Reese

I'm so sorry to say that we lost Reese last evening. He was a special part of our family that no other dog will be able to replace. We love you, Reese and hope you are playing happily with our old friend Princess in puppy heaven.

Recipe of the Week; CREAMY PUMPKIN DIP

Happy Halloween!!

I have been making this simple, yummy, pumpkin dip recipe for YEARS. It's quick, simple, and decidedly festive when served in a small, hollowed-out pumpkin lined with plastic wrap.


INGREDIENTS
4 cups confectioners sugar
2 packages (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
1 can (30 oz) pumpkin pie filling
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 ground cloves

Combine sugar and cream cheese in mixing bowl. Mix on low until well blended. Add remaining ingredients.

Place in bowl or pumpkin, set in fridge for at least two hours before serving.

Use a a dip with gingersnaps cookies, sliced apples, pretzels, marshmallows, Teddy Grahams and/or graham crackers. I especially like to use the little mini gingerbread men cookies that you can find around this time of year.

Oh The Ideas I Find Online

Today I was researching different "Halloweeny" type foods, you know- for kid's parties and whatnot.

I'm not sure what this has to do with Halloween, but what a clever idea.

The internet never lets me down.

The Great Polenta Debacle

Debacle, as defined in dictionary.reference.com:
(2.) a complete collapse or failure

I have never made polenta. I wanted to try it.

Do not use Gorilla glue to secure a broken handle on a pot.

At some point after you're done stirring the polenta, you must remove it from the heat. That's when the aforementioned Gorilla-glued handle didn't hold.

And. Polenta. Went. Everywhere.

A Note From Yours Truly

Due to serious time constraints, in addition to the complete lack of interest in keeping up with my blogs on a weekly basis, it is with regret I must inform my readers (all 2 of you...) that I am taking a brief hiatus from blogging.

Perhaps soon I will be inspired to continue further, but until that time I am on complete shut-off mode.

Thanks for checking in.

Back to School

Confessions

I hear tell confession is good for the soul. Let's see.

I'm going to confess ten things that, if mentioned beyond the confines of this blog, would either result in some adverse consequence, cause one to scrunch their nose in disgust, or just in general embarrass the hell out of me. Here goes:

1. I wear flip-flops to work, even though my employee handbook states that "open-toed sandals and flip-flops/thongs are not appropriate office attire."

2. I had the biggest crush on my high school chemistry teacher. I would sit in his class and daydream about making out with him amid the beakers and sulfates.

3. I do not like when my husband makes ribs. They are just tough and gross.

4. I used to pick my nose, a lot.

5. When I was twenty-two, I found a purse. I kept an unopened tube of Merle Norman lipstick and the $7 that was in it, then threw the purse in a large commercial dumpster.

6. I think Jon Stewart is so sexy.

7. I used to work at the local burger joint when I was in high school, and one time I dropped an entire bag of buns onto the dirty, greasy floor. I just dusted them off and put them back up on rack.

8. I can't stand some of my ghetto in-laws.

9. I'm intimidated by people from India. I think they smell bad and have horrible accents when they speak English.

10. I love the movie Twister. I could watch it over and over.

Recipe of the Week; BAKED POTATO SALAD

We've all made potato salad- that boring, strange-textured lumpy stuff that seems to appear at every picnic or pool-side gathering in the summer.

Standard potato salad is pretty boring to me. Everyone I know seems to have their own special way of making it, but rarely have I come across your basic mayonnaise-based potato salad that's worth a second helping. Until recently, that is.

It started with my son's post-football practice picnic. Traditionally, the parent-run football organization hosts a picnic for all of the families after the first full week of practice. All families are assigned a certain type of food to bring. TJ's team was assigned "cold salads". Which means anything from anti-pasta's to potato to those funky jello-mold things with suspended canned fruits that I refuse to eat.

My philosophy is to never serve anyone a new recipe or concoct one on my own without trying it out at home first. This is especially important if you're making a dish for people you don't know that well. Well, I threw caution to the wind and whipped up something new, and it turned out to be pretty darned good.

And after scouring the rows and rows of potato salads at the end of the picnic, I'm pleased to say my big Pyrex bowl was the only one completely empty. That must mean something...



3 pounds red potatoes, skin on and scrubbed
olive oil
5 to 6 slices bacon, preferably peppered
1/2 cup diced red onion
3/4 cup mayonnaise
2 tablespoons apple-cider vinegar
1/2 to 3/4 package dry Ranch dressing mix
1/4 teaspoon Cajun or Old Bay seasoning
kosher salt, to taste
fresh ground pepper, to taste
1 1/2 stalks celery with tops, sliced thin
3 hard boiled eggs, peeled and chopped
fresh parsley or extra celery tops, minced for garnish

Preheat oven to 475 degrees. Rub the cleaned potatoes lightly with olive oil. Bake until cooked, but firm, approximate 30-45 minutes depending on the size of the potatoes. Potatoes are ready when they are easily pierced with a fork, or have a little give when squeezed on the sides. Set aside and allow to cool.

Slice the bacon into 1-inch pieces. Fry until crispy, drain on paper towels and set aside.  In a small mixing bowl, whisk mayonnaise and vinegar. Add the dry Ranch dressing, seasoning blend, a little salt and pepper. I recommend adding the Ranch, seasoning and salt a little at a time and taste until desired flavor is reached. The dressing can be salty if too much of the seasonings are added.

Cut the potatoes into cubes. I like to go a little large on my cubes, to avoid the potatoes totally mushing up during the mixing process. Add the onion, celery, bacon and eggs. Carefully fold in the dressing, mix well to ensure even coating.

Refrigerate several hours or overnight before serving. Sprinkle minced parsley/celery tops then a little fresh Cajun or Old Bay seasoning (for color) right before serving.

