Vertigo B Cooks

Time to change...

2010-07-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

Please join me, won't you?

http://vertigob.blogspot.com/

I hope to see you kicking it at my spiffy new digs.

15 Minute Chili

2010-06-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had to take Grand Master H to the doctor. H is four. He doesn't want to do anything he doesn't want to do. Ever.

He doesn't like to go to the doctor unless he is tagging along to watch his sister get shots. He might be a sadist.

He has a nasty rash on his left leg that is spreading and is now on the move to colonize his right leg.

H trying to spot the doctor before the doctor spots him!

He likes the toys in the waiting room. He likes the lollipops.

Other than those two things, he has no use for the doctor.

In fact, as we waited, he announced in his stage non-whisper that, "I hate Dr. C!" Not the way to make yourself popular, or avoid painful procedures, my little friend!

In hindsight, I am not overly fond of the Dr. C we saw yesterday. He was kind of gently trying to tell me that Baby C's weight might be a little high for her height. There was kind of a little unspoken, "you don't want her to end up like you, do you?" My gut reaction was to tell him to suck it. She is 2, for Christ's sake. I will be damned if I am going to "start watching her in-between meal snacks."

I may be in the market for a new pediatrician. I am not sure if it was just my PMS over-reacting, or if his concerns are legit. I am leaning toward him over-reacting.

The negotiations were complicated and involved bribery. Don't judge, it was a desperate move, I admit it. I have to use what I can here, people. I have stubborn-ass children. Let me just say, for the record, having smart AND stubborn children sucks.

In other news, my children won't wear clothes most days. Most days it looks like a trailer park down the dirt road near Crazytown around here. I have two kids running around, semi-nude, clad only in diapers, yelling their heads off. I can only imagine what the neighbors think.

Earlier this week, Grand Master H came running down from his room, shouting that he needed a napkin, "FAST!"

When I asked what the emergency was he stated the following: "There is poop all over the floor. Mommy, you can get the big one and I will get all the little ones!"

I will let you use your powers of imagination to picture what I found I when arrived in his room. This is supposed to be a food blog, after all!

Taking a little break after sprinting around the kitchen island for about 10 minutes.

A few days later, I stupidly put Baby C down for a nap wearing only a diaper. I tried to get her dressed, but she threw a hissy fit and ran away. She does that a lot.

When I went up to get her a few hours later, she announced that there was, "Poop in my bed." Naturally, I freaked. I saw several loads of disgusting laundry in my near future. Turns out it was a false alarm, she had peed all over her beloved Silkie and several stuffed animals, but no poop. A million thanks to ye gods of all things intestinal!

So, enough already about the bathroom, or non-bathroom habits of my wayward children.

Back to the chili recipe, woman!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Who the the hell eats chili when the temperature is hovering in the 80s? Well, Mr. Smith requested this. When Mr. Smith actually goes to the trouble to request something by emailing me a link, I pay attention. I trot right out to the store and I make that recipe, dammit! I am that kind of wife.

It should be said that I am not a fan of chili. The idea of red meat in soup just gives me the willies. The turkey works very nicely for us instead of beef, but if you prefer beef, go for it.

The great thing about this recipe is I had most of the ingredients, so it was a no-brainer. I need more of those.

Also, it is quick and that is always appealing. We have a kind of wacky non-schedule schedule around here. Being married to Mr. Smith is very similar to being married to a doctor. I never know when he will be home, when he had lunch, etc. I just cook when I feel like it and if somebody eats it, I am happy. If they don't eat it, we have great leftovers.

This recipe does not call for salt or hot sauce, but it needs a little of both. You use your discretion here. Tastes are so individual as far as these two things are concerned, I can't give you measurements.

Ingredients

1 pound ground turkey
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 teaspoon minced garlic

1 16 oz. can pinto beans, drained and rinsed
1 16 oz. can kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 28 oz. can chopped stewed tomatoes
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 tablespoon cumin
1/2 cup salsa

Salt and pepper to taste
Tabasco sauce to taste

In a large pot, brown turkey with chopped onion.

Add beans, tomatoes, garlic, chili powder, cumin, and salsa to turkey mixture. Cook until hot.

Serve with cornbread, tortilla chips, cooked pasta, cooked rice or on top of a baked potato. Sprinkle with cheese or top with sour cream.

Adapted from SparkPeople.com

Makes 4 servings.

First Born

2010-06-13T11:40:00.000-07:00

Being the first born carries a special weight to it. Of course, I may believe this because I am an oldest child. I am, in fact, the oldest child of two oldest children.

I am the "test run" of two "test runs." We are all the children of first-time parents, people who really did not know, in any material sense, what they were getting into. Some of us fared better than others.

I married an oldest child.

I am a glutton for punishment.

We have five oldest children (including our first born) living under one roof. As it turns out, that is exactly four oldest children too many.

We all want to be in charge. We all believe, on some level, that we are in charge, all the time. Picture Clash of the Titans...on Steroids.

As you can imagine, this causes no end of conflict on certain occasions...most occasions.

Something is not right. Something has broken and I don't know how to fix it.

Grand Master H has the metabolism of a coked-up hummingbird . The kid simply can't get enough calories in any given day. Some days he eats 6 eggs. Yup, my four year old can put away half a dozen eggs. In one day. He is a ball of energy. He hops up and down most of the day. He is enthusiastic and sweet, but he can fall apart when not tended to regularly...like every two hours, without exception.

Since last Thanksgiving, I have set alarms (every two hours) to make sure that he eats regularly and eats enough. This level of vigilance is really getting to me.

