Tonight was a first for me. Well, I mean, it was and it wasn't.
The "wasn't" part was a class A Aspie tantrum sparked by my good home cooking. Not a first. There was a time when I'd spend hours slaving over a hot stove creating a dinner crafted from honest-to-goodness fresh ingredients that had never spent any time in a box, only to have my Peabo run screaming from the table. He'd spend a good 15 minutes letting us all know exactly how awful the meal he hadn't tried yet would taste.
Home cooking was a break in the routine, right? He was used to the box. He wanted the box. He expected the box. When he didn't get the box, he'd tell me. In his own special way.
Then, about a year and a half ago, I embarked on The Great Home-Cooking Campaign. I've spent the better part of the last eighteen months foisting such disgustingness as homemade meatloaf and brussels sprouts onto my kids. After a while, they learned to like it. Yes, even the brussels sprouts. They eat meatloaf and baked ziti and a dozen different vegetables, including lima beans. We've introduced couscous and polenta and herb-rubbed pork tenderloin. In fact, yesterday I served chicken with fennel and olives. They didn't like it much. But they tried it. And they didn't run screaming.
Until tonight. Another class A Aspie tantrum sparked by my good home cooking. Only this time, it wasn't because I was cooking. It's because I wasn't.
My stove broke. Or rather, half of it did. I'm down to two usable burners. Which means that braised pork chops with broccoli and from-scratch macaroni and cheese went from planned to impossible. I make my veggies in an electric steamer, but I still needed one burner for the pork chops, one burner for the macaroni, and one for the cheese.
A change in plans. And my Peabo had his first home-cooking tantrum in months. Because he'd rather have my food than food that comes in a box.
I am quietly proud.
Oh, and also? He calmed himself down. He calmed. Himself. Down. Then he sat and he talked to me, and he figured out how to be okay with an unexpected change in the menu.
Progress on two fronts. So I get to be quietly proud of him, too.
And by the way, that chicken with fennel and olives stuff whipped up by the Proud Italian Cook? That is some darned awesome yumminess. Go make it. Like, right now.
Showing posts with label recipes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recipes. Show all posts
February 23, 2011
March 25, 2010
Veggie Girl Versus the Meat Monster
A few weeks ago, I posted about my diva's decision to be a vegetarian. And then, her decision not to be a vegetarian.
Except, as it happens, she is still a vegetarian. Most of the time. Well, really, while the sun's up. She is a vegetarian every day for breakfast. She is a vegetarian every day for lunch.
It's dinner that gets her.
Pretty much every night that my kids are with me, we have a home-cooked, please-pass-the-potatoes, family-style dinner. Big bowls and platters and a basket of bread from the bakery. Thing is, I can't really make it meat-free. My Aspie craves protein like most folks crave water (or, in my case, chocolate). So meat's on the table. Period.
Veggie Girl's dilemma? She likes meat. She really really likes meat.
She also really wants to be a vegetarian. So she tries. Every night at dinner she fills her plate with bread and veggies and happy side dishes. She adds on veggie burgers and cheese and hard-boiled eggs. She eats. She goes back for seconds.
And that's when she finds that she can't really resist the chicken.
Tonight I served meatloaf. It's a funky little meatloaf fully of carrots and onions and whole wheat bread, and I'm perpetually shocked that my kids love it. But they do. And that includes my Veggie Girl.
Veggie Girl: "What are you making?"
Me: "Meatloaf."
VG: "I like meatloaf. What's it made of?"
Me: "Cow."
"Oh. That's red meat." she says. She thinks. "You know, I only eat red meat."
Me: "Don't you like chicken, too?"
VG: "Right. I only eat red meat and chicken. ... And fish."
She's still a vegetarian. Or so she tells me. She's just a vegetarian who eats meat.
And hey, look, a recipe! Because if this meatloaf can tempt Veggie Girl, your kids (if you've got 'em) might just like it, too.
1 beaten egg
1 slice of whole wheat bread, crumbled
1/4 milk
1/2 medium onion, chopped to tiny bits in a food processor
1/4-1/2 c carrots, chopped to tiny bits in a food processor
1/2 tsp oregano
1 lb ground beef (don't go lean for meatloaf - you need that fat to compensate for the long cooking time)
2 Tbs ketchup
In a mixing bowl, combine everything, along with a bit of salt and pepper. Mix it up well. Pat mixture into a loaf pan and bake in a 350 F oven for 45 to 50 minutes, or until no pink remains (use a meat thermometer - it should reach 170 F). Let rest for 5 minutes, transfer to a platter, and serve. My mom always put a bit of tomato paste on the top about 5 minutes before it came out of the oven, but my kids didn't take to that part, so I leave it off.
Except, as it happens, she is still a vegetarian. Most of the time. Well, really, while the sun's up. She is a vegetarian every day for breakfast. She is a vegetarian every day for lunch.
It's dinner that gets her.
Pretty much every night that my kids are with me, we have a home-cooked, please-pass-the-potatoes, family-style dinner. Big bowls and platters and a basket of bread from the bakery. Thing is, I can't really make it meat-free. My Aspie craves protein like most folks crave water (or, in my case, chocolate). So meat's on the table. Period.
Veggie Girl's dilemma? She likes meat. She really really likes meat.