A Weekend in the Country

Meanwhile, out on the farm...


Grandma's garden is producing mounds of vegetables and herbs already. It always amazes me this time of year, when a visit to her house nets me a basketful of goodies.

Tomatoes and
cabbages and
Beans- OH MY!

So was the case this past weekend, when TJ and I (and Reese) relaxed in the country. Grandma even treated us to a delicious dinner of venison stew (Dennis stew, TJ called it. Which is quite funny because Moms husband's name is Dennis). She assured us there was no pieces of Dennis stirred into that pot.

We watched the Amish gathering hay, secretly snapping a picture or two when we thought they couldn't see.

Recipe of the Week; REFRESHING MINT JULEPS

...You go to my head

And you linger like a haunting refrain

And I find you spinning 'round in my brain

Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

You go to my head

Like a sip of sparkling burgundy brew

And I find the very mention of you

Like the kicker in a Julep or two...

My intention was to post this recipe yesterday. But if you've muddled through my gripes, you're all too aware that yesterday was not a good day for languorously sipping Juleps on the front porch.

I started to think about Mint Juleps over the weekend. During the drive to the country for my visit with Mom (and the intention of raiding her garden for MINT), Billie Holiday's song blared through the stereo, and a kicker in a Julep or two sounded like a good idea.

I've never made a Julep, nor have I had the pleasure of enjoying one. The thought of Juleps puts me in the mindset of the antebellum South, hoop-skirt and all. Or at Church Hill Downs, obnoxious hat in lieu of a hoop-skirt.

At any rate, I think it's fair to say this drink is likely Southern in origin. Being the Yankee that I am, I know Julep's aren't so much a common cocktail around here as, let's say- uh, beer.

So, dust of those antique silver goblets. I'm including the original Kentucky Derby recipe using Early Times (serves 1) and a method using Jim Beam (serves 8), which I think I'm more partial to. Enjoy... just please do so responsibly!

Early Times Mint Julep, official beverage of the Kentucky Derby

2 fluid oz. Early Times Kentucky whiskey
1 tablespoon simple syrup
mint sprigs
crushed ice

Simple Syrup:

1 cup water, 1 cup of granulated sugar and 1 bunch fresh mint sprigsCrush a few mint leaves in the bottom on an 8-oz. (Collins) glass.* Fill with crushed ice. Add one tablespoon of simple syrup and one tablespoon of water. Add 2 oz. of Early Times. Stir gently until glass frosts. Garnish with a fresh mint sprig.

To make simple syrup: Combine sugar and water. Boil for 5 minutes without stirring. Pour mix over a handful of mint leaves, and gently crush the mint with a spoon. Refrigerate overnight in a closed jar. Remove mint leaves, but continue to refrigerate. Stays fresh for several weeks.

*Juleps are known to be served in frosted silver goblets as well. Freeze ahead of time, and handle edges with a towel while preparing to preserve the frosty appearance.

Jim Beam Kentucky Bourbon Mint Juleps

2 cups water, 2 cups white sugar
1/2 cup roughly chopped fresh mint
32 fluid oz. bourbon
8 sprigs fresh mint leaves for garnish

Combine water, sugar and chopped mint leaves in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil over high heat until the sugar is completely dissolved. Allow syrup to cool, approximately 1 hour. Pour syrup through a strainer to remove mint leaves.

Fill eight glasses or frozen goblets with crushed ice and pour 4 oz. of bourbon and 1/4 cup mint syrup in each. Proportions can be adjusted depending on the level of sweetness you prefer. Top each cup with a mint sprig and a straw. Trim straws so that they barely protrude from the top of the cups. Serve Juleps on a silver platter.

Monday Morning Blues

My morning started out just fine. TJ was up and out of bed with little trouble, happily eating his breakfast cereal and dreaming about Christmas. (Already.)

I managed to be out the door on time, enjoying the fresh and warm morning air. Mondays are always a struggle, typically I'm exhausted from cramming everything possible into a two-day weekend. But spending a weekend in the country visiting my Mom seemed to relax me, and I felt refreshed and ready to tackle the oncoming week and high temperatures that are certain to accompany it.

Even Quinn and Rose on the radio couldn't dampen my spirits, America's troubles be damned I say. (I'm done caring about a country that doesn't care about it's future.) Everything seemed to be sunshine and daisies, considering it's a Monday morning, until I unlock my office door and try to settle in for the day ahead. First I get a visit from possibly the most annoying woman on the planet. Let's just call her "Betty".

"Betty" is a lonely old woman, with no family close by and no real friends. She has a very sick husband in a care center she rarely visits, and a nasty cat who pees everywhere. She alone is immune to the putrid cat odors that abound in her sad little apartment. She watches more QVC than anyone I've ever known. Everything in poor "Betty's" life is serious drama. It's her personal responsibility to march into my office, pretty much daily, and especially on Mondays to tell me a lot of useless information about her neighbors, the town, our country and so on. I wish she would turn off her TV and take a walk once in awhile.

Needless to say, "Betty" came in my office as usual, gripped about everything that I could care less about, (my God- however will she pay her rent if they don't pay Social Security this month?) and really just started to irritate me. Go visit your husband... it took all I had to keep from screaming this at her.

While she was in my office destroying my fairly good mood with each passing minute, my phone rings with and even more annoying resident calling. I'll just call her "Miss Tonya". Now, "Miss Tonya", is the reason some white folks form black stereotypes. I'm talking wig-wearing, ghetto slang using, "I'm entitled to everything because I'm black and I'm poor and it's whitey's fault" mentality. Now "Miss Tonya" didn't have a serious problem this morning, however at the present moment I'm unable to fix a non-working bathroom vent due to situations beyond my control, and all of the sudden it's so unfair. And she has breathing problems. And it's ridiculous. And I should really just go out of my way, ignore my superiors and do as she asks without delay. And naturally, if I don't, then I hate black people. Really.