I think that I have failed him on such an epic scale and I have no idea how to remedy this situation.

The consequences of not feeding him every two hours are dire. He wails like a wounded animal. He cries uncontrollably. He screams. He rages. He spits. He hits. He kicks. He repeats a single phrase over and over and over again until the syllables become blurred and soaked with tears, mucus and frustrated rage.

He tells me he hates me. He tells me I am stupid. He tells me to shut up and get out of the house or the car. He tells me to go live in the green area.

We have had him tested for diabetes, hypoglycemia, etc.

The day we had to take him for his blood tests is tattooed on my memory.

I was not able to get him dressed because he kept ripping his clothes off. I waited in the car with him while Mr. Smith went in and checked us in. As soon as I let him out of his car seat, he skittered to the far side of the back seat and crouched on the floor.

He curled up there, crying and wailing, begging me not to take him into the lab to have tests. "I don't want to have the test" he yelled over and over again in a chant. Until the crisis somehow passed, that would be his personal mantra.

I tried to go to the other door to get him, he scampered to the opposite side. And so it went for several more attempts on my part to retrieve my terrified son. He begged me to just take him home. And I wanted to do just that, more than anything.

Finally, I climbed in the back seat and dragged him, in my arms, out of the car. He hit me and kicked me. He slapped my face and screamed into my mouth as I tried to calm him. He had to have felt he was fighting for his life, the poor thing.

It was taking everything I had to hang on to him and keep him from falling to the pavement. I gave up on the idea of shoes. I was carrying my wailing child into the office barefoot, clad only in his pajamas.

I can't even imagine what the other people in the waiting area thought of us, thought of our child, thought of our stellar parenting skills.

I don't know how many other people were there, I was so focused on keeping it together. I felt so overwhelmed, so helpless and so scared. I knew I had to do this. I knew we had to find out if there was something wrong with him, but the process required to find that out was so daunting.

The phlebotomist was amazing and got the necessary blood drawn without incident. I looked at his little face and he just sat there, stoic and weeping.

He got through it. We got through it.

We got him doughnuts. We bought him toys. But he still gets nervous when we drive near the location of the lab.

I felt wrung out and exhausted. I wanted to go home and crawl under the blankets and stay in bed for the rest of the day, for the rest week. But I could not do that, I can never do that, no matter how much I want to.

I am the oldest child. I have to take care of everyone. I have to take care of everything. I am the one who is responsible for holding everything and everyone together.

Yesterday, it happened again. The screaming, crying, raging went on for about half an hour. Sometimes it goes on longer...up to an hour.

So, every two hours, the boy's food alarm goes off on my phone. I stop what I am doing and begin negotiations with H before he falls apart. The clock is always ticking and I can hear it.

I am getting really tired of it.

A Bunch of Stuff...

2010-05-28T14:30:00.000-07:00

Around here we have been experiencing some form of flu/cold. It so completely and thoroughly sucks to be sick for this long. I have dubbed it the Green Goo. Take it from me, you don't want it and you don't want to know why I call it that horrible name. It is a tenacious cold/flu strain that appears to never go away. Just when you think you are better, to quote Al Pacino, it "pulls you back in."

We are now entering week two. Tempers are short. People are weepy. Noses are chapped and sore. Kleenex is getting scarce. The wheels have most definitely come off the proverbial bus. Things just don't work well when Mommy is sick.

I have a few random things to share.

1. The measure of maternal devotion is whether or not your child has ever thrown up and or pooped into your hands and how you have reacted. There is a gross out factor to motherhood that no one warns you about. The long and short of it: you will come into contact with more bodily fluids, not your own, than an ER nurse. That is just the truth. Sorry no rainbows and lollipops, here. It ain't pretty, but by the time they actually puke or poo into your hands, you are so numb to it (at least I was) that it barely registers on your radar.

2. On Valentine's Day, Mr. Smith and I went out for a sweetheart breakfast. Unfortunately, the place was mobbed, I was really really hungry and we were seated at a tiny table so close to other diners, I could feel their hot breath and see their pores. The sweetheart breakfast disintegrated into an argument between Mr. Smith and myself that played out via iPhone text messaging so that our insanely close neighbors would not be able to hear our heated discussion about Mr. Smith emphatic insistence that we leave IMMEDIATELY! Everything was fine after we adjourned to a less crowded locale and got a booth for a family of 25. Talk about romance. We know how to capture the spirit of Valentine's Day.

3. I used to date a guy that told me, very seriously, to "stop making fun of me or you are going to give me a complexion." Can you fill in what happened next? He was the same guy that got the terms castration and circumcision mixed up...frequently. He has two sons now. True story.

4. I have never seen Ghostbusters, Jurassic Park, most of the Star Wars saga, or any of the Matrix movies. Sorry big movie studio, big budget folks who make event films. I am just not your girl. Your event movies make me sleepy. Also, this is for you Keanu: do us all a favor and turn in your SAG card. Sorry dude, but seriously, it is awkward and uncomfortable to watch you "act."

5. When you are sick and you are under five, it makes you feel better to play Toy Story and Toy Story 2 on an endless loop for over a week. If you are sick and over five, however, it will make you feel like you are going to fly apart into a million pieces.

6. I have been baking up a yeasty storm over here using this book. It is just lovely to have the aroma of baking bread, that you made with your own hot little hands, wafting through the house. It is simple, elegant, and so tasty. There are dozens of recipes in it, not just for bread, that will strike your fancy. This one is perfect for anyone with a phobia of yeast recipes (Miss Amy, I am looking right at you!).

