilton Beach one for Target when it went on sale for $30. It does not chop as well, but works on simple veggies and makes a decent smoothie. I also have a smaller one for a single onion or herbs.

2. My Salt Pig. Scott saw these on Top Chef and he basically did the adult equivalent of "please, mommy" over and over until I got one for him. This one was VERY cheap on Amazon and it's served us well. It's survived many a top-over from a clumsy cook. And there's just NOTHING like tossing in some salt straight from this bowl that makes me feel like a legit chef.

3. My Go-To Cookbook: How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman. I got this when I first got my apartment and was scared about doing ANYTHING with food. I mean, down to how to hard boil an egg, this book has everything! I highly recommend the banana bread and cookie recipes. MAGIC! My uncle gave this to me and even added his own specially made seal of approval. Because that's how my family rolls.

4. My Herb Scissors. I got these for Christmas and I ADORE them. Have I mentioned I am a lazy cook? So often I would try to rip or coarsely chop my herbs and so some people would get potatoes with a mouthful of rosemary and other pieces would have none. My FAVORITE feature is that it has a stem cutter at the base. Genius and cheap!

5. My Herb Keeper. I used almost exclusively dried herbs before I got these bad boys about two years ago. I was so tired of spending money on cilantro and parsley when I used barely a TBSP of them. Now thanks to my meal planning and supercook.com I can use more. Still, with the Herb Keeper, I can keep them fresh for two weeks or more (leafy ones like parsley and cilantro hit about 2 weeks, but stronger ones like rosemary can last closer to 3).

So what are your five favorite kitchen items?

Walk This Way...PLEASE!

We had a long week last week in these here parts. Scott had to be gone for a week, and every time this happens, I have a mini meltdown. Single moms out there: you guys are just awesome. I have nothing more to say.

So Scott comes home and I welcome him with another meltdown. Once again about Wee ‘Burb’s walking. Guys? I want to be the enlightened Mom here that echoes what EVERYONE tells us, which is “she will do it on her own time.”

But now that we’re at 17 months, I’m not so cool with her calling the shots timing-wise. So Thursday she ripped holes in her jeans because she refused to walk even with her little car outside at daycare. She just crawled around…on the asphalt.

And the truth is, our doctor asked us to take her in at 17 months if she wasn’t walking. That was two weeks ago. Before we left for San Francisco, we were sure she would walk. When we got back from San Franciso, we were SURE she would walk. So we didn’t call.

Nothing. In fact, she’s actually less interested in walking, which was what finally led me to my meltdown and the call to the doctor. Or, well it was that and the fact that I picked her up at daycare and a 10-month-old met me at the door and pulled himself up on the baby gate (yes, yes, I know you’re not supposed to compare, use the ruler and rap my bad mom knuckles, I’ll wait).

So Friday, I took Wee ‘Burb to our awesome pediatrician, who we call Mother Goose. I told her everything that Wee ‘Burb does on her feet and Mother Goose laughed. She said “ain’t nothing wrong with that kid.” That's medical jargon for "she's a stubborn donkey."

I got Wee ‘Burb to take a few steps with me holding her hands, and then she flung herself on the floor. I pointed at her like “SEE? SEE WHAT I HAVE TO DEAL WITH?”

Because I’m mature and rational like that.

Mother Goose told us that basically she saw nothing wrong, but did see that Wee ‘Burb had a wide stance and may benefit from physical therapy evaluation in terms of the strength of her hips.

I thought I would feel better, somehow. Like, okay, this isn’t catastrophic and I didn’t ruin her by not taking her in before. But I somehow felt worse because I want answers beyond the usual diagnosis we hear, which is my baby is a bit of a jerk. Oh, like you’re not thinking it!

Anyway, in the midst of this discussion the doctor asked if Wee ‘Burb had any sensitivity to textures to determine if there was any issue with certain walking surfaces. I laughed and said “only with her food.”

Whoooops.

Mother Goose got me to confess that I was still occasionally feeding Wee ‘Burb purees so she’d get the protein from the meat she refused to eat.