So with that being said, what started off as an unusually pleasant Monday morning has turned into a depressing, sad, and frustrating start to the week. Which brings me to exactly what I'm thinking at this very moment.

While I like certain aspects of this job, I'm starting to find it very mundane and unfulfilling. I like that I have a job that allows me certain flexibilities and pays well. In reality, it's the kind of job that most would love to have, and for that I am thankful.

But coming into this office in on a daily basis is soul-sucking. I'm surrounded by people who are so needy, so desperate, so stupid, and yet I'm supposed to feel sorry for them? They are the cesspool of society, the shit in the sewers that those that carry this country on our backs are forced to house and feed, and at the same time pity because they've been dealt such and unfortunate hand in life. See what I mean? Any ounce of humanity I once had has long been lost. And as a Christian, I'm sorry to say I don't even feel these people are worthy of my prayers.

Now that I've vented, I'm staring to come out of this rotten mood. I think I'll go shopping during lunch, that seems to help.

So, Happy Monday to you. Hope your week has started out better than mine.

Recipe of the Week; BAKED TILAPIA

I'll cut right to the chase. I adore Leah Chase. Truly one of America's culinary heroes. An inspiration for many a Creole dinner in my house.

Years ago, I came across a recipe of hers for baked fish. It was actually trout, I believe. Through the many moves and sorting out of old cookbooks and recipe snippets, the recipe has gotten lost. I've searched for it online, and still it eludes my finding. One of these days I'll have to break down and buy her cookbook to reclaim this delicious recipe.

In the meantime, I've somewhat invented my own version, except I use tilapia. I always seem to have it on hand, and it works out OK. It's not nearly as rich and grand as Leah's, but cutting back on the mayonnaise (yes this fish is coated with Mayo!) is necessary for me, primarily because my husband is not so much of a fan of it. I could eat it with a spoon (and do upon occasion). Her recipe also included fresh artichokes. Personally, I think they're a lot of work with little reward, so I just pick up a jar of marinated ones. The marinade adds an extra level of twang as well.

INGREDIENTS

approximately 2 lbs. tilapia fillets, or trout (skin on, if possible)

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
4 tablespoons softened butter
4 tablespoons mayonnaise
3 tablespoons chopped scallions
1/2 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning (I do NOT encourage substitutes here)
fresh ground black pepper, to taste
dash or so of hot sauce, recommend Louisiana Hot Sauce
1 jar marinated artichokes, drained

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a buttered glass baking dish, lay fish in a single layer. Brush with lemon juice.

In a bowl, combine cheese, butter mayonnaise, onion, and seasonings. Mix well with a fork.

Bake the fish 10 to 20 minutes, or until the fish starts to flake. Remove from oven, spread with cheese mixture. Spread artichokes around the fish. Bake another 5 to 10 minutes or until golden brown.

Delicious when served with dirty rice and fried okra.

Summer Reflections

It's what? July 26th? REALLY? {Insert dramatic wide eyes here}

Yes, it is. More than halfway through the summer, and what have I done so far? A lil' bit of everything I suppose. Sweat, swim, stay up really late a few weekends, and indulge in a little libation here and there. And of course enjoy my Pirate games.

I like to reminisce of leisurely summer days of old, when the tips of my toes would find themselves dangling off the pool deck into the cool water. Or when I'd be munching on tea berries, lounging in my favorite patch of moss and staring blankly at the puffy white clouds in the sky. Or a lazy afternoon swinging on the porch swing. My Dad had ours hung under a massive grape vine arbor.

Summers as a child were particularly special when I was growing up. My Mom stayed home with us, and from the moment the sun was up we were out- riding our bikes, picking berries off in the woods somewhere, or out in the sand, playing with our Dukes of Hazzard cars. (I had Daisy's little white jeep.) I remember the sun, especially. It never seemed unbearably hot. It just felt so warm on my skin. I loved watching it set, it was a bright orange ball descending behind the lush green hills in the Pennsylvania country side.


We practically lived outside, even at night. We had a tent we pitched right in our back yard. We'd light a campfire, and it seemed we had hot dogs and mountain pies for dinner just about every night. We'd catch fire flies.

That's what summer was to me. Now, well... it's different. I go to work. I try to pack as much fun as I can into the weekends. I forgo housework. It's not quite the same, but I'm not complaining. It's just a fact of life, I suppose.

I pass a billboard on my way into the office every morning that reads "Expect everything out of life". I think it's for life-insurance. I guess I do expect everything, and occasionally that leads to dissatisfaction or frustration. When your and adult, your problems become more than worrying about running out of fudgesicles or having a flat tire on your bike.

So, especially during the summer, when the monotony of every day or the aggravations of life try to take over, I'll sit back. I'll close my eyes, envision that bright-orange sunset and smell the freshly cut summer grass. I know I can't physically relive those days. But I can always go back there, forever thankful that I have the memories.

Rules For the PA Driver's License Center:

I had to renew my driver's license. Yesterday I enjoyed a much-deserved day of rest, and took the day off to do things that normally I'm unable to do through the week.

One such task was the dreaded driver's license center. I soon found out that the following do's and don'ts apply when renewing your license in the wonderful state of Pennsylvania:

1. DO take a book, a DS, your IPod, snacks, medication for nerves, a pillow, blanket and an alarm clock.

2. DO NOT take your antsy seven-year old who has to pee every 15 minutes.

3. BE prepared to wait. For at least four hours, on a fast day.

4. EXPECT the clerk to not know how to do her job.


No wonder people in PA take such shitty pictures for their licenses. By the time your number is called, you have permanent frown lines etched into your skin and your once-perfectly coiffed hair resembles Don Kings 'do.