I mean, seriously people, how gorgeous is this? And this was my first loaf.

and the second loaf.

And here is what the wheat version looks like...

The book was worth every penny. We have had fresh bread each day this week and it is absolute bliss.

Here are some links for recipes I have made in the last few months.

Pioneer Woman's Monkey Bread. This one has no nutritional value whatsoever. I would advise you to make this if and only if you get the Green Goo. Otherwise, you will too be clear-headed to justify eating this one. I am ashamed to confess that I have made this twice. Forgive me.

Murphy's Hot Hamburger. This is not something for the Weight Watcher crowd, but it sure is yummy. I skip making my own fries (since I burnt them beyond all recognition the first time I made this) and use Trader Joe's Potato Wedges. It also makes this recipe so much quicker to whip up and serve.

Zesty Pasta Salad. This one is my last ditch attempt at some kind of redemption. This is actually pretty healthy and REALLY tasty. The perfect side dish for Memorial Day picnics.

Here's hoping none of you get this Green Goo! Have a great weekend!

Ok, so I had a little tantrum.

2010-05-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

I deleted a post that was up earlier today.

I had my bitch on for little while there and deleted what I wrote. See, I am a petulant child. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where my devil babies get it! Pray for poor Mr. Smith.

I have been holding on to a couple of funny stories. I will figure out a way to tell these and incorporate some recipes.

In the meantime, here are some photos from Mother's Day.

I am not, in general, a big fan of these days (Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day). I guess the notion of waiting for one particular day to appreciate the people you should appreciate every single day bugs me.

On Sunday, I stood on a secluded beach at low tide and watched my little family. I watched my children dart in and out of the water like little birds. I watched as they got more and more soaked and more and more naked. I watched Mr. Smith carry our son out into the surf. I watched as our brave little boy begged his father not to go back to shore, but keep going further into the surf.

That kind of joy, that kind of abandon, that kind of freedom to scream and laugh and play, it made my heart swell and tears sting my eyes.

This is my life now. And I could not be more thankful...every single day.

Happy Birthday Lina Boo,

2010-05-05T03:00:00.000-07:00

Until the night before the sonogram, your father had me convinced that we were going to have another boy. That night, I dreamed about you throughout the night. Every dream had a song with your name in it for a soundtrack. After that, I just knew. I knew you were the little girl I had dreamed about before the technician ever touched the wand to my belly. I was completely calm because I knew, in my heart, what the sonogram would reveal. There was no more doubt left for me.

"Do you want to know the gender?", she asked right away.

"Absolutely!", we said.

"Yup, definitely a little girl."

That was pretty much the last day you ever cooperated with us.

I have never known anyone like you. You are the most stubborn, headstrong, willful person I have ever met. Okay, other than myself.

I have worried and fretted over you since the moment the pregnancy test was positive. The little message in a bottle you sent to let us know you were in there could not have come at a worse time. We were not ready for you, but apparently, you were ready for us. You are not one to wait. Ever. For anything.

I worried that you were in trouble in there. I worried that you were never going to know what a happy family could be like. We were at an all time low point and you were my ray of hope. You and your brother were the thing that kept me going at that dark time in our lives. I had to be brave for both of you, no matter how scared I was.

You are so little and that is too much responsibility for you to carry.

You are my last baby and some days you make me glad we made that decision. You are a handful.

And then there are the days when you are enchanting. Early in the morning when you have me all to yourself and you are funny and sweet, those are the times that make me regret the decision to not have any more children.

You have a grandmother you have never met. Luckily, there are other women eager to fill her empty shoes, and much more ably, I might add. I hope that you cherish these women the way that I have cherished them. They have so much to teach both of us.

You are a dedicated, fierce contrarian. "No, I don't want it!" is a familiar refrain from you. Even if it is something you do want. Even if it is something you just asked us to get for you. I have never been forced to argue with someone so young, so frequently.

You have the most beautiful khaki/brownish/goldish/bluish eyes that sparkle when you get that naughty little look on your face, which is frequently.

I could watch you all day while you figure everything out. You are scary smart and bossy in the extreme. I figure you will be running a small country before you are eighteen. I am already penning the letter of apology to your future boyfriends. I can only imagine what they will face when dealing with you.

Even though you have a tough candy coating, you are filled with a soft nougat center. You love just as fiercely as you argue.

You are one of the best snugglers I have ever met. I could watch you sleep for hours (assuming you would). I love when you wake up, your cheeks are pink and scored with sleep wrinkles and your hair is chaotic. You put your head on my shoulder and wrap you chubby little arms around my neck. You make me forget how pissed I was that you woke me up at 2:45 and I will be a zombie reanimated by coffee for the rest of the day. You make me thankful that I have that time with you, just the two of us.

You are the person that turned our family from three to four. You have made our family whole. I will be forever thankful that you fluttered into our lives.

I love you, my sweet girl. I can't wait to see what the next two years hold!

Take the Barbie, Eat the Penne

2010-04-30T19:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, but before we talk about Spicy Sausage Penne, I really feel like another issue needs to be addressed.

Today I took Grand Master H on a little outing. We had two missions. The first was to procure a birthday present for Famous Baby C. The second, and of course the real reason H was willing to go with me at all, to acquire yet another age inappropriate Lego thingy for His Lordship.