She also really wants to be a vegetarian. So she tries. Every night at dinner she fills her plate with bread and veggies and happy side dishes. She adds on veggie burgers and cheese and hard-boiled eggs. She eats. She goes back for seconds.
And that's when she finds that she can't really resist the chicken.
Tonight I served meatloaf. It's a funky little meatloaf fully of carrots and onions and whole wheat bread, and I'm perpetually shocked that my kids love it. But they do. And that includes my Veggie Girl.
Veggie Girl: "What are you making?"
Me: "Meatloaf."
VG: "I like meatloaf. What's it made of?"
Me: "Cow."
"Oh. That's red meat." she says. She thinks. "You know, I only eat red meat."
Me: "Don't you like chicken, too?"
VG: "Right. I only eat red meat and chicken. ... And fish."
She's still a vegetarian. Or so she tells me. She's just a vegetarian who eats meat.
And hey, look, a recipe! Because if this meatloaf can tempt Veggie Girl, your kids (if you've got 'em) might just like it, too.
Meat Monster Meatloaf
Adapted from Better Homes and Gardens' New Cook Book (1996)1 beaten egg
1 slice of whole wheat bread, crumbled
1/4 milk
1/2 medium onion, chopped to tiny bits in a food processor
1/4-1/2 c carrots, chopped to tiny bits in a food processor
1/2 tsp oregano
1 lb ground beef (don't go lean for meatloaf - you need that fat to compensate for the long cooking time)
2 Tbs ketchup
In a mixing bowl, combine everything, along with a bit of salt and pepper. Mix it up well. Pat mixture into a loaf pan and bake in a 350 F oven for 45 to 50 minutes, or until no pink remains (use a meat thermometer - it should reach 170 F). Let rest for 5 minutes, transfer to a platter, and serve. My mom always put a bit of tomato paste on the top about 5 minutes before it came out of the oven, but my kids didn't take to that part, so I leave it off.
February 10, 2010
Three Hairy Fairies
I remember a time when snow was fun. Sledding. Catching flakes on your tongue. Making snow angels and snow balls and snowmen.
But when you're looking out your window at the second blizzard in a week, the third blizzard of the season ...
... when the snow is taller than your four year old and you haven't left your house in days ...
... when you've dug through nearly 80 inches of the white stuff in the space of about six weeks ...
Soooooo not fun.
It's shoveling and backaches and wet and salty on your hardwood floors. It's ice dams on the roof and water damage in the drywall. It's slogging through hip-deep cold to dig out the heat pump. It's cabin fever and kids gone wild.
But there's a kind of awesomeness to all this snowfall, too. Because it brings out the village. As in the "it takes a village" village. Which is, as I've just learned, about snow as much as it is about kids.
See, I dug out my heat pump because a friend on Facebook thought to post a note about it to save everyone from burning out their motors and dying of carbon monoxide poisoning.
Another friend posted a diagram on ice dams, and a third spent an hour on the phone talking me through my dams and my drywall and my homeowner's insurance. I'd never heard of the dam things (ha ha), and they are killing my little house.
And, in a tremendous act of kindness, three of my neighbors - my three hairy snow fairies - took pity on our vain attempts to shovel through the mad snowfall and dug out my driveway. Not once, not twice, but over and over until the snow finally stopped.
Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Still can't find the mailbox. But I can get my sick kid to the doctor. That matters.
One friend in the village had the kids in mind. She passed along a recipe for snow cream. Awesome stuff. Just like ice cream only easier. If you've got this much snow, might as well eat some of it. 'Cause eating snow? That's fun.
1 big bowl of snow
1/2 to 1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup of milk (enough to make it mushy, not runny)
Stir & enjoy! My diva ate two bowls of the stuff, and even my sugar averse Aspie deemed it a hit.
... when the snow is taller than your four year old and you haven't left your house in days ...
... when you've dug through nearly 80 inches of the white stuff in the space of about six weeks ...
Soooooo not fun.
It's shoveling and backaches and wet and salty on your hardwood floors. It's ice dams on the roof and water damage in the drywall. It's slogging through hip-deep cold to dig out the heat pump. It's cabin fever and kids gone wild.
But there's a kind of awesomeness to all this snowfall, too. Because it brings out the village. As in the "it takes a village" village. Which is, as I've just learned, about snow as much as it is about kids.
See, I dug out my heat pump because a friend on Facebook thought to post a note about it to save everyone from burning out their motors and dying of carbon monoxide poisoning.
Another friend posted a diagram on ice dams, and a third spent an hour on the phone talking me through my dams and my drywall and my homeowner's insurance. I'd never heard of the dam things (ha ha), and they are killing my little house.
And, in a tremendous act of kindness, three of my neighbors - my three hairy snow fairies - took pity on our vain attempts to shovel through the mad snowfall and dug out my driveway. Not once, not twice, but over and over until the snow finally stopped.
Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Still can't find the mailbox. But I can get my sick kid to the doctor. That matters.
One friend in the village had the kids in mind. She passed along a recipe for snow cream. Awesome stuff. Just like ice cream only easier. If you've got this much snow, might as well eat some of it. 'Cause eating snow? That's fun.
Snow Cream
1 big bowl of snow
1/2 to 1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup of milk (enough to make it mushy, not runny)
Stir & enjoy! My diva ate two bowls of the stuff, and even my sugar averse Aspie deemed it a hit.