Recipe of the Week; FORGOTTEN COOKIES

This recipe is a lot like my blog lately. Forgotten about for awhile, then remembered and enjoyed later on. Ah, fahget-about-it!

My son brought this recipe home with some Sunday school papers a few weeks back, and it's a really neat idea, I think especially because in the summer if I do any baking at all, it's later on in the evening.


INGREDIENTS


2 eggs, at room temperature
2/3 cup sugar
pinch salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup finely chopped pecans
1 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Beat egg whites until foamy. Gradually add sugar and continue beating until they hold stiff peaks. Add salt and vanilla. Stir well. Gently fold in pecans and chocolate chips.

Cover cookie sheet with foil and grease with butter or margarine. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto the foil. Put in the oven, then turn it off. Forget about the cookies until the next morning, when you can enjoy them with coffee or tea!

Do not open the oven once the cookies have been placed inside.

The Great Longaberger Score

A new thrift store just opened up about 6 miles from my house, and about 1 mile from my office. You know what that means! Lots of lunch-time thrifting! It's called Thrift King, and during my first visit there I scouted a royal treasure to be sure!

LONGABERGER! Can you believe it! For (drum roll please) $6.00! I looked up this newspaper basket, a discontinued item, on EBay and other resale sites and the cheapest ad I saw for this very basket was $60.00! My basket is in pristine condition, too. Not a single nick, scratch or stain. As you can see, I've already found it's proper place, nestled right beside the love seat holding my magazines and whatever else.

I also found a great little wrought-iron shelf for my bathroom, and a pie-crust lattice cutter (still in the original packaging, appearing to be unused), both of which were less than $2.00.

Oh Thrift King, how I love thee.

Duck, Duck, GOOSE!

Look at the cute little baby geese that TJ and I spotted yesterday! First they were all lined up, waddling across the street, and causing a serious traffic back up!



Then they waddled up a grassy hill, while I further held up traffic long enough to grab my camera and take a couple pictures. "HONK HONK", said the cars behind me.


And "HONK, HONK!", said the birds in reply. Off they went!

Had to Share...

Okay, so maybe they're not necessarily America's superheros- but the picture is too funny not to share. And if Hilary ever really does go strapless, I'll loose my shit.

Mother's Day Reflection

The other day I was driving out to my Mom's house, with my son strapped in the back seat. As per usual, we had our music turned way up, windows down, and he was bobbing his little head and singing all the words to Jackson Browne's Doctor My Eyes word for word.

An indifferent feeling came upon me, as if I just realized for the first time ever that the curly-haired little boy I was watching through my rear-view mirror was my son. Not just some random kid, the the child I carried for nine months, gave birth to, coddled, cuddled and cared for with my utmost of attention and skill. I watched as he gradually made the natural transition from infant to toddler to little boy.

For almost 7 years, I've been a Mom. It's been flying by, and at that moment Mom became something that is more than just my title. It was a feeling.

What is amazing to me however, is how I adapted rather easily into Motherhood. I credit that to a few specific things- 1. We were older when we decided it was time to consider having a child. 2. I was ready; spiritually, physically, financially, and mentally. 3. We took child-rearing seriously. It wasn't an "oops- we're pregnant! Let's just deal with it" situation. We had been married for almost six years before TJ was born.

Perhaps it's because my venture into being Mom was done at a harried pace at the beginning- those first five years or so are busy. So many "firsts"- from teething to potty training to walking to starting school. I didn't really stop to reflect on how fast he was growing up. He just did, and suddenly I realize there he is. My son.

So with the forthcoming Mother's Day approaching, it seemed fitting to pat myself on the back a little. I've got a great kid. He's ornery and mouthy and testy at times. (So is his Dad.) But for the most part, he's very caring, loving, and just fun to have around. We laugh constantly, he has said and done some silly things that make me shake my head in amusement and wonder. And smart! I'm not just saying that, all parents are usually impressed with their kids. But this kid, seriously- he was actually figuring out Algebraic equations one afternoon with Daddy.

So while I'm busy gloating, I have to acknowledge the circle that is prevalent in my life. I have a great Mom. She had an awesome Mom, too. In fact, I come from a long line of awesome Moms- my Dad's Mom was the best. And I have the coolest Aunts on the planet, who have begat some pretty special cousins who have made excellent Mothers as well.

Which leads me to the first, and final point. I'm a Mom. That's both a special gift and an awesome responsibility. It's my hope my future generations of Moms will someday experience that moment of awe where they realize being a Mom isn't just a job, it's a privilege, an honor, and an immeasurable blessing. Thank you TJ for that revelation.

I Lost My Mind, Found It Just This Morning

It's the truth. These last few weeks have been a total whirlwind. I think I'm experiencing the onset of dementia. I've been forgetting my first name, and the street I live on. It's that bad.

Obviously, I published my Easter post on this blog instead of the one about TJ. I just realized that this morning, while sipping my McDonald's crack-laced sweet tea.

And I accidentally texted my maintenance supervisor, whose name is Chris, to let him know that we're having a meeting to finalize the planning for my step-sister Stacey's baby shower this Saturday. The text was meant for my sister-in-law, who confusingly enough is also named Chris. So, said maintenance super texted me back and informed me that he was certainly not interested in attending the meeting, nor did he desire to be involved in the planning of the shower. To which I initially suspected the text was from my sister-in-law herself, (not realizing my faux pas) and got a little irked by her curt, snotty reply. Until I caught my mistake and expediently re-texted my maintenance super an apology. The sister-in-law, of course was naturally much more friendly in her response.

I'm supposed to be working on my weekly recipes with my PA Dutch cookbook. Yeah, uh, haven't tried a new recipe in WEEKS.