Mother Goose lovingly pokes Wee ‘Burb in the tummy and goes “you’re not a baby anymore!” And then looks me in the eyes and goes “you’re getting played, girlfriend!”

So the new rule is that we have to give her what we eat. And if she doesn’t eat it, she doesn’t eat. This has been met with mixed results in our very limited experience, though I can see the theory and how it works. When she’s hungry enough, she’ll eat what I put in front of her.

I’m sure there will be comments about this. I understand it falls in the dubious category of “crying it out” that some will feel is neglectful or psychologically harmful. But I do trust my doctor, she hasn’t led me astray thus far.

When I was a baby and a picky eater, my parents made the rule that if I didn’t eat what they ate, I had peanut butter and jelly. What they didn’t count on was I NEVER got sick of peanut butter so frankly, I was a picky eater until well into my 20s. I don’t want a food war with Wee ‘Burb, so we’ll see how it goes.

My first experiment with broccoli (I figured we'd start with veggies, which she's less anxious about than meat) hasn’t gone well with her. I’m putting the recipe on the bottom of this post if you’re interested. Even though I got it from a toddler recipe site, I have to say it was a hit with us adults, which was good b/c she didn’t touch them for 2 meals.

Speaking of food, we made our first fresh ham for Easter!

I didn’t get a picture of it actually done because I had quite a few Mimosas before the in-laws arrived. But it was beautiful and our house smells like herbs and meat. How can you beat that?

Do you or did you make your toddler eat what you eat? What was on your Easter plate?

Broccoli Bites

8 oz (1 cup) frozen broccoli florets
4 oz (1 cup) dry breadcrumbs
6 oz (1 1/2 cups) Cheddar, grated
2 1/2 tbsp water
2 1/2 tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 tsp baking powder

Heat the oven to 375 deg F, 190 deg C.
Cook the broccoli, then drain and chop well.
Combine with the remaining ingredients and mix well.
Form the mixture into nugget shapes and place on a greased baking tray, about 3in apart.
Bake for 20-25 mins, turning halfway through the cooking time.
Serve warm.

Ramen Like It's 1999!

Are you a spring cleaner?

I have great intentions of doing this every year. Purging, organizing, de-cobwebbing, washing windows inside and out. I usually get through a room or two and give up.

The sheer amount of STUFF just puts me in a funk. It’s hard to clean when you’re depressed by the vast array of crap you need to clean.

But there is one room where I do constant spring cleaning: the kitchen. I’m obsessed with keeping up with my kitchen. I clean out my fridge and cabinets once a week. I make notes of what’s nearing a due date and check out my trusty SuperCooks website to see what I can make with it.

Now, I’m not perfect. An errant fuzzy eggplant or stinky spinach has escaped my grasp in my crisper drawer.

But I have no explanation for this.

Everyone in my house denies culpability. We moved here in 2008. I’m 99.9% sure that the cabinets were empty when we moved in. I recall giving them a good scrubdown.

And yet. 1999.

Random Humping and a Plea for Guest Bloggers

So, I just have loads of randomness for you today. Photos included, kiddies!

But first, might I do a little begging? I’ll be in Sunny California April 2-9 and I would so very much love to have a few guest bloggers fill this space. Interested? E-mail me please at stephanieinsuburbia at yahoo.

Okay, so first of all, yesterday marked about 2 weeks since the poor dog has been outside. So I took her to the dog park so she could get her run on. I stepped over the many, many mud puddles. She did not.

Which resulted in a messy car. Thank goodness I had one of Wee 'Burb's baby blankets there, since I didn't think to bring a towel.

An even messier puppy. Which resulted in this.

Cous Cous always looks so traumatized when I bathe her. She’s good and sits in the sink, but she just looks so abused.

That same night Wee ‘Burb came home with THE WORST diaper rash ever. She’s had some unpleasant ones, and she never cries. But this time, the second I touched her she screamed to the point I started crying.

So I did the old-school thing and let her “air it out.”