January 4, 2010
Kissing 2009 Good-Bye
It's a new year. A new me. A whole new name. Well, an old name, but since I haven't used it in 13+ years, it feels new. New "About Me," over there on the right, too. Kinda had to change it now that I've officially left the limboverse between separation and divorce and entered single motherhood.
Felt all that merited a new template, too. Old one was nice and green. This one is not green, but it's far easier to read, and that's considerably more important. I wish I had the time and the talent to make my own beautiful green blog layout. I don't.
And so, a new year. I'm tickled pink to have kissed 2009 good-bye. Much crap in 2009. Much. Crap.
Lots of joy too, though. And since I'm a rose-colored glasses kind of gal, I thought it best to wrap up the year with a Done List of the good stuff.
In the past year, I have ...
Felt all that merited a new template, too. Old one was nice and green. This one is not green, but it's far easier to read, and that's considerably more important. I wish I had the time and the talent to make my own beautiful green blog layout. I don't.
And so, a new year. I'm tickled pink to have kissed 2009 good-bye. Much crap in 2009. Much. Crap.
Lots of joy too, though. And since I'm a rose-colored glasses kind of gal, I thought it best to wrap up the year with a Done List of the good stuff.
In the past year, I have ...
- Introduced my kids to 35 members of my immediate and extended family, all of whom love them to pieces just because they were born.
- Hugged my dad. In person even.
- Successfully baked cakes from scratch. Martha Stewart's Cupcakes is my new kitchen bible, and trust me, the yellow buttermilk cupcakes with fluffy vanilla frosting will put you in a cupcake coma. Pure joy.
- Rediscovered old friends and made some new ones. These friends? They're the kind who, once you've met them, you wonder how you ever thought your life was whole without them.
- Found The Best Side Dish ever - Cauliflower Goat Cheese Gratin, at Bobby Flay's Bar Americain in New York. If you go there, order five servings of cauliflower and a Cosmo. It's all you need.
- Saw Wicked. Lately, my diva's been singing "Defying Gravity" ... and she's doing it well.
Saw the most beautiful place on earth: Paradise on Mount Rainier in August.- Learned several important lessons, one of which I'm currently ignoring (that would be Lesson 3: Get Some Sleep, Stupid)
- Rescued one sorely damaged and dearly treasured cast iron fry pan from kitchen fire. Elbow grease and bacon brought it back. So nice to have an excuse to cook lots and lots of bacon.
- Made 57 blog posts. People actually read them. Awesome.
- Got my kids through an insane number of transitions. Separation. Divorce. Middle school. Preschool. New au pairs. Old au pairs. And realized that, after a full year of change, they are happy. Really, truly, genuinely happy.
- And, of course, made it through Limbo. That's the big one, really.
December 27, 2009
Smiling Eyes
Today marks 467 days in limbo.
It's also the day after Christmas.
The kids and I, we had an awesome Christmas morning full of magic and hugs and a ginormous holiday breakfast, with pretty much everyone's favorites - pancakes for the diva, fruit smoothies for my redhead, and a truckload of sausage and bacon for my protein-starved Aspie. Then, the three of them went cheerfully off with their dad for dinner. They're staying with him through the weekend, so I am sitting here quietly, appreciating the lights on the tree and the chance to sleep in.
This is my second single-parent Christmas, so I'm a little more used to coping on my own. While we didn't get our tree up until Christmas Eve - I'm blaming the East Coast blizzard for that - I did manage a few other things. We baked cookies, including my favorite eggnog cookies. I ordered holiday cards and got them in the mail before the New Year. (That's a personal best, by the way - I once sent out Christmas cards with hearts and shamrocks on the envelopes.)
And, after a few years off, I made calendars.
These are photo calendars, a kind of year in review that I have made, on occasion, for my family. Most of these folks are pretty far away, so the calendars were a nice way to bring the kids into their day-to-day. I'd take the best pictures of my kids from the past year and put them in, month by month, with each month capturing the kids from exactly a year before.
And so, I built my calendars. January, and my diva's 7th birthday. April, with the cherry blossoms in Washington, DC. Our trip to Seattle last July and August. Snow in December.
And I saw something.
Last January, the kids were pensive, sad, with smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. February, March, it's more of the same.
By summer, though, you start to see a change. A twinkle, sometimes. A real smile or two. And by fall, it's crystal clear. The kids are not just smiling. They're happy. Really, really happy.
And I'd never have noticed if I hadn't laid all the pictures out like that, chronologically.
This level of change, with the separation, and soon (I hope!) the divorce - it's not easy, even if it's for the best. But I'm so so proud of these little people. They've come through it. They held hands and they hugged each other and they got through it.
And they're happy. Really, really happy.
Know what? I am too.
So here. Have an eggnog cookie on me :-)
Eggnog Cookies*
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg (even better if it's freshly grated)
1 1/4 cups white sugar
3/4 cups butter, softened
1/2 cup eggnog
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 large egg yolks
1 tbs ground nutmeg
Preheat oven to 300 F. In a medium mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, cinnamon and nutmeg. Mix well with a wire whisk and set aside. In a large bowl, cream sugar and butter with an electric mixer to form a grainy paste. Add eggnog, vanilla and egg yolks and beat at medium speed until smooth. Add the flour mixture and beat at low speed until just combined. Do not overmix. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheets (parchment paper helps), 1 inch apart. Sprinkle lightly with nutmeg. Bake for 23-25 minutes or until bottoms turn light brown. Transfer to cool, flat surface immediately with a spatula.