Like some amateur mom, I let Mr. I-AM-FOUR-NOW-I-CAN-DO-IT-MYSELF choose the gift he wanted to give her. After we established our budget (Barbie's absurd "Dream House" was out of the question) he made his choice. He chose this doll. Go ahead, check it out. I will give you a moment to be properly horrified.

When I was five, my heart's desire was a Barbie. I thought that I might actually die if I didn't get one. My mother had issues with giving her young impressionable daughter something so overtly sexual and, let's face it, stacked.

My mother was not of the Barbie generation. Her younger sisters had the original Barbie (the collector's item that I abused later on in my life, but that is another post entirely) that came with a wardrobe of wigs that would make Rachel Welch and Zsa Zsa Gabor drool. Barbie looked like a creepy cross-dresser with molded black eyelashes and too much indigo eye shadow not to appear trashy.

Instead of getting me a vampy sexpot, my mother opted for Barbie's largely androgynous younger sister, Skipper.

I hated Skipper. Skipper had dorky clothes, the bod of a 13 year old boy and no prospects in the getting laid department. I mean, for Pete's sake, she was a little kid. I was a little kid. There was no fantasy here AT ALL!!

Don't you just hate her? Yup, Malibu Skipper just doesn't do it. What kind of wild, drunken beach orgies would Skipper be involved in? I felt that Skipper needed to be tarted up a bit.

Turns out her tawny flesh was the perfect medium to receive ballpoint pen ink. Yup, way back in the 1970s I was rocking the Tattoo Barbie (okay stinking Skipper, but in my feverish little brain she was a Barbie, dammit). Skipper wasn't sporting some colorful Tramp Stamp, she was wearing that scary blue tattoo ink that you see on crusty old merchant marines that smell like cigarettes, booze and a splash of urine.

But I digress.

Mr. Smith was completely horrified that H would choose Mermaid Barbie with "body art" and pink strips of hair. I half expected him to ask where Barbie's Dream Double Wide Trailer was parked.

So, our little girl will have an age-inappropriate role model with a frightening Pamela Anderson bustline, "body art", and some pink weave. It could be worse, right? She will NEVER have a Lindsay Lohan with a gun-in-her-mouth doll. I don't care how much she begs!

Wait, does this mean my darling little boy is going to bring some inked-up busty stripper home at some point?

Okay, back to important stuff...like dinner items.

Spicy Sausage Penne

1 (8 oz) package spicy Italian sausage (Trader Joe's might actually set you on fire, but you can certainly opt for sweet sausage instead of spicy)
1 box of penne pasta (I used fortified) cooked according to package instructions.

2 Tablespoons olive oil
5 cloves of garlic, minced
crushed red pepper, to taste

1 can diced tomatoes (since I only had a small can, I used that, but we usually use a 28 oz. can)
1 jar roasted red peppers (I added these because I was not in possession of more tomatoes, but it tasted great!)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon sugar

1/4 cup fresh basil, minced

Broil sausage until thoroughly browned. Remove from oven and slice sausage. Return to broiler for a few more minutes after slicing it. Keep a close eye on it. At one point when I opened the oven, there were scary jets of grease shooting out of the links at the element. Ewww.

Saute garlic in olive oil, then add crushed red pepper.

Pulse tomatoes and peppers in food processor a few times and add mixture to oil mixture. Add sugar and salt. Simmer for about 5 minutes.

Adapted from Cooking Light, April 2010
Add sausage and basil to sauce. Toss with warm penne and serve with grated parmesan.

Triple (Minus One) Cinnamon Scones

2010-04-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

King Arthur got me again with their emails. I am like a yellow chubby little sitting duck and they just fill my butt with buckshot because I am so slow-moving and easy to hit. This is just getting ridiculous!

This is the recipe in the original form.

Naturally, I could not leave well enough alone. You know, because I never do. Also, my back hurt, and I had PMS and my children were acting like total lunatics and Mr. Smith was working late, so I skipped the cinnamon filling. So sue me. I actually thought the cinnamon filling would push the cinnamon ratio too far over the top, so I decided to leave it out.

I love me some cinnamon, but too much of a good thing is still just too much.

Now, let's talk about scones.

I have never really been a fan of scones. They are ~~arid~~ too dry and not sweet enough for me. Also, I inherited my mother's ability to burn them beyond all recognition and render them inedible. Our oven is insanely hot, so this can happen very, very easily. In the blink of an eye, I have charcoal briquettes on my hands. Very frustrating.

True confession, sort of: I may or may not have eaten three of these for dinner. Look, I was left alone. There was so much going on and well, I was weak.

I would imagine these would be lovely with some orange zest glaze and some mini chocolate chips. Oh brother, here I go again!

Mr. Smith and the Puddin' Donuts: A tragedy

2010-04-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

As you may already know, Mr. Smith is a lover of chocolate. He is especially fond of chocolate breakfast items (Devil's Food Cake Doughnuts, Chocolate Croissants, Chocolate Cheerios, etc.)

The first time we traveled to the East (as in coast, not the Middle East or anything) he became a frequent flier at a certain Dunkin' Donuts in the great (and now snowy) state of Maryland.

Now it needs to be said that we do not have Dunkin' Donuts in our part of the world. Southern California is too snotty and pretentious for such things. Nope, we have Krispy Kreme*, and Winchell's and the like, but nothing quite the same.

Mr. Smith discovered the culinary innovation of a Chocolate Pudding-filled doughnut. These are heavily dusted with confectioner's sugar, so it masquerades as a jelly doughnut, but in the end, much tastier because it delivers the delectable treat of chocolate pudding for breakfast. What more could a chocoholic ask for in a doughnut, right?