I texted my roommate “beware nekkid baby and ninja dog.”

We call Cous Cous “ninja dog” when we take her collar off because we purposely left her tags noisy. You know how you can buy those plastic collar silencers so they don’t jingle? Well a week after we got her, we realized that jingle was all that was standing between us and dog pee somewhere in the house. So for a few hours after her bath she gets freedom from the collar.

So you’re sitting on the couch and enjoying an adult beverage when all of a sudden something hops up next to you. You spill said adult beverage, scream at the ninja dog, and then don’t know where she goes to pout. It’s all dangerous, people.

So yeah, my roommate and husband come home to a bare naked baby and a wayward silent dog. Y’all, could we BE more backwoods?

The naked baby? Resulted in this.

This morning I had an appointment with a dietician. It was actually really interesting. But I was so flustered when I got there.

First, I was harangued by the front desk lady about my ID badge. I haven’t worked in an office in years. I only showed her the badge because I couldn’t remember my license plate number to register as a guest. Since my information hadn’t been updated since 2005, she shoved me over to the security department and I got to see my fat face updated with my new name. Or, well not really new since I got married two-and-a-half years ago.

Then I spent like 5 minutes using my badge to try to enter the clinic. It’s set inside the office, so I assumed I had to use it. A woman finally comes to rescue me. “You just have to push, not pull.”

Awwwkward.

Anyway, while I waited for the dietician they gave me an iPad to play with. If you’re new here, I am not a fan of the Apple.


A sample of my hatred from that post:

I make it there at 12:00 and am greeted by another iPad, who tells me “One of the Genuises will be with you shortly…or is it Genui?” Hardee har…shut it, Face Pubes.

I’m told to wait on a bench. I should say here, in these stores the Genius Bars are elevated about 20 feet. The benches are practically on the floor. Remember when you grew up and your parents would be like “oh they’ll all be working for you someday?” These are those kids. We’re not working for them, necessarily, but we are going to bow before their ability to get us mobile entertainment at our fingertips.

This was a bunch of diet apps, I guess. I twisted it and turned it and then kind of wondered what the point was. If I found a recipe I liked, what was I going to do with it? Anyway, I am comfortable with my decision to not do anything with Apple. Other than my previously purchased iPod.

Stay tuned for a post on the stuff I learned at the dietician, a very impressive visit.

So I was at Target, and Chaz was ringing me up. He totally looked like his name. He kept smirking, and at first I thought it was because of the feminine products I was purchasing.

I remember when I used to be all embarrassed about buying that stuff. BICOAK (Before I Crapped Out a Kid). Then he kind of giggled. He goes “you wanted me to super pack this, right?” I had given him a cloth bag and told him to fill it to the top. I nodded, and he kept smirking.

I think somehow he was overly pleased with himself for packing 10 pounds of groceries in my little bag. I was slightly annoyed, and then he packed this together, and it amused me.




Bananas Packed in Wee 'Burb's Monkey Easter Basket.



So that’s it here. How has your week been? And please remember to let me know if you want to guest blog!

You Are Getting Verrrrry Sleeeeeepy......

So those of you who saw Office Space (I’m not the only one who watches it after a bad work week, right?), will recall the iconic scene in which Peter’s girlfriend (who IS cheating on him, by the way) gets hypnotized into a very relaxed state…one he doesn’t actually wake up from because the hypnotist croaks mid-wake.

Looking for anything…I mean, ANYTHING…that could take me out of my weight loss plateau, I came across a community ed class for hypnosis for weight loss.

So I roped my roommate into it. Or we roped each other. I’m not sure how it went down, but in the beginning of February, we were sitting in a high school classroom, pillows in hand, ready to be launched into a world where we hated food, loved exercise, and drank only water.

We walked in to sign up and the woman hands us a blue card with our names and the word “CANCEL” on it. So immediately I am all worked up and ask the woman why mine says “CANCEL.” She gruffly states: “I will tell you about that, you may sit down.”

Methinks she needs Hypnosis for ‘Tude Loss. But I digress.