* Thank you, Mrs. Fields!
It's also the day after Christmas.
The kids and I, we had an awesome Christmas morning full of magic and hugs and a ginormous holiday breakfast, with pretty much everyone's favorites - pancakes for the diva, fruit smoothies for my redhead, and a truckload of sausage and bacon for my protein-starved Aspie. Then, the three of them went cheerfully off with their dad for dinner. They're staying with him through the weekend, so I am sitting here quietly, appreciating the lights on the tree and the chance to sleep in.
This is my second single-parent Christmas, so I'm a little more used to coping on my own. While we didn't get our tree up until Christmas Eve - I'm blaming the East Coast blizzard for that - I did manage a few other things. We baked cookies, including my favorite eggnog cookies. I ordered holiday cards and got them in the mail before the New Year. (That's a personal best, by the way - I once sent out Christmas cards with hearts and shamrocks on the envelopes.)
And, after a few years off, I made calendars.
These are photo calendars, a kind of year in review that I have made, on occasion, for my family. Most of these folks are pretty far away, so the calendars were a nice way to bring the kids into their day-to-day. I'd take the best pictures of my kids from the past year and put them in, month by month, with each month capturing the kids from exactly a year before.
And so, I built my calendars. January, and my diva's 7th birthday. April, with the cherry blossoms in Washington, DC. Our trip to Seattle last July and August. Snow in December.
And I saw something.
Last January, the kids were pensive, sad, with smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. February, March, it's more of the same.
By summer, though, you start to see a change. A twinkle, sometimes. A real smile or two. And by fall, it's crystal clear. The kids are not just smiling. They're happy. Really, really happy.
And I'd never have noticed if I hadn't laid all the pictures out like that, chronologically.
This level of change, with the separation, and soon (I hope!) the divorce - it's not easy, even if it's for the best. But I'm so so proud of these little people. They've come through it. They held hands and they hugged each other and they got through it.
And they're happy. Really, really happy.
Know what? I am too.
So here. Have an eggnog cookie on me :-)
Eggnog Cookies*
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg (even better if it's freshly grated)
1 1/4 cups white sugar
3/4 cups butter, softened
1/2 cup eggnog
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 large egg yolks
1 tbs ground nutmeg
Preheat oven to 300 F. In a medium mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, cinnamon and nutmeg. Mix well with a wire whisk and set aside. In a large bowl, cream sugar and butter with an electric mixer to form a grainy paste. Add eggnog, vanilla and egg yolks and beat at medium speed until smooth. Add the flour mixture and beat at low speed until just combined. Do not overmix. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheets (parchment paper helps), 1 inch apart. Sprinkle lightly with nutmeg. Bake for 23-25 minutes or until bottoms turn light brown. Transfer to cool, flat surface immediately with a spatula.
* Thank you, Mrs. Fields!
November 3, 2009
Don't Eat the Pork, Reprise
Three weeks ago tomorrow, my oldest came home with a random fever. Three days and done. My doctor tells me this is what the swine flu looks like in a kid with a kick-ass immune system.
By Monday afternoon, my diva had spiked a raging fever, hovered there for days and days, and finally recovered the following Monday.
On Friday, the little guy got it. But because by then we had confirmation that we were dealing with H1N1, we had Tamiflu at the ready.
My au pair got sick on Saturday. I got sick on Monday.
All swine flu, right?
Nope.
Turns out, mine was some other virus doing a damn fine impression of the swine flu, most likely because it was the similar but much less scary seasonal flu. How do I know? Because today, after 24 hours in bed shivering, feverish, and too weak to lift my own damn head, I was diagnosed, at last, with the swine flu.
The good news? It's not pneumonia.
I think that's about it.
What sucks about this? Oh, so many things ...
I can't hug my kids.
-----
P.S. If you, too, are caught with your Tamiflu down and want a more natural approach to immunity boosting, try my friend's Stinky Soup (known to Yoga Journal as the Immune Booster Soup, which they published in December 2006).
I'll admit, I do make some changes so that it's not quite so stinky and I'll actually want to eat it.
Immune Booster Soup
4 c. mushroom or chicken broth
1 small yellow onion, chopped
4 to 10 cloves garlic (to taste), crushed and chopped
1 carrot, chopped
4 to 8 shitake mushrooms, sliced
1 to 3 T. grated ginger root (to taste)
3 T. chopped fresh parsley
Bring the broth, onion, garlic, carrot, mushrooms, and ginger root to a slow boil. Reduce heat and simmer on low, covered, for 15 minutes or until the vegetables are soft.
Remove from heat. Add fresh lemon juice, parsley, and any remaining garlic.
Cover and steep for 5 minutes.
My version
Yesterday, I sauteed all the stinky bits in olive oil, thereby destroying most of their immune properties. I used an enormous amount of shiitake mushrooms. I forgot the carrot and had no parsley or fresh lemon, all of which would have been lovely. I added a package of Japanese noodles, a splash of lime juice, a little sesame oil and some soy sauce.
So in other words, I totally cheated.
By Monday afternoon, my diva had spiked a raging fever, hovered there for days and days, and finally recovered the following Monday.