Mr. Smith waxed poetic about these donuts for months. He tried to figure out ways to get me to agree to move (for at least several months each year) closer to the source of these donuts. Knowing what special hell winter can be in the Eastern states, I declined.

He persisted in his quest for said donuts. He even chased the dragon while we were in the mythical land of Waverly, New York, but there were none to be had. Total heartbreak.

At one point, Mema (my aunt and surrogate grandmother to our children due to the untimely firing of my mother-in-law from the position of grandmother), had discovered an alternate source in her neck of the woods. She even was working on a plan that involved Fed Ex-ing (is that a verb now?) a dozen of these sweet concoctions right to our doorstep.

Before the mission could be completed, however, Dunkin' Donuts saw fit to discontinue these particular doughnuts. Perhaps because the main consumer of this item lived on the West Coast? You tell me.

Each trip Mr. Smith has hilarious misadventures while finding and procuring these objects of his love. He requests them from the non-English-speaking personnel of the local Dunkin' Donuts, but they choose to fill his orange box with a mixture of pudding and jelly doughnuts instead. Joke is on the American.

Alas, it appears that Mr. Smith was not meant to be with his little powdered loves. Instead he is destined to savor the memory of their brief romance. Better to have loved and lost than never to have had the doughnuts in the first place, or something like that.

Pioneer Woman posted a recipe for Raised Doughnuts. Her recipe was for simple glazed doughnuts, poetic in its simplicity. It occurred to me that I might be able to MAKE the doughnuts that Mr. Smith has been longing for all these months.

After a brief pow wow, it was agreed that he would prefer the doughnuts filled with chocolate pudding and frosted with chocolate glaze. (More about Mr. Smith's culinary leanings in another post.)

For the frosted glaze, against my better judgment, I turned to my nemesis, Alton Brown. Mr. Smith and Grand Master H are extremely fond of his doughnut-themed episode. I won't be nasty about this, but if memory serves, it involved a puppet. I have a problem with any cooking show that involved puppetry. I am sorry, but Julia Child is probably rolling over in her watery (Neptune Society Member) grave every time he whips out a sock puppet!

These are a real time investment and require some planning. You need to make room for a big bowl in your fridge (that is difficult around here). Also, the dough is made a day ahead and cooked the following day, in hot oil. Try not to freak out about this as much as I do. The source of my fear is my mother (terrified of hot oil) and The Churro Incident of the early '80s. A girl living in Western Pennsylvania has NO business trying to make churros. None at all. Hence the burns on my neck from the ill-conceived attempt to do just that! I'm just saying!

A satisfied customer

Anyway, the results were mediocre (as far as the demanding Mr. Smith was concerned). The pudding (Trader Joe's Chocolate Pudding) was too rich. I will have to go back to the drawing board on that one. Grand Master H liked them. He pretty much just eats the glaze and leaves the doughnut, so he was happy with the results.

The evidence

So, if you have a few days to kill and you aren't deathly afraid of frying stuff, here is all the info:

INGREDIENTS

DONUTS

1-⅛ cup Whole Milk, Warm
¼ cups Sugar
2-¼ teaspoons (one Package) Instant Or Active Dry Yeast
2 whole Large Eggs, Beaten
1-¼ stick Unsalted Butter, melted
4 cups All-purpose Flour
¼ teaspoons Salt
Canola Oil

GLAZE
3 cups Powdered Sugar
½ teaspoons Salt
½ teaspoons Vanilla
½ cups Cold Water Or Milk

Preparation Instructions

To Make the Dough:

1. Make sure milk is nice and warm, but not overly hot.
2. Add sugar to milk. Stir to dissolve.
3. Add yeast into a small bowl.
4. Pour milk/sugar mixture over yeast. Stir gently, then let sit for 10 minutes.
5. Melt butter in separate bowl until butter is almost melted. Stir to finish melting so butter won’t be overly hot.
6. Add beaten eggs to melted butter, stirring constantly to make sure the butter’s not too hot for the eggs.
7. Add the egg/butter mixture to the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the dough hook.
8. With the mixer on 3 or medium-low speed, pour in the yeast mixture.
9. Allow the dough hook to stir this mixture for a couple of minutes, making sure it’s thoroughly combined.
10. With the mixer still going, add helpings of the flour mixture in 1/4 to 1/2 cup increments until all the flour is gone.
11. Stop the mixer, scrape the bowl, then turn the mixer on the same speed for five whole minutes.
12. After five minutes, stop the mixer and scrape the bottom of the bowl.
13. Turn on the mixer for 30 seconds.
14. Turn off the mixer and allow the dough to sit in the bowl undisturbed for 10 minutes.
15. After 10 minutes, transfer dough to a lightly oiled bowl. Toss the dough to coat, then cover the bowl with plastic wrap and place straight in the fridge.
16. Refrigerate dough for at least 8 hours, or overnight.

To Make the Doughnuts:

1. Remove bowl from fridge and turn out dough onto a lightly floured surface.
2. Roll out to 1/4 to 1/3-inch thickness.
3. Using a 3-inch cutter, cut as many rounds as you can, then roll out remaining dough and cut as much as you can, etc.
4. Cut holes out of each round using a 1 1/2-inch cutter.
5. Place both doughnuts and holes on a floured baking sheet.
6. Cover with large tea towel and place in a warm place in your kitchen; my kitchen is very drafty, so I have to briefly warm the griddle, then turn it off and set the sheets on top to keep warm.
7. Allow doughnuts to rise undisturbed for at least 1 hour; 1 hour 15 minutes if necessary. Doughuts should be visibly puffier and appear to be airy.