So we sit down, cards and details in hand. And then Tude gets up and starts talking. And talking. Aaaaaand talking.

At the 22 minute mark I looked over at my roommate and whispered “do you…do you think this is part of the hypnosis?” I mean, seriously, does being bored and STARVING make you a better candidate for successful hypnosis?

Class started at 6 p.m. and was supposed to go to 8, we figured we could get out at 7 and eat. I was a little miffed because the smokers had an hour while we got hypnotized to go off and have a last smoke. I thought I deserved a last doughnut, thank you!

So, does being bored and starving and cranky make you a better candidate for successful hypnosis?

After quoting articles from well before I was born and going on and on about how great hypnosis is (which, I understand she probably frequently has to legitimize her profession, I get that. But we paid $50 to be in her presence, it’s safe to say on some level we believe this is legitimate enough to waste a few hours and some dough on, let’s get on with the tick tock, lady!), she finally hits the lead on how she became a hypnotist.

She was in a very abusive relationship, got a horrible divorce, and promptly (understandably) went into a dark depression. Wanting to get off meds, she sought a hypnotist, and within a year she had a new relationship, a new job, and a happy family. She was sold and made this her career.

I kind of liked the idea that this had worked for her (even if she was gruff in the beginning), but I was ridiculously starved by this point and you could hear stomachs growling and people shifting in their seats.

Finally, around 7:15 (yes, seriously, she talked for over an hour!) she sent the smokers off and got to work on us chubbers. To say it got off to a rocky start would be a bit of an understatement.

As she’s guiding us through imagery, she did the “deeper and deeeeeper” thing from Office Space and my roommate and I both had to swallow our giggles.

Then she said “you will feel like a wet noooooodle” and we both giggled again and I was starting to be concerned we were going to be the first people ever to get kicked out of hypnosis.

Then she took us through some imagery, and we were told to see a red light and the word “CANCEL” (which is supposed to be our mental mantra when we want food we are not supposed to have, it’s supposed to “cancel” the desire, and that’s why it was written on our card). And then…

Yeah, that’s all I remember.

I promptly fell asleep.

I woke up about 10 minutes later, so I figured. She was bringing us back to the count of 5 and I giggled again thinking “what if someone busted in here right now? Would I become anorexic because I was so relaxed and hating food?”

But we were brought back. And then told it had been actually 40 minutes of relaxation and hypnosis.

Which means, I slept for 30 of it!

We were sent home with CDs and the card guaranteeing us lifetime revisits should we need them.

My roommate and I promptly went and ate cheese curds and tater tots, fairly convinced and concerned this had little effect on us.

So, did it?

Well yes.

Now, before you guys get all excited, I have not lost a significant amount of weight. BUT, there have been drastic changes to my lifestyle as it relates to food. Changes I believe will contribute to better sustainable weight loss in my future.

1. Diet Coke. I am addicted. This was one of the hardest things next to wine that I had to give up when I was pregnant. I drink at least 2 cans a day, and that is only because I strictly limit myself to these portions. Were it up to me, I could easily finish a 24 pack in a week. Now? After adding a little programming in (with the CD, you get times in the hypnosis, assuming you can stay awake, where you can add in other things like biting your nails, or specific items you wish to avoid), I have to tell you, I’ve had 3 total in the last month. And each one has been worse than the last. The CD is programmed to tell you soft drinks will taste metallic. I’ve tested in 3 times. It’s 100% true. Do not ask me how this is so, but it is. I no longer like Diet Coke.

2. Coffee and other caffeinated beverages. Same as above. Now, I still drink coffee every morning, but I used to pour tons of Sweet and Low in it and drink 3-4 cups. Now? I sprinkle some Sweet and Low in, and can only really stomach 1 or 2 cups before I begin to experience the horrible aftertaste.

3. I heart water. Guys, I can’t describe how I loathe water. It’s just so booooring! Getting 3 cups a day was a GOAL of mine before this. And that was more just “okay, your body needs water after working out, not Diet Coke.” Now? I drink 4-6 bottles a day, and that’s only because I had to impose limits of no water after 6 or I was up all night going to the bathroom.