On Friday, the little guy got it. But because by then we had confirmation that we were dealing with H1N1, we had Tamiflu at the ready.
My au pair got sick on Saturday. I got sick on Monday.
All swine flu, right?
Nope.
Turns out, mine was some other virus doing a damn fine impression of the swine flu, most likely because it was the similar but much less scary seasonal flu. How do I know? Because today, after 24 hours in bed shivering, feverish, and too weak to lift my own damn head, I was diagnosed, at last, with the swine flu.
The good news? It's not pneumonia.
I think that's about it.
What sucks about this? Oh, so many things ...
- I don't qualify for Tamiflu. My kids have all had the damn flu, so I'm no longer considered high risk. I get to suffer through this the hard way.
- I can't concentrate enough to knit. Or read. Or write (which means this will need a lot of editing). Though I can type lying down, so the computer seems to be my new happy place. Hello, Facebook. ('Cause, you know, I don't spend enough time there as it is.)
- I'm coughing. A lot. Anyone reading this who has also given birth to three children will know exactly why that's so awful.
- I'm a single mom. A single mom with a phenomenal au pair and an unusually helpful nearly-ex-husband. But there are many times when it's still only me on call, and you don't get to turn that off just 'cause you're sick.
- Two weeks battling two different flus mean I'm missing enormous amounts of work. All of which I'll have to make up. Can you say "relapse"? I can.
- I'm likely going to have to cancel all my weekend plans. Remember that me time I keep talking about? Gone. But hey, at least now I'll have time to disinfect the house. Yay.
I can't hug my kids.
-----
P.S. If you, too, are caught with your Tamiflu down and want a more natural approach to immunity boosting, try my friend's Stinky Soup (known to Yoga Journal as the Immune Booster Soup, which they published in December 2006).
I'll admit, I do make some changes so that it's not quite so stinky and I'll actually want to eat it.
Immune Booster Soup
4 c. mushroom or chicken broth
1 small yellow onion, chopped
4 to 10 cloves garlic (to taste), crushed and chopped
1 carrot, chopped
4 to 8 shitake mushrooms, sliced
1 to 3 T. grated ginger root (to taste)
3 T. chopped fresh parsley
Bring the broth, onion, garlic, carrot, mushrooms, and ginger root to a slow boil. Reduce heat and simmer on low, covered, for 15 minutes or until the vegetables are soft.
Remove from heat. Add fresh lemon juice, parsley, and any remaining garlic.
Cover and steep for 5 minutes.
My version
Yesterday, I sauteed all the stinky bits in olive oil, thereby destroying most of their immune properties. I used an enormous amount of shiitake mushrooms. I forgot the carrot and had no parsley or fresh lemon, all of which would have been lovely. I added a package of Japanese noodles, a splash of lime juice, a little sesame oil and some soy sauce.
So in other words, I totally cheated.
November 1, 2009
The Great Pumpkin
I love Halloween.When I was a kid, it was all about homemade costumes, made-from-scratch popcorn balls and hometown Halloween fests where you bobbed for apples and watched your sister win the prize for most creative costume. She was a turtleneck-headed monster with a mask made from styrofoam bits, construction paper and tinfoil, and she was awesome.
I was a princess. I was always a princess. Of course, I was a princess in a dress brought back from India with my face "hennaed" in waterproof eyeliner by my artist mom. But still, a princess.
I'm not so much into the commercial bits of Halloween - the big puffy air-blown pumpkins and cemeteries in the front yard, the giant Halloween stores with countless cheaply-made costumes and scary rubber masks, the oceans and oceans of candy. But I don't mind them. The way we celebrate as a society, it's very American. And it's kinda cool.
For me, though, Halloween is something more than ghosts and chocolate and dry ice. It's also about my Oma, who passed away in 2000 after a long and interesting life. I think of her nearly every day, but more, of course, on her birthday. Yesterday, on Halloween, she would have been 101 years old.So now, with the kids, Halloween is a chance to share the values I learned from my Oma, passed along through my own parents. We knock out some of the commercialism and take some time together. Each year, my kids & I pick costumes we can create by hand (though sometimes the drive to be a character means we pick up a superhero suit at Target). We bake cookies shaped like little black cats and send them off to school parties. We pick pumpkins from a pumpkin patch, draw faces on them with Sharpies and then carve them out meticulously and light them up.
It's still about the costumes, the candy haul and the sugar high. But it's also about spending time together, creating and planning, doing things for each other. Now granted, it's often me doing most of the work on this stuff - my kids are fabulous and talented, but they're still a bit young to handle a sewing machine. The idea that we're thinking and creating and being together, though - that's still important, and it's what they get out of this. At least, I hope they do.
I do love Halloween.
Oh, and bonus for the food fans: you, too, can make black cat cookies! I got this recipe from Taste of Home's Halloween Party Favorites in 2005 and have made it every year since. The cookies are not terribly sweet - but, the dough is stiff and these shape beautifully.