TJ is busy with baseball. We've all been busy with baseball- Pirate games are a regular thing. I'm in the middle of a property acquisition at work, which means I've been busier than ever. Not to mention concrete season is in full swing and I rarely see my husband Monday through Saturday. Oh, and we've been dodging a lot of tornadoes lately.

On a good note, I happened upon some FREE vintage Pyrex mixing bowls a few days ago. With glass lids and all, the cool autumn-colored ones with handles on the sides. They need some serious scouring with some bleach, haven't got to that yet.

And if I hear Pink's Raise Your Glass one more time I'm going to lose my shit. Seriously, this station plays this frickin' song every 15 minutes. Moving on...

You know, at least once every six months or so I go through this, what I call reevaluation and minimalist phase. My husband (bless his cold, uncaring heart) suggests I rearrange a closet and take an aspirin.

I start to over-analyze everything- thinking even annoying liberal things such as:

1. I need to start eating healthier. Stick to whole grains and more fresh (organic only!) vegetables. I bet if I swore off red meat and ate only Kashi bars for breakfast I'd feel so much better. Really, I could do it. I was a lacto-ovo vegetarian for several years, until that one fateful day when my then boyfriend, now husband- grilled a delicious steak for me one evening for dinner.

2. I need to step it up with my exercise regiment, or more-often-than-not, my lack thereof. Take a long bike ride, join a gym, run the track. Hmm. OK.

3. I need to de-clutter my life. Rid myself of all of the excess junk in the basement, donate more and make more of an effort to RECYCLE.

4. I need to be more in touch with nature. You know, hug a tree every so often. Don't kill those pesky bees, just capture them and relocate them.

So, as you can probably tell, I've been completely off my rocker as of late. I mean really, relocate bees? But sadly, yes, I've thought those very things in recent days. I think it's because it's spring. I think of spring as a time of renewal and freshness. The blooming flowers and sprouting green leaves just reinforce these thoughts.

Well, at any rate, my brain may only be functioning at partial capacity, but at least I've got some new Pyrex. And that damn Pink song is finally over.

Easter

Easter Day sure was gloomy around here. But the bunny hopped into our house nonetheless, and TJ was busy looking around the house, the truck, (the dryer....) for all of the bunny droppings. (And by droppings I mean candy, some little toys and a DS game.)

We spent the afternoon pigging out on ham (pardon the pun) at Pappy's place. Then some more ham, along with lamb later in the day with Gram. Spending the day with in-laws usually induces this sort of reaction from Daddy:

But TJ had fun, running all over the yard looking for his basket stashed somewhere. Pappy left clues, with cute little rhymes. One in particular has us laughing with his inclusion of the words lumpy and grumpy.

What? I have to look in the outhouse?? REALLY? (yes, my Dad has a non-working outhouse.)

Just kidding- he found his goodies, in Pap's bedroom after all of that running around outside!

The Joke That is Public Housing

You know, I really don't want to use this blog as a forum to gripe about my job or rage on and on about the absurdness of Public Housing [aka the Projects, let's be real and not try to make it sound sweeter by using such jargon]. After all, I'm sounding a little hypocritical, considering that my living is earned by other people's lack of making one for themselves. If my last sentence doesn't piss you off, stop reading this. You just won't get it. But you have your days where you're just fed up. Today is such a day.

I believe initially the intention of project housing was an idea of the US government's to be able to form a Reservation, if you will, for African Americans. Something similar to what our Native American brothers and sisters were forced upon, promising them "somewhere of their own to be" so that wealthy white landowners could have all of the good farming lands to themselves. Don't agree? I dare you to find any urban housing development from the 1960's that wasn't catered specifically to blacks, hence the Reservation comparison. It's an area designed specifically to house one ethnic group. Period.

When "the great migration" started in the early decades of the 20th century, thousands and thousands of blacks moved north, looking to reach their own quintessential American Dream. Promises of industrialization and factory jobs meant that they, unlike the generation before them, could work an honest job and bring home an honest wage and support their families. No more beatings. No more forced, unpaid labor. Free at last, free at last, good God Almighty, they were free at last.

But what does our Government do? Panic. "OH NO!" They cried. The blacks are coming to Chicago and Detroit and New York and Pittsburgh and taking all of our jobs! Where are they going to live? Not by quality white people! Let's erect tall buildings and make false promises of better living. Let's give them all kinds of benefits- free food, health insurance, even help to pay their rent. The catch? Just one- they just have to stay there in the housing developments, not attempt to move out and live in quality neighborhoods where they can own their own home. Sounds a lot like a Reservation to me.

And the part that irks me most? Who is paying for all their subsidized rent? Who is footing the bill for the food stamps and medical coverage? Why, Johnny Taxpayer- of course!

At some point, Civil Rights became a huge issue in our country. A few brilliant African Americans decided that they still haven't achieved equality, and decided to protest and boycott and make some pretty thought-invoking speeches. Good for that handfull that didn't accept project living as their only choice.

As time went on, the Projects evolved into housing for the poor, the disabled, the uneducated and the unmotivated, of all races and creeds. In other words, still a Reservation for society's undesired. Smart, visionary-type black folks got out of the projects and decided that Uncle Sam was not going to dictate how or where they lived. They were going to work hard, educate themselves and their children, and by golly thanks to Fair Banking and Fair Housing practices, they were going have a life truly of their own! Maybe no one has ever told these folks- but just because you may have been born and raised in the Projects, that doesn't mean you need to stay there! Ones sole ambition shouldn't be to live as much as you can off the taxpayers dime, and think that it is totally OK to choose to not be a productive citizen.

So, this isn't meant to be a racial debate. If anything, I'm pleading for not just the Black Americans who live in project housing, but the po' white trash and the so-called mentally disabled to ask themselves just what would they be doing if housing wasn't so freely available to them? YIKES! They'd have to find a job! And I, blissfully enough, would be out of work!