These are little things, right? You’re thinking, “that’s great, Stephanie, but those little items are not going to lose you that much weight.”

And you are totally right.

What will, though? My awareness of what I am eating and why.

Before hypnosis, almost every Friday night we would order pizza, polish off a bottle of wine, and watch TV. I thought about it, but only casually. “Well, this is a good cheat day, I have worked hard, I deserve one day not to fret about food.” And yeah, that would have been mildly acceptable (as much as constantly rewarding yourself with food is acceptable) if it weren’t for the fact that I let that thought carry me through my weekend.

Now?

Friday night, Scott brought home leftover pizza from work (he’s been forbidden from ordering pizza since my hypnosis). It sat in the fridge, mocking me. I was hungry.

I stopped, took a deep breath, said “CANCEL” and walked away.

I was still hungry.

I ate a banana and a small piece of chocolate…not the whole bar, an actual serving size piece of chocolate. That pizza, tempting as it was, stood in its plastic wrap because I THOUGHT about what I was eating and why.

So what do you think? Do you reward yourself for food? Has you or anyone you known ever done hypnosis? Would you ever consider being hypnotized?

Funky Friday and a Comfort Food Recipe

Have you ever just been in a funk? It starts small, then builds and builds and builds to the point that when something big does come your way, you are just too exhausted, too emotionally spent, to deal with it as effectively as you know you should?

I recently read an article that said January 17th is usually the saddest day of the year, because it’s about then that resolutions fall off and you realize (I am paraphrasing here) that this year is going about as well as the last, which is to say not that well.

For me, it started small. Scott had been telling me all year that he had heard people can get addicted to chapstick with petroleum jelly. He would always stare pointedly at the new 3-pack of cherry chapstick I had just purchased.

So I figured I would give something else a try. When I was at Trader Joes, I picked up their all-natural chapstick, no jelly.

Two days later, I broke out all over my chin. And my lips were cracking, and a cold sore was starting. I was HORRIFIED! We’re talking puberty break-out here, not just a pimple here or there. My entire face was COVERED. And if you guys ever suffered this as a youngster, it’s painful. You can feel them crawling out of your skin, and as much as you know you need to keep your hands off them, you’re just constantly touching your face. Are they still there? Are they gone yet?

This is, by far, the worst breakout I have had in probably 15 years. I had horrible skin when I was a teenager, I was constantly in the dermatologist’s office. I thought, years later, I had really gotten control over this demon. To have it come back like this, this insidious little disease, was (as vain and lame as it sounds) devastating.

I’m not proud of my reaction. My 12-year-old self came crawling out of the cocoon and promptly forced me to hide. I didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to see people.
That same week I stepped on the scale. And somehow I had gained 3 pounds. No big deal, right? Well, add that to the 5 I gained over the holidays and I was beyond behind my goal. I have a wedding to be in at the end of March and I am just devastated to get this behind with so little time left to go.

Now, what I should do? I should focus on losing what I can. Still trying to get those 10 pounds off so that I can still fit into my dress. Will I look as good as what I wanted? Of course not. But, at least I would be on my way to that goal. I should just set a new goal, right?

What did I do instead?

I skipped my gym classes, and didn’t work out at home because I was just so depressed.

This combined with big changes at work (all good in the long run, but any change is scary, especially when it’s not initiated by you), financial concerns (again, nothing major, just some things that may change future plans), and an upcoming daycare vacation that requires me to try to line up back-up care for Wee ‘Burb…well, I didn’t handle any of those well.

It just left me unable to focus, and unable to pinpoint what it is that has got me so down. I truly think it’s just a funk, bordering on a little seasonal affective disorder trying to live in 10 below temperatures and feet of snow for weeks on end.

I am happy to say I am pulling out of it. I am tracking my food, working out religiously, working on fixing my skin, having fun with my new makeup, and working out a new budget.