1 cup butter, softened
2 cups sugar
2 eggs
3 tsp vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup baking cocoa
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
24 wooden craft or popsicle sticks (I usually leave these out)
24 red hot candies
48 pieces candy corn (be careful - I'm a candy corn fiend, so if you buy these too early, I might just come to your house and eat all your candy corn before you're ready to bake ... that's what happens at my house, anyway)
In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Combine the flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt; gradually add to the creamed mixture. Roll dough into 1-1/2 inch balls. Place 3 in. apart on lightly greased baking sheets (I just use parchment paper & skip the greasing). Insert a wooden stick into each cookie. Flatten with a glass dipped in sugar. Pinch top of cookie to form ears. For whiskers, press a fork twice into each cookie. Bake at 350 F for 10-12 minutes or until cookies are set. Remove from the oven; immediately press on candy corn for eyes and red-hot candies for noses. Remove to wire racks to cool. Yield: 2 dozen.
July 28, 2009
Wine & Pie
The Land of Limbo belongs exclusively to the separated-but-not-quite-divorced. And it is a strange, strange place. One of the strangest things about it is that you firmly believe you're stuck there all by your lonesome. This is ironic, because you know for a fact there's at least one other resident - that being the person to whom you are now not-yet-unmarried. Not that you want to talk with him about it, even under the most amicable of circumstances.
Which is how we come to wine and pie. And yes, there's a recipe in here ... two actually. Keep reading. We'll get to them. ("What?" you gasp. "She's talking about food? I totally forgot she did that.")
I am fortunate enough to have a large number of friends who love me to pieces and have been looking for an excuse to show it. One of these friends, when he saw me heading off into Limbo Land, realized he had two other friends who were living there too. He introduced us to each other. And now the three of us are also friends, tied together by the strangeness of our circumstances and by the fact that we happen to like each other. Our kids like each other, too. Coolness all around.
Last weekend, we got together with two other Limbo Land residents for an evening of wine, pie, and catharsis.
It was not all about the dessert. We kicked off the evening with a MiddleSouthEasternAsian smorgasbord that included homemade tahini hummus, spicy chick pea masala, green salad with feta, and a fragrant cinnamon beef and chicken and rice dish. There was also a big mess of tabouleh made with such dedication and commitment that every single leaf of parsley and mint was chopped by hand. I know this because I did all that chopping myself and my forearms still ache ... yes I own a food processor ... clearly I was not in my right mind. The tabouleh could have used a good bit more lemon. But it wasn't bad, considering I was winging the recipe from memory because the dog ate my recipe cards. That, however, is a story for another day. Tabouleh recipe is below (and if you can figure out what it was missing - I suspect it was more than just the lemon - please share).
All that food? It was just the appetizer. The whole point of the evening was wine and pie. You put those two things together and you have something magical. Hence the catharsis. Give anyone enough sugar and alcohol and they'll have epiphanies they didn't even know they needed.
For me, pie comes once a year at Thanksgiving. I make an apple crunch pie that I found in an issue of Family Circle waaaaay back in the mid-1990s and have made every year since. It's the only pie I make.
In honor of wine and pie night, though, I ventured outside of my apple-y comfort zone and made a strawberry-rhubarb pie. With fresh rhubarb. I've eyed it at the grocery store countless times and never done a damn thing with it. But it's good stuff, that rhubarb. Pretty and pink and tart. Recipe is below.
My pie was served side-by-side with our hostess's Hershey Bar pie, a decadent mash-up of almond Hershey bars, marshmallows (I think?), Cool Whip and two other ingredients that I really wish I could remember right now. Even my kids liked that one. And they think pie is for sissies.
Gotta tell you - it's worth living in Limbo Land just for the food.
Recipes:
The Dog Ate My Tabouleh
Strawberry Rhubarb Pie (The Cheater's Version)
Which is how we come to wine and pie. And yes, there's a recipe in here ... two actually. Keep reading. We'll get to them. ("What?" you gasp. "She's talking about food? I totally forgot she did that.")
I am fortunate enough to have a large number of friends who love me to pieces and have been looking for an excuse to show it. One of these friends, when he saw me heading off into Limbo Land, realized he had two other friends who were living there too. He introduced us to each other. And now the three of us are also friends, tied together by the strangeness of our circumstances and by the fact that we happen to like each other. Our kids like each other, too. Coolness all around.
Last weekend, we got together with two other Limbo Land residents for an evening of wine, pie, and catharsis.
It was not all about the dessert. We kicked off the evening with a MiddleSouthEasternAsian smorgasbord that included homemade tahini hummus, spicy chick pea masala, green salad with feta, and a fragrant cinnamon beef and chicken and rice dish. There was also a big mess of tabouleh made with such dedication and commitment that every single leaf of parsley and mint was chopped by hand. I know this because I did all that chopping myself and my forearms still ache ... yes I own a food processor ... clearly I was not in my right mind. The tabouleh could have used a good bit more lemon. But it wasn't bad, considering I was winging the recipe from memory because the dog ate my recipe cards. That, however, is a story for another day. Tabouleh recipe is below (and if you can figure out what it was missing - I suspect it was more than just the lemon - please share).
All that food? It was just the appetizer. The whole point of the evening was wine and pie. You put those two things together and you have something magical. Hence the catharsis. Give anyone enough sugar and alcohol and they'll have epiphanies they didn't even know they needed.
For me, pie comes once a year at Thanksgiving. I make an apple crunch pie that I found in an issue of Family Circle waaaaay back in the mid-1990s and have made every year since. It's the only pie I make.