Doughnuts rising under nifty heat lamps

To Fry the Doughnuts

1. Heat plenty of canola oil in a large pot until the temperature reaches 375 to 380 degrees—do not let it get hotter than 380 degrees! 375 is ideal; keep the thermometer in the pan to continually monitor.
2. One to two at a time, gently grab doughnuts and ease them into the hot oil. Allow them to cook 1 minute on each side; they will brown very quickly.
3. Remove doughnuts from the oil with a slotted spoon, allowing all oil to drip off.
4. Place doughnut immediately on several layers of paper towels. Count to five, then flip it over onto a clean part of the paper towels. Count to five, then flip it over again; the purpose, obviously, is to drain as much grease as possible before it soaks into the doughnut.
5. Repeat with remaining doughnuts and holes. The holes will cook more quickly than the doughnuts; about 30 seconds per side.
6. Allow doughnuts to slightly cool.

To Glaze

1. Mix all glaze ingredients in a bowl until completely smooth.
2. One by one, dip doughnuts into the glaze until halfway submerged. (Note: completely submerge doughnut holes, then remove with slotted spoon.)
4. Remove from glaze, then turn right side up on a cooling rack over a cookie sheet (to catch dripping glaze.)
5. Serve warm if possible, or room temperature.

If you are partial to chocolate glaze, you can use Alton Brown's recipe for Chocolate Glaze. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you don't.

In the meantime, we will still have to travel to acquire doughnuts for Mr. Smith. Pray for us all!

*BTW, did anyone know that THIS was going on at Krispy Kreme? Mr. Smith just ran out the front door!

Post edit: S'mores doughnut was good, but the other new flavors? Krispy Kreme fail!

Soft Pretzel Lust

2010-04-17T14:00:00.000-07:00

Shaping the pretzels

I never cease to be amazed at the endless varieties of bread-type items you can get when you combine flour, yeast, water, salt and some type of shortening. Depending on how you vary those simple ingredients, you can get so many types of breads, rolls and other yeast doughs, it is still dazzling to me.

Yes, my cookie sheets are THAT disgusting! Sorry, they get lots of work around here.

The magic of yeast is just so wonderful to me. I love starting with what looks like nothing to get excited about, and then wham, you have bread dough. The best part, you look like a total rock star when the stuff actually looks and tastes GREAT. Huge bonus!

I have a long-standing love affair with soft pretzels. My mother used to buy us these frozen ones and make them for us on occasion. They are good, but can get horrible freezer burn and can taste a little flat.

I have been making my own for awhile now and the results are nothing less than earth shattering. They are so much tastier than any pretzel you can buy (frozen, fresh or anything in between). They are lighter and have a satisfying crispness on the bottom. You don't need any exotic, special ingredients, so you can make them when you are having a craving.

The results

Ready for their close-up

The only bit of fussiness is the poaching, but believe me, the results are sooooo worth it!

Mr. Smith prefers to consume his pretzels with Trader Joe's Whole Grain Dijon Mustard. I am more of a traditionalist, plain old French's Yellow Mustard suits me just fine.

As soon as you taste it, you are instantly transported to the last baseball game you attended, the mall, the New York street corner...any spot where you would normally have a soft pretzel. The coarse crunchy salt. The tangy bite of the mustard. The crisp, golden brown outside and the soft lovely inside. Perfection.

These embody my childhood in a way very few foods really can.

The secret to perfect soft pretzels

Today we may try using them for sandwich rolls. I am unnaturally excited about this! I will let you know how it works out.

This recipe came to me from Martha Stewart via Smitten Kitchen.

Soft Pretzels

Makes 16 full-sized or 32 miniature

2 cups warm water (100°F to 110°F)
1 tablespoon + 2 tablespoons sugar
1 packet active dry yeast
5 to 6 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons canola or other neutral oil
1/4 cup baking soda
1 large egg
Coarse or pretzel salt
Vegetable-oil cooking spray

1. Pour warm water and 1 tablespoon sugar into bowl of electric mixer fitted with a dough hook and stir to combine. Sprinkle with yeast, and let sit 10 minutes; yeast should be foamy.

2. Add 1 cup flour to yeast, and mix on low until combined. Add salt and 4 cups more flour, and mix until combined, about 30 seconds. Beat on medium-low until dough pulls away from sides of bowl, about 1 1/2 minutes. Add another 1/2 cup flour, and knead on low 1 minute more. If dough is still wet and sticky, add 1/2 cup more flour (this will depend on weather conditions); knead until combined, about 30 seconds. Transfer to a lightly floured board, and knead about ten times, or until smooth.

3. Pour oil into a large bowl; swirl to coat sides. Transfer dough to bowl, turning dough to completely cover all sides. Cover with a kitchen towel, and leave in a warm spot for 1 hour, or until dough has doubled in size.

4. Heat oven to 450°F. Lightly spray two baking sheets with cooking spray (parchment paper, ungreased, also works). Set aside. Punch down dough to remove bubbles. Transfer to a lightly floured board. Knead once or twice, divide into 16 pieces (about 2 1/2 ounces each) or 32 if making miniature pretzels, and wrap in plastic.

5. Roll one piece of dough at a time into an 18-inch-long strip. Twist into pretzel shape; transfer to prepared baking sheet. Cover with a kitchen towel. Continue to form pretzels; eight will fit on each sheet (you may need a third sheet if making miniatures). Let pretzels rest until they rise slightly, about 15 minutes.