To that end, here is my favorite low-fat comfort food recipe for turkey chili, which I have been obsessively making every week for the last month. Every time I make this, people are SHOCKED that it’s not beef. I used a Weight Watchers recipe as a basis and added more turkey and twice as much beans as the recipe calls for.

What do you do to get out of a funk? Do you have a go-to comfort food recipe?

Turkey Chili

1 spray(s) cooking spray
1 tsp canola oil
1 large onion(s), chopped
2 clove(s) (medium) garlic clove(s), minced
1 pound(s) Turkey
2 medium carrot(s), thinly sliced into rounds
2 Tbsp chili powder
1 Tbsp paprika
1 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp ground cumin
2 medium tomato(es), chopped or 1 can diced tomatoes (drained)
1 cup(s) canned tomato sauce
1 cup(s) chicken broth (check out my recipe for chicken stock here)
1 1/2 Tbsp apple cider vinegar
2 cans kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 medium green pepper(s), chopped
1/2 tsp table salt, or to taste **
1/8 tsp black pepper, or to taste **
** I use adobo instead of salt and pepper for depth of flavor.

Coat a large pot with cooking spray; place over medium heat.

Add oil and onion; sauté onion until soft, about 5 to 7 minutes.

Add garlic and carrots; cook until garlic is softened, about 1 minute.

Add turkey; brown meat, breaking it up with a wooden spoon as it cooks, about 5 minutes. Stir to break up lumps.

Add chili powder, paprika, red pepper flakes, cumin, tomatoes, tomato sauce, broth, vinegar, beans and green pepper; bring mixture to a boil.

Cover, reduce heat and simmer until meat and vegetables are tender, about 30 to 45 minutes.

Season to taste with salt and pepper.

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's SuperCooks!

When Scott and I were living in his condo together, and we both had office jobs, we were pretty good about sharing food responsibilities.

At the time, I had approximately four go-to dishes. Two of which I recently found out he was less than fond of, and had only been pretending to like for certain selfish reasons I imagine you all can figure out on your own.

When it was his evening to cook, I would continually be amazed at his lack of plan.

Me? I had a recipe, I checked off said recipe to make sure I had all my ingredients. When I was ready to cook, those ingredients were lined up on the counter, in order of appearance in my dish. I pretty much viewed said recipe as navigation instructions from the flight deck: you ignore them, someone dies.

Now, Scott on the other hand, he’s flying without radar and buzzing the tower like Maverick in Top Gun.

Watching him cook was both the most exciting and most nerve-wracking experience. He just threw some stuff in a dish and while that simmered, he’d hunt for something else to throw in the dish, and then he’d top it off with a little something else and toss it on a plate.

Delicious, every time delicious.

I’ve grown some since those days in the sense that I now know more about substitutions, I have general ideas of how long each item should cook. But I still use a recipe as a guide.

This growth has come mostly out of necessity. With me working at home, it just makes sense that I handle the meals. Also because I have been trying to lose weight and eat healthier, I’ve become an obsessive meal planner and it’s easier for me to cook the meals I know I can eat rather than letting him go willy nilly and me trying to figure out the nutritional content of “um, I think I threw some tequila in, mighta been a cup, mighta been like a few tablespoons? I was kind of in the zone, Babe.”

In the last six months for money and weight loss purposes, I have become an obsessive meal planner. Sadly, winter has ruined a good chunk of my best-laid plans so far this year.

You see, when snow is about to hit Suburbia, people flock to the grocery stores like they’re stocking a bomb shelter. And guess what they do after snow hits? Yeah, the same thing.

Recently, this became a big problem when we had invited some friends over for brunch. I, of course, had planned to make a quiche and some elaborate sides that would make Rachael Ray turn spinach green with jealousy.

Then it snowed. And snowed. By the time the snow stopped and Scott had fired up the snowblower, it was mere hours before my friends were to arrive. And I was in full panic because all we had in the fridge was some eggs, milk, and less than stellar cheddar cheese.

But I was NOT about to go shopping. If I had to serve them egg on toast, I was not going shopping.