In honor of wine and pie night, though, I ventured outside of my apple-y comfort zone and made a strawberry-rhubarb pie. With fresh rhubarb. I've eyed it at the grocery store countless times and never done a damn thing with it. But it's good stuff, that rhubarb. Pretty and pink and tart. Recipe is below.
My pie was served side-by-side with our hostess's Hershey Bar pie, a decadent mash-up of almond Hershey bars, marshmallows (I think?), Cool Whip and two other ingredients that I really wish I could remember right now. Even my kids liked that one. And they think pie is for sissies.
Gotta tell you - it's worth living in Limbo Land just for the food.
Recipes:
The Dog Ate My Tabouleh
- 1 cup bulgur
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/4 c olive oil
- 1 bunch of scallions, green parts and all, thinly sliced
- 2 bunches of parsley, chopped fine (take my advice and use the food processor)
- 2 packs of mint (about 1/2 c when chopped - hey, if you drop it in the food processor with the parsley, you'll really be cooking!)
- 1 seedless English cucumber, peeled (mostly) and diced
- 4-6 tomatoes with actual flavor, seeded and diced
- The juice of 4 lemons. I only had 2. Use 4. Or more. Lemon is good.
- Salt & pepper to taste
Strawberry Rhubarb Pie (The Cheater's Version)
- 4 c trimmed rhubarb, sliced about 1/2 inch thick (about 1 1/2 lbs if you're buying it fresh - though frozen will do)
- 1 lb (16 oz) strawberries, hulled and cut in half (my diva cut the strawberries - girl's got mad skills with a paring knife)
- 1/2 c packed brown sugar
- 1/2 c granulated sugar
- 1/4 c cornstarch (though I'm thinking tapioca might work better)
- 1 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/4 tsp vanilla
- 1/4 tsp salt
- One refrigerated Pillsbury pie crust (that's the cheating part - if you want to go whole hog, find a good two-crust recipe and make it instead)
- 1 large egg yolk beaten with 1 tsp water
April 28, 2009
Call Me Couscous
On the plus side of separation and divorce is the opportunity to fix a few things and get them right the second time around. Takes a while - a good, long while - to figure out what those things should be, exactly. It's an iterative process, and one I'm going through with some measure of success and a nearly equal measure of failure.
Here's one I'm determined to get right.
Lesson 1: Make time for you.
It’s okay not to be at the top of your list, but you should at least make the top five. A stressed out mom is a grumpy mom, and even the best of us a need a break.
Given the massive changes in my life in the last few months, I needed a big huge gargantuan break. So, last weekend, I took one. Invited a friend to hop a train with me and headed to NYC for food and art and a little Broadway.
Which brings me to couscous.
My part of the world is a quick train ride from NYC. But if you've ever spent much time on Amtrak, you know the food is, well, bleh. And that's being charitable.
So I packed a lunch. A grown-up, not-your-average-lunchbox lunch. No plain Jane turkey sandwiches for me on my grown-up vacation. Went recipe trolling on foodnetwork.com and came up with something that I thought might work: Moroccan Chicken with Apricot Couscous and Green Olive Sauce. Changed it up a bit, because no one in her right mind should ever spend an hour and ten minutes making lunch. Used boneless, skinless chicken breasts and covered them in a very intense, home-ground spice rub ... then rinsed off the rub once everything was cooked and cooled. Used regular old tortillas instead of wasting time hunting down lavosh.
Grown-up food does not have to be exotic. Just has to fake it well.
Couscous in a wrap is not something I'd ever have thought of on my own. I frankly figured the texture would be a little odd in what was basically a sandwich (and if you've read me on couscous before, you'll get that). But it went so well with the other bits, it made that wrap worth eating. Celeb chef Tyler Florence doesn't usually impress me much, but that worked.
So, the wraps were good. Set a nice, adult tone for a nice, adult weekend. Managed to stay away from the giant Toys R Us in Times Square, avoided the M&M store, and even kept my distance from the world-renowned Natural History museum. Instead, I toured a grown-up museum full of grown-up art, ate lots of grown-up food, and even had a grown-up drink or two.
Even better, though ... I had two meals worth of phenomenal leftovers waiting for me on my return. The couscous and all its flavors had a chance to meld and soften, the olive sauce settled into salty, tangy comfort, and the chicken found its juicy goodness.
I'll make that again ... then wait two or three days to eat it. Without the tortillas this time.
Here's one I'm determined to get right.
Lesson 1: Make time for you.
It’s okay not to be at the top of your list, but you should at least make the top five. A stressed out mom is a grumpy mom, and even the best of us a need a break.
Given the massive changes in my life in the last few months, I needed a big huge gargantuan break. So, last weekend, I took one. Invited a friend to hop a train with me and headed to NYC for food and art and a little Broadway.
Which brings me to couscous.
My part of the world is a quick train ride from NYC. But if you've ever spent much time on Amtrak, you know the food is, well, bleh. And that's being charitable.
So I packed a lunch. A grown-up, not-your-average-lunchbox lunch. No plain Jane turkey sandwiches for me on my grown-up vacation. Went recipe trolling on foodnetwork.com and came up with something that I thought might work: Moroccan Chicken with Apricot Couscous and Green Olive Sauce. Changed it up a bit, because no one in her right mind should ever spend an hour and ten minutes making lunch. Used boneless, skinless chicken breasts and covered them in a very intense, home-ground spice rub ... then rinsed off the rub once everything was cooked and cooled. Used regular old tortillas instead of wasting time hunting down lavosh.