At some point our government, who stared this mess, needs to put their foot down. If the option to receive public housing wasn't available, better regulated or limited to the "truly needy", people would have to start being responsible for themselves. I strongly believe that certain groups of people NEED to start educating themselves about how badly they are being used and exploited. The folks that own urban housing projects are mad rich, once again taking advantage of the less fortunate not unlike plantation masters of long ago. For every poor piece of ghetto trash they rent to, ownership gets a big fat subsidy check. Let's not even get into all of the grant money and housing restoration incentive checks these owners are eligible for just so we can keep the projects lookin' pretty! Ask me how much of this "grant" money the owners get to pocket for themselves, it might make you sick.

Personally, I shiver at the idea of someone using me as the vehicle to make them wealthier. I'd feel so violated. This is American after all, I can create my own wealth. I choose whether or not I live a comfortable lifestyle by the sweat of my brow and the Biblical principal that states simply "if you don't work, you don't eat". And I don't care what pop culture says- there is no such thing as ghetto fabulous. And if you find that mind-set attractive, then list your occupation as slave, 'cause honey that's what you are.

I could rage on but at some point I need to get back to my own reality, which is all the bitching in the world by me isn't going to make one bit of difference. The recipients of public housing need to be ashamed. They need to get off their fat apathetic asses and stop feeling so entitled.

So I feel a little better now that I've exercised my right to free speech. Don't agree? Agree? Either way, you're always welcome to comment.

Experiment Recipe #2; CARAMEL PUDDING

PUDDING!! Every time I hear the word, I think of the movie Hot Shots!, when the Admiral is "drinking" pudding from a mug.

Funny as that was, pudding is no laughing matter to a serious cook. Good thing I don't take anything too seriously, even my pudding. But making it at home from scratch is crazy easy and so much better than the stuff from the J-E-L-L-O box. No offense to Mr. Cosby.

So it was with great enthusiasm that, as I was thumbing through my Classic Pennsylvania Dutch Cooking book that I found this recipe for Caramel pudding (page 221).

It was beyond simple, so there aren't any horror stories to go along with this post. Just remember one thing when you are eating pudding- it's best when served in the appropriate bowl, and for Pete's sake if you must use a mug, grab a spoon!!

INGREDIENTS

2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) butter

1 cup lightly packed brown sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 cups milk (I used 2%, but I bet whole milk would have been better!)

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

2 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Melt butter in heavy skillet or large saucepan. Add brown sugar and salt, stirring constantly over medium-high heat until it caramelizes, about 5 minutes- be careful not to burn it.

Remove from stove and slowly mix in 2 cups of milk. Return to stove and heat to near boiling over medium heat, stirring constantly. Combine flour and cornstarch and stir in; then slowly add remaining cup of milk. Reduce heat to low and cook until thickened and smooth.

Remove a few tablespoons of pudding, and stir them into beaten eggs; then return mixture to pudding. Cook another 2 minutes, being careful not to let it boil. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla. To prevent skin from forming on top, lay wax paper over it. Serve warm or cold. (And with a generous dollop of fresh whipped cream, as did I.)

Banned From Marshalls

Yesterday I was in some hot water. I was officially eighty-sixed from Marshalls department store by way of a self-imposed punishment.

Do not- I repeat- DO NOT go into Marshalls unless you have self-control. I lost mine, and a lot of money from my wallet. Gulp.

Normally I find interesting things there, but I've never ever gone completely mad in the housewares department as I did yesterday. In hindsight, it was embarrassing- the way I smiled like a Cheshire cat all the way to the check out.

I found the perfect lamp. It has a toile shade, exactly the same as the Waverly fabric that covers my kitchen chairs. I found an incredible basket for on top of the fridge, you know for dumping all of the crap that collects up there. Oh, and the ramekins I found. Perfect little round dishes for, uh, whatever. And unbelievable Easter decorations. Just thinking about it makes me want to run up there again during my lunch. But I must exercise the utmost restrain.

Hey- wait a minute. I have a gift card for Marshalls. Leaving... now... must... go...

Recipe of the Week; CAJUN-STYLE CATFISH

I like to celebrate Fat Tuesday, so I can inevitably wake up the next morning feeling like it's even Fatter Wednesday. Not this year, however, I'm on a lean, low-carb kick. No sugar either, so we'll be without the King Cake or beignets.

From what I understand, catfish is controversial when it comes to dieting (how I hate that word). It's controversial in that it is apparently a fattier fish, but it's still a good source of protein and B12. I was once told that because it's a scavenger-fish (think goat- it eats anything) it can contain excessive toxins. I just hope the fish I'm eating tonight isn't from the BP oil-saturated waters of the Gulf Coast, but chances are it's farm raised. I can do without the petroleum, thank you very much.

At any rate, I'm not frying the fish, so I'm not swaying too far from my weekly regimen. My other choice was some fried catfish muffaletta's, which really looked great but I certainly can do with out the heavy French bread and the fried fish. I am making some red beans and rice to go with the fish, and I promise I'll limit my rice intake and eat lots of beans. So it won't be a Fatter Wednesday for me this year, but a Fartier one instead. I like to toot my own horn. Happy Mardi Gras, ya'll!

INGREDIENTS:
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped bell pepper (any color)
1 large garlic clove, pressed through garlic press
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 (14.5 oz) can diced tomatoes with green chilies, undrained
1/2 cup sliced fresh mushrooms
1 can (2 1/4 oz) sliced ripe olives, drained
1/2 teaspoon creole seasoning
4 catfish fillets (approximately 6 oz each)
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

In skillet, saute onion, celery, pepper, and garlic in olive oil until tender. Add tomatoes, mushrooms, olives, and seasoning. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer uncovered for 10 minutes or until heated through.