Suddenly I remembered this website a friend of mine had sent me. SuperCook is a GREAT site to help you figure out how what to make with what you have in the house. MAGICAL!

I began crazily entering any random item we had in our fridge and freezer, and it was giving me lists and lists of recipes I could make. I ended up making an egg bake with frozen potatoes o’brien and bacon and some cheddar we had left over from a cheese and cracker night, pumpkin muffins (thanks to Itzys Kitchen I always have those ingredients on hand), and banana bread.

I have to say, it looked like I had spent a ton of time coming up with these elaborate recipes, when in fact I had just whipped these things up.

So to look like a total superstar, I highly recommend Super Cook.

Have you used this site before? Do you have go-to recipe sites you use when you need to make something on the spot? Are you good at creating things or do you need a recipe to guide you?

Foodie Friday: Stock up on Chicken Stock

When I was pregnant, a friend of mine asked me if I was planning on making my own baby food and I snorted derisively.

I pictured myself in an apron, baby on my hip, knee deep in flour and sugar, hair straggly and dirty. I imagined I would barely have time to keep the baby clothed, much less fed with the freshest or organic goodies.

She was persistent and handed me a book of baby food recipes. The girl knows me well, I love to cook!

So, because I am who I am, I researched the crap out of it. I chose to make her food for a few key reasons:

1. I’m cheap. This is in accurate order, this was, sadly, my primary concern. When I researched the cost of jar food and other premade items, I realized we would save over $100 a month. Easily.

2. I like control. In this case, I like to control what goes into Wee ‘Burb’s little tummy. When I checked out how much sodium and preservatives went into even the healthiest baby food in jars, I got a little concerned. By making her food, I can control how much, if any, salt, sugar, etc., goes into her food.

3. I love to cook. Making baby food seemed kind of fun. And the fact that I could make big batches and freeze it made a huge difference. And it did end up being fun! I even learned some recipes we use now as the family.

To that end, here’s my recipe for chicken stock. You guys this is sooo easy, and so cheap. And more importantly, there’s very little sodium and you control the salt content. The recipe below has no added salt.

The chicken wings (family size, 18 pieces) cost me $7.50. The celery, onion, parsley, and bay leaf were less than $10 (for about 10 times what you need here, I buy it all by the bagful).

I always double or triple the following recipe because the family size chicken is usually cheaper, and also we use a TON of chicken stock in this house.

Chicken Broth

1 ½ lbs chicken wings (about 6 wings)

1 onion, chopped

2 celery stalks with leaves cut into 3 inch pieces

1 bay leaf

10 sprigs fresh parsley

Instructions

Bring 5 cups cold water to a boil.

Add chicken wings, onion, celery, bay leaf, and parsley.

Return to a boil and skim any foam on top.

Stir, cover, and simmer for 30-60 mins (I always go the full 60)

Remove chicken wings.

Allow broth to cool to room temperature, strain, then refrigerate until cold and remove congealed fat from the surface.

Refrigerate for 2 days, or pour into 1 TBSP portions in ice cube trays (I do this for half and divide the rest into 2-cup bags in a Ziploc).

Remove meat from chicken wings, and use in other recipes (Scott sometimes just dips them in BBQ sauce, otherwise I chop them up and try to slip them into Wee ‘Burb’s stews).

Refrigerate 2 days or freeze.

You Can't Take Me Anywhere!

So our first date of the 12 Dates of Christmas was to The Heartland in St. Paul. The restaurant is dedicated to using small farms and sourcing their food from the Midwest and Canada.

We shared a cheese plate that had the most amazing honey I have ever tasted. Scott had the grass-fed beef osso bucco and I had the chestnut ravioli. Both were beautiful and flavorful.

But the highlight of our date night? The bread and butter. I am not a butter person, I rarely use it. So when I do, I tend to go to Brummel and Brown or another light butter or yogurt-based spread.

So I ask the waitress "what did you guys put in the butter, it is AMAZING!"