6. Meanwhile, fill large, shallow pot with 2 inches of water. Bring to a boil. Add baking soda (and step back, it foams up quickly) and remaining 2 tablespoons sugar. Reduce to a simmer; transfer three to four pretzels to water. Poach 1 minute on each side. Use slotted spoon to transfer pretzels to baking sheet. Continue until all pretzels are poached.

7. Beat egg with 1 tablespoon water. Brush pretzels with egg glaze. Sprinkle with salt. Bake until golden brown, 12 to 15 minutes. Let cool on wire rack, or eat warm. Pretzels are best when eaten the same day, but will keep at room temperature, uncovered, for two days. Do not store in covered container or they will become soggy.

The Last First Date

2010-04-08T13:00:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of the last first date I will ever go on, forever and ever. Amen.

The week after I called Mr. Smith was one of the longest weeks of my life. I felt nauseated the entire seven days. I could not sleep. I could not think straight. I was exhausted and sick. I was losing weight (awesome!), but felt like hell (not as awesome!).

From the moment we hung up on that Friday evening until after close of business the following Friday, there was absolutely no mention of our conversation or our imminent date. I had almost decided that it was a dream or a joke. A very very sad April Fool's Joke...on me!

As 5:30 pm got closer, I got more and more panicked. People were making their exits, saying goodbye, wishing each other good weekends. Silence from Mr. Smith. Deafening, scary, silence. Who would be the first to say something? Would anyone say anything? Was this some dating game? I SUCK at dating games!

The last person to leave was Sweet Sarah, the receptionist. That would leave Mr. Smith and myself. I said goodnight to Sweet Sarah and waited. I was pretending to work while trying not to puke into my garbage can.

Suddenly, I got an instant message.

"Want to go get a drink?"

My heart started racing. I can only imagine what my blood pressure might have been.

"Sure."

We drove in our respective cars to The National Sports Bar. It was close and low-key and there was little chance of us running into pesky co-workers. We didn't park together and I got out of my car first. When Mr. Smith got out of his car, he was on the phone. As he walked toward me, he mouthed, "Mr. Boss."

Yikes, he was on the phone with our loathsome boss. Our meddlesome, intrusive, self-absorbed, childish boss. I stayed quiet so Mr. Boss would be none the wiser.

If this went further than one date, there was no way in hell Mr. Boss and his horrible wife, Mrs. Boss could ever know about it. I would never give The Couple Most Likely to Bring Inappropriate Gifts for Employees Back from the Porn Show access to my personal life.

It was a warm Spring night. We chose an outside table. We ordered drinks and dinner. I ordered a Chicken Caesar Salad and had to practically choke it down. See the recipe below for a better alternative to the usual chicken marinade.

We talked for hours. I don't remember a single thing we talked about.

I remember that it was easy. I remember my nervousness ebbing away. I didn't feel that jittery, first date frenzy that I usually felt. I felt more comfortable with Mr. Smith than I ever have with anyone. I knew I could tell him anything and he would get it.

I knew he got me.

He got me in a way that no one has ever gotten me in my entire life.

It was getting late and it was time to head home. He walked me to my car. Neither one of us wanted to leave, so we kept talking, trying to say goodbye.

And then...he leaned over and kissed me.

I don't remember too much after that kiss. Oh, that kiss. That is one of the greatest kisses EVER. You know the scene in The Princess Bride. The grandfather talks about the greatest kisses of all time? Add that one to the list. Seriously.

I vaguely remember getting in my car. I am not completely sure that I said goodnight. I am not sure I said anything. I just know I was in my car and I was pulling out of the parking lot and I had no idea where I was going. I was headed home, but I had no clue where that was or how to get there.

I got on the freeway going North and I needed to be heading South. I got back off the freeway and eventually made my way back to the on-ramp. Again, I got on going North. I got back off the freeway yet again, got lost for about 15 minutes, and eventually found my way back to the freeway. Once again, I got on going North. Once again, I got off the freeway and got lost in a business park for another 15 minutes.

By this time, Mr. Smith was on the phone and was insisting that he should come and get me. Naturally, I refused and just kept getting lost over and over again, making a complete ass of myself.

At long last, after a total of about 45 minutes, I got on the freeway going South and was able to negotiate my way home from that point.

The moment he kissed me, I knew. I knew we would be together for the rest of our lives. I knew we would get married, and have children, and be unbelievably happy together. From that moment on, all the rest of it, everything else, became background noise.

I was a cynical person. I had become bitter and sure that I would never find the man that I was looking for. I had closed myself off to avoid being hurt ever again. I was determined not to be hurt by a man every again.

For some reason, I and I will never be sure why, I found the courage to open myself up to this man.

By giving up my cynicism, and allowing this to happen, I have been rewarded with a love that completely obliterates all the hurt and pain. It has erased any trace of loneliness. This love that is so much bigger and more powerful than any bad relationship has made my life something I never thought it could be.

Every single day I get to wake up with my darling Mr. Smith. I feel luckier than a lottery winner. I am happier than a kid on Christmas morning.

Every day I get to see these little faces.

Now I get to be a wife and a mother. I get to experience all the joy and wonder that comes with being cherished by a man and my children.

I have finally found The Big Love...a gift that will never stop giving.

Papa Doty with Famous Baby C

September 13, 2008

On an unrelated note, my beloved Papa Doty would have been 90 years old today. I still miss and think of him every day. He gave the best bear hugs and I making sure to teach that to my children. When I said goodbye to him the last time, he was chuckling at me and my crazy life. I cried that night because I knew that would be the last time I would see him. But, I will carry that chuckle and the image of him holding my baby daughter, in my heart for the rest of my life.

The Best Chicken Marinade

1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tsp. thyme (fresh or dry, use what you have)
4 cloves minced garlic

Add ingredients to large ziploc bag. Squish it around to mix the marinade. Add chicken. I usually put the bag in a glass bowl, just to be safe. I let the meat marinate for several hours.

When you are ready to cook it, just arrange the chicken on the broiler pan, pour the marinade over it. I bake it at 375° for about 40 minutes (time may vary depending on thickness of chicken).

I serve this with Mixed Baby Greens and some shredded parmesan. Add some Balsamic Dressing and you have yourself a dinner.

Another April Fool

2010-04-01T09:15:00.001-07:00

Five years ago, today, as a matter of fact, I made a phone call that changed my life. I am not being dramatic. It is one of those moments, that we are usually unaware of when they are happening. When you look back, you realize how huge that one decision turned out to be and how cavalierly you decided what you would do.

It took me three tries to make the call. I dialed the number, hung up. Dialed the number again, hung up again. Debated with myself, argued even. And then decided not to make the call after a deep discussion with my sleeping dog.

Finally, I just sucked it up and dialed and let the person answer the phone. I was shaking and extremely nervous.

When he answered the phone, I had to work hard to resist the urge to hang up. This was something I swore I would never do, but here I was doing it. Here I was calling a man. A man that technically worked for me, on April Fool's Day. A man that I was entirely smitten with and held my fate in his hands. If this went horribly wrong, I could lose my job.

I was about to make a complete and utter April Fool of MYSELF.

"Are we flirting or am I psychotic?"

Yup, I know. I really know how to appeal to a man. That is the story of how this whole thing started. That is the story that we will have to tell our children and grandchildren. Brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it? Hence my spinster status before Mr. Smith took my call. I am a real prize.

I never was particularly good at dating. I never really bought into the whole "game" aspect of it. I just figured if I liked a guy and he liked me, we would just see where it went. Not so in the dating world. You have to pretend you don't like the guy you really like, and like you don't care that he didn't call when in reality you have been waiting for him to call and checking your answering machine like a crazy woman several time each minute.

Mr. Smith was trying desperately to flirt with me and let me know that he was interested in me. I am such a moron (he told me later that I am clueless enough to be an honorary guy) that I didn't get it. I figured there was no way that he would be interested in me. The poor man.

A week later we went on our first date. The moment he kissed me the first time, I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man. The sweet, goldish/brown-eyed, patient man.

We got married in July. It was truly a whirlwind romance in every way. First date to married in less than four months. Total lunacy. If someone else told me they were doing that I would have recommended they be committed to a mental institution.

We have crammed an insane amount of living and stress into the last five years. There have been outside forces bent on destroying what we have. They have all failed and it makes me very happy and proud to be able to say that after everything that has happened.

We have fended off threatened lawsuits (from Mr. Boss, the worst employer EVER!), started a business, had two babies in three years, survived a lawsuit from my delightful mother-in-law, and any number of other good and bad things. But that is life and I would not trade any of it, not if that meant living the rest of my life without Mr. Smith, Grand Master H and Famous Baby C.

Creamy Lemon Crumb Squares slightly adapted from Pioneer Woman's recipe

1 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 cup butter, slightly softened
1 cup brown sugar (lightly packed)
1 cup oats
1 can (14 ozs.) sweetened condensed milk
1/2 cup lemon juice
zest of 2 lemons

Preheat oven to 350°.

Mix butter and brown sugar until well combined.

Sift together flour, salt and baking powder.

Add oats and flour to butter/sugar mixture and mix to combine.

Press half of crumb mixture into the bottom of an 8 x 11-inch pan.

Mix together condensed milk, lemon juice, and lemon zest. Spread onto the bottom layer of crumb mixture. Top with the other half of crumb mixture, but don't press.

Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until golden brown.

Allow pan to sit on counter for 30 minutes after baking. Cut into squares and refrigerate for a couple of hours or until cool.

Serve cool.

Make sure to buy ingredients for two pans of these. The first pan will be gone before you realize what happened and will make it necessary to make a second pan.

March Macaron Madness

2010-03-17T18:51:00.000-07:00

Kind of messy because I got lazy with the filling. I am always looking for more uses for Nutella.

Turns out, Nutella goes to liquid when the mercury crossed the 85° mark.

I have come to the conclusion that I spend far too much time on the internets. I read blogs, mommy blogs, cooking blogs, blogs about blogging. It just goes on and on. It gets to the point where I can't tell where I read things.

And then there will be something mentioned on one blog and I will suddenly see it everywhere. There is some trend or fad that I am missing and I can't figure out how the world passed me by.

I mean, other than the fact that I am sealed in this house with plastic on the windows.

There are men swarming all over the outside of the house with all manner of tools, power and non, making the MOST unholy racket! From 8 am until 7 pm, there are footsteps, hammers, saws, sanders, etc. I can't wait for this to be done. I feel claustrophobic and trapped here.

I really need to get out. Really really really.

But enough already about my problems. It could be so much worse!

So about a week back, I started seeing mentions of something called macarons. I, of course, being uninitiated, thought this was a typo.

Nope.

Apparently this is the next big thing that is already the big thing. Cupcakes are