Place the catfish in an 13 x 9 baking dish, sprayed with cooking spray. Top with vegetable mixture; sprinkle with cheese. Bake, uncovered for 15-20 minutes or until the fish flake easily with a fork.

Experiment Recipe #1- HOMINY CROQUETTES

My plan was to begin this project with what [I thought] looked like a pretty simple recipe. My plan marginally backfired. As seemingly basic as it read, this recipe was just that, albeit a little time consuming. It was my own fault for not reading the recipe all the way through. Things like "bake for 1 hour" are pretty important factors to consider if you'd like to have your weeknight meal before 9:00 pm. Oops- my bad. And not knowing what to serve with it, it just so happened we had chicken tacos in mind for dinner this evening anyway, so this was a welcome change from the Spanish rice which I typically have along with my tacos.

That being said, the time and effort was worth it. I know I'll make this again, my husband quite enjoyed it. It makes a lot, and as I was pouring the batter into my casserole dish I thought it would have been best that I halved the recipe! Incidentally, the leftovers are great warmed through the next morning and served with fried eggs.

I guess that's what I like about "experiment" cooking- you learn from your mistakes!

Here are a couple pointers if you decide to make Hominy Croquettes:

This recipe is not for little, individual cakes, as I assumed by the mentioning of "croquettes." (I likened it to salmon croquettes.) The recipe calls for instant grits, which made the recipe a little confusing because I had quick-cooking grits. I can't say specifically that I used the right amount, since the way instant and quick-cooking grits are prepared varies. I do think I prepared to much, so I didn't use all the grits I cooked.

Speaking of GRITS- make them ahead if at all possible. Because you're working with raw eggs in this recipe, combining hot prepared grits and eggs will cause the eggs to be scrambled. I had to let my grits cool for a good 20 minutes or so in the fridge, which again ate into my prep time. Also, I had to carefully temper the eggs as the grits were still warm, which takes a little time and finesse. (Both of which I lack considerably.) SO much easier to do if your grits are prepared sufficiently in advance and already cooled. My egg whites had already been whipped while I waited for the grits to cool, and I think they may have deflated a little in the interim. This led to a "not so puffy" final result, which was disappointing. And, since I have an unhealthy addiction to cheese, I decided to make this recipe using the addition of Cheddar as the post-recipe variation suggests.

Besides accidentally dumping all my melted butter on the counter top and saturating the upper edge of my precious cookbook, the process went relatively smoothly.

I intend on taking pictures of my experiments as well, but we dug into the dish before I could get a shot of it "whole." Here's my result in an individual serving, garnished with cilantro for fun.
1 1/4 cups instant grits
1 1/2 cups water
1 3/4 cups canned hominy, drained (one 14.5 oz. can is just enough; I used white hominy)
3 large eggs, separated
1 tablespoon butter, melted
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups milk ( I used about 1 3/4 cups- 2 was just too much)
Preheat oven to 350.

Cook instant grits in water over medium heat in covered saucepan for about 4 minutes. Chop hominy in food processor. In large bowl, lightly beat egg yolks with a fork. In separate bowl, whip egg whites until they form soft peaks. Mix (cooled) grits, hominy, butter, sugar, salt, and beaten egg eggs yolks together until well blended. Gradually add milk and mix until smooth. Fold in beaten egg whites. Pour into buttered (I just sprayed mine with cooking spray) 2 to 2 1/2-quart casserole dish. Bake for 1 hour or until golden brown. Yield 6 servings.

VARIATIONS:

Add 1 cup of grated Cheddar cheese to mixture before baking.

Add 2 to 3 tablespoons granulated sugar and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract to mixture before adding egg whites. Serve with poached fruit.

The Skinny on Fat Tuesday

It's Mardi Gras, ya'll!

But what exactly is Fat Tuesday? The question was bugging me. I know I'm always whipping up some New Orleans-esque fare on this day, just so's I can feel like I's at Mardi Gras. (that's my poor imitation of Cajun-speak.) Oh, and Mardi Gras is on my bucket list.

So I did a little surfing. Mardi Gras literally means Fat Tuesday in French. It's rooted in the Christian faith, ironically enough. Can't imagine what exposing ones, ahem- boobs- has to do with Christianity, but let's roll with it, or Laissez les bons temps rouler, if you know what I mean. Oh, those Cajuns know how to party!

Fat Tuesday is the day before Ash Wednesday [40 days before Easter], which is the beginning of Lent in the Catholic faith. What Lent meant to me growing up was "we will be eating fish every Friday until Easter Sunday", thanks to my Mother who was raised in the Catholic faith. The purpose of this relates to fasting for spiritual discipline, not necessary that you MUST eat fish (as I believed until I was much older) but rather you abstain from eating meat on Friday, as was mandated by the 1966 Apostolic Constitution of Pope Paul VI, Paenitemini. Oh, rules, rules, rules. This is one of the many reasons I believe in non-denominational Christianity.

In essence, Lent is the period of the liturgical year [pertaining to public worship] leading up to Easter. Lent is a time of sacrifice for Jesus. The traditional purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer, through prayer, penitence, almsgiving and self-denial for the annual commemoration during Holy Week of the Death and Resurrection of Jesus.

So what does this have to do with Mardi Gras? It essentially boils down to one thing- party hard the day before Ash Wednesday, so that you will have time for reflection, and seek forgiveness for all the sinning you manage to do in for one whole day. Eat, drink and be merry. And flash your boobs if you are so moved.

An Experiment. A Challenge. An Unoriginal Idea.

I got the coolest present from my brother Dave this past Christmas. He gave me this cookbook- Classic Pennsylvania Dutch Cooking. I've been given a lot of really awesome presents, but this one in particular was something pretty darn special.