And she kind of smirks and Scott covers his face a little and they both answer: "Nothing."

She informed me it was like 80% butter fat or something.

And this, my friends, is why you can't take my anywhere.

Tuesday Randomness

So, Scott and I went to Costco today. Because, you know, we're a hot young couple with a kid. That's date night, people!

Anyway, we had Wee 'Burb with us because our roommate had the AUDACITY to leave and go visit her family. I don't think we realized how reliant we had become on her pitching in when we had quick errands to run. Turns out, Wee 'Burb has her mommy's patience. Which is to say, less than zero.

So we're walking and we're price comparing and discussing what we're going to make for New Years Eve (we've long ago decided not to bother going out: I never like the fixed-price menu options and neither of us enjoy being on the roads or going to the built-up parties that always end up super boring).

Those of you who go to Costco or Sam's Club know that every few aisles there are sample carts. I usually try to avoid these because they're not friends to the ole diet. But today I was feeling fancy free and decided to try some frozen pizza. Pedestrian at best, sigh.

Then there's a ravioli sample and it looks good. I go to grab one and I am about to hand a little bite to Wee 'Burb, who is guppy-mouthing for more food since we're nearing her normal chow time, when I stifle a "sonofabitch" and throw it in the trash.

The word molten could not describe! The woman has the nerve to serve this on a little paper doily less thick and absorbent than the little tray that separates the milanos in a bag. It's CLEARLY soaking right through these little paper things, but she hasn't even bothered to refill her napkin dispenser.

So I am covered in grease and nearing tears my tongue hurts so bad, and Wee 'Burb is burying into Scott's chest and whining because mommy is the meanest mommy EVER not giving her a piece of that tongue-scalding noodle she so badly wanted.

Happy Tuesday, Costco. Thanks for nothing!

Bakefest 2010

I haven't posted a lot lately, mostly because I don't have anything nice to say. And while that hasn't stopped me before, me complaining about different customer service disasters and insurance is getting old for me, so it has to be for you, too. But that's basically what I've been up to. Arguing, crying, throwing stuff in frustration, and constantly paying too much money for crap.

So...I took the day off. And Wee 'Burb had a day off from daycare. So we played, and we talked, and we laughed. We did not touch the phone or look at bills.

And most importantly, we baked!!

As requested, here's some pictures of the Krisp Kringles.

The dough. Also? I got a new camera!! I like the pictures a lot better.

The finished product!

My sous chef and food critic. Success!

I Need Me Some Christmas

I have been trying to come up with a word to describe the last couple of weeks. I just can't come up with one that's bad enough. We're going to stick with sucktacular.

I desperately need some Christmas spirit, which is why I put my last post out as a feeler for how to proceed with my desire to bake. Baking is my therapy. I don't do it often, because baking also requires being precise and attentive, neither of which is my strong suit. I'm much better at cooking where I can taste it halfway through and figure out what I left out.

Anyway, thanks to those of you who posted your advice on freezing! I am going to do some dough this weekend and freeze it, as suggested.

In return, I did promise a recipe for my favorite cookies. I got this recipe when I attended my very first Midwestern Cookie Exchange. This was like two years ago. I'm a tad behind...hey, I just discovered the joy of meat raffles, I'm behind!

Anyway, we went home with 6 different types of cookies and for the most part, I was fairly unimpressed. Except for these bad boys. These are really different, and have been officially requested since then.

I introduce you to..

Krisp Kringles

1 package yellow cake mix (2 layer size)
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup water
1 large egg
3 cups POST Fruity Pebbles cereal

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Blend cake mix, oil, water, and egg in a large bowl with wooden spoon until well blended.

Stir in cereal.

Drop by cookie scoop 2 inches apart onto cookie sheet (I line mine w/ parchment paper. Hey, don't use wax paper instead, that's a bad idea, trust me).

Bake 11 minutes, or until edges begin to brown. You want them to stay moist so don't let center get overdone.

SO EASY! And yet, a different sort of cake taste that sets it apart from your typical peanut blossoms.