Grown-up food does not have to be exotic. Just has to fake it well.
Couscous in a wrap is not something I'd ever have thought of on my own. I frankly figured the texture would be a little odd in what was basically a sandwich (and if you've read me on couscous before, you'll get that). But it went so well with the other bits, it made that wrap worth eating. Celeb chef Tyler Florence doesn't usually impress me much, but that worked.
So, the wraps were good. Set a nice, adult tone for a nice, adult weekend. Managed to stay away from the giant Toys R Us in Times Square, avoided the M&M store, and even kept my distance from the world-renowned Natural History museum. Instead, I toured a grown-up museum full of grown-up art, ate lots of grown-up food, and even had a grown-up drink or two.
Even better, though ... I had two meals worth of phenomenal leftovers waiting for me on my return. The couscous and all its flavors had a chance to meld and soften, the olive sauce settled into salty, tangy comfort, and the chicken found its juicy goodness.
I'll make that again ... then wait two or three days to eat it. Without the tortillas this time.
April 21, 2009
THE Tuna Salad
So, no surprise here, I am a mom. Mom of three, in fact, and quite proud of it. I also look like a mom of three. Gave birth to all of 'em myself and have the scars, stretch marks and cellulite to prove it. And for the past decade or so, I've been happily convincing myself these are badges of honor.
I am also now a not-quite-single mom who is considering reentry into the dating universe after 15 years. Frankly, unless you've been through this experience yourself, you cannot possibly imagine the sheer terror involved in putting yourself out there again. Dating was hard enough before I looked like this. And I can only imagine the challenges of dating now that I do.
To that end, I've been trying - at least a little, when I have time - to eat more healthfully. Lately that's meant that I've scaled back the late-night binge eating, and I'm trying to stay away from the macaroni & cheese and chicken nuggets. The kids may get McDonald's, but not me! Well, maybe a fry ... or two. But that's it!
Today, in an effort to be healthy, I sat down to make myself a salad. Checked the fridge. No lettuce!! How does one make a salad without lettuce? Oh, sure, there are ways ... but my creativity was stifled for a minute. Just a minute, mind.
And then I came up with it - the Ultimate Tuna Salad. High in protein and veggies. Not a refined carbohydrate in the bowl. Satisfying. Full of flavor and crunch. And I just gobbled it up in about 30 seconds. Hope it's to your taste.
1/2 red pepper, chopped (though my red pepper was admittedly the largest I've ever seen, so you may want more)
2 whole carrots (or about 10 of the minis), chopped
6-8 sweet baby gherkins, chopped
1 can quartered artichoke hearts
1 can hearts of palm, halved or quartered and sliced
2 tsp olive oil
2 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp dried tarragon (rubbed in the palms)
salt & pepper to taste
1 can chunk light tuna packed in water, drained
Dump it all in a bowl and mix. I would have added a quarter cup or so of pepitas if I'd had them around. Maybe some corn. This would be fun to play around with a bit.
This iteration, though, was definitely good enough for me. The crunch and the soft, the salt and the sweet - it just worked. I want more. My cats are going nuts, as well - though I think that's all about the tuna.
This should probably serve 4. It's going to give me just two meals, though, I can tell that already. And please don't tell me that eating healthfully also includes portion control. That particular rule does not apply today.
I am also now a not-quite-single mom who is considering reentry into the dating universe after 15 years. Frankly, unless you've been through this experience yourself, you cannot possibly imagine the sheer terror involved in putting yourself out there again. Dating was hard enough before I looked like this. And I can only imagine the challenges of dating now that I do.
To that end, I've been trying - at least a little, when I have time - to eat more healthfully. Lately that's meant that I've scaled back the late-night binge eating, and I'm trying to stay away from the macaroni & cheese and chicken nuggets. The kids may get McDonald's, but not me! Well, maybe a fry ... or two. But that's it!
Today, in an effort to be healthy, I sat down to make myself a salad. Checked the fridge. No lettuce!! How does one make a salad without lettuce? Oh, sure, there are ways ... but my creativity was stifled for a minute. Just a minute, mind.
And then I came up with it - the Ultimate Tuna Salad. High in protein and veggies. Not a refined carbohydrate in the bowl. Satisfying. Full of flavor and crunch. And I just gobbled it up in about 30 seconds. Hope it's to your taste.
1/2 red pepper, chopped (though my red pepper was admittedly the largest I've ever seen, so you may want more)
2 whole carrots (or about 10 of the minis), chopped
6-8 sweet baby gherkins, chopped
1 can quartered artichoke hearts
1 can hearts of palm, halved or quartered and sliced
2 tsp olive oil
2 tsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp dried tarragon (rubbed in the palms)
salt & pepper to taste
1 can chunk light tuna packed in water, drained
Dump it all in a bowl and mix. I would have added a quarter cup or so of pepitas if I'd had them around. Maybe some corn. This would be fun to play around with a bit.
This iteration, though, was definitely good enough for me. The crunch and the soft, the salt and the sweet - it just worked. I want more. My cats are going nuts, as well - though I think that's all about the tuna.
This should probably serve 4. It's going to give me just two meals, though, I can tell that already. And please don't tell me that eating healthfully also includes portion control. That particular rule does not apply today.
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