Since watching Julie and Julia this past summer, I've occasionally been reading Julie Powell's original blog from 2002 which inspired the movie. The blog is wonderful. Funny, too. A good read, if you're into food 'n stuff.

Well, the aforementioned cookbook and the aforementioned movie/blog have motivated me to work my way through this cookbook.

My project will have a few variations, however. Firstly, I'll likely only try 1 to 2 recipes a week. Some I will not even bother with, as being familiar with a lot of PA Dutch cooking doesn't necessitate making every recipe. I grew up eating this stuff, folks. But other recipes (can you say Schnitz Und Knepp? Me neither.) intrigue me.

So there's no deadline. No pressure. Just the thrill of opening the book, choosing something new, and hopping to it. Another difference is I will post the recipe on my blog. No copyright infringement there, you know. Recipes aren't copyright protected, as my research concludes. In fact, my blogs may prompt others to buy the book. So here's some free marketing for the folks at Cookbook Resources LLC. It's available on Amazon, or if you're really interested I could probably find the book locally and mail you a copy.

Lastly, similar to heavy sauce-laden French recipes, a great deal of this style cooking is heavy with butter, creams and high-carb nightmares. So I'll have to be choosy, and not make a lot of rich foods all at once. Sadly, I've come to accept the fact that I'll likely never be a size 5 again, but that doesn't mean I must balloon into a size 14 just for the sake of this project.

I'd like to commit to posting at least once a week on my progress, I think I can handle at least that much. It's actually kind of fun having this mission, I can see why Julie Powell did it.

With that I bid you adieu- stay tuned. This week, look for Hominy Croquettes and Swiss Steak, although likely not to be in the same meal.

Recipe of the Week; ALMOND SUGAR COOKIE CUT-OUTS

Any holiday, no matter how big or small, warrants some sort of baked confection in my house. The level of difficulty for such confections depends on (A) time; and (B) my mood during the holiday in question. This year I was (A) pressed for time, and (B) only somewhat in the mood.

Valentine's Day is synonymous with anything sweet. Your sweetheart, for example (mine can be super sweet and mouth-puckeringly sour all at once.) So it makes perfect sense that I take at least a little time to make some sweets with my littlest sweetheart.

Christmas, as you very well know- I bake like Otis Spunkmeyer. I always make cut-out sugar cookies. I'll make a whole big batch of dough, but I only use half of it. The rest I wrap up tightly in plastic, then seal in a freezer bag. The remainder of the dough lies in wait for Valentine's Day, were I'll make little hearts, cupids, lips, X's and O's and such.

This year I chose to make only hearts, and paint them with pretty pastels mimicking conversation hearts. As one heart always reads- TOO CUTE! And the pretty glitter plate and charger was a freecycle find-even cuter!!

INGREDIENTS

1 cup butter, softened (no substitutes)

1 cup granulated sugar

2 eggs

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

FROSTING

2 cups sifted confectioners sugar

1 tablespoon milk (more or less to adjust for consistency)

1/4 teaspoon almond extract

food coloring

In large bowl, combine butter with sugar, eggs, vanilla, and almond extract. Beat using an electric mixer until light and fluffy.

In another bowl, combine flour with baking powder, baking soda and salt; gradually stir into the butter mixture until well blended.

Cover bowl with plastic wrap and chill for at least 2 hours.

Preheat oven to 400. Line cookie sheets with parchment or silpat. (Helps prevent bottoms from browning.) Lightly flour surface and roll out dough to about 1/4-inch thickness. Cut dough using cookie cutters.

Place cookies 2 inches apart, bake 4-6 minutes. Allow to cool completely before frosting.

For the frosting, mix confectioners sugar with milk and almond extract until desired consistency. Divide into separate bowls and add food coloring to each. Frosting should be thick, but thinned enough to "paint" the cookies without running.

Allow to set before storing or writing on the surface of the cookies. Once it has set, I used canned whipped frosting to write on the hearts. If you are using sprinkles or colored sugar, sprinkle just after frosting the cookies.

Celebrating Valentine's With Kate Greenaway

For years I have loved browsing through card boxes at antique stores. Occasionally I happen across some beloved Valentine's Day cards with illustrations by Kate Greenaway. Ms. Greenaway was a children's book illustrator during Victorians times. I have her Apple Pie Alphabet Book, and I adore it.

As it usually occurs during the first two weeks of February, I will find myself drifting off- staring at the images of old Victorian Valentine's Day cards. I long for simpler times, wishing for a young Lord to come a-courtin' with a simple Valentine's card and a hand-picked daisy.

Then I bolt back to reality, stare at the two feet of snow on the ground (no daisies there!) and grouchily remember that my husband is no more a Lord than I a young maiden. Bah. If my hubby really wants to impress me this year, he'll forgo the Hallmark card and predictable Whitmans Sampler. He'll replace those dozen red roses from the supermarket with a bouquet of pansies, daisies, forget-me-nots or even jasmine. Ask any girl- a guy who goes out of his way to spend hours online looking for vintage Valentine's Day cards is a keeper. (Hint hint... hell-oooo are you reading this?) Because I'm asked every year "What do you want for Valentine's Day"? Not exactly the most romantic moment, I'll say.

I'm a sucker for romance, what girl isn't? The last several years my Valentine's Day consisted of making treats and cards with my special little Valentine, but darn it I'm in the mood for some grown-up celebrating for once. So this year, when the formidable "What do you want" question is posed, I shall say- "I want an afternoon with you spent antiquing. Let's browse through card boxes and hunt for old Valentine's Day cards. Then let's visit a florist and let me design my own floral bouquet. I don't want any chocolate. I want dinner, but not in some crowded restaurant. You can cook." How do you think that will go? I'll let you know! In the meantime, enjoy some of Kate Greenaway's beautiful Valentine's Day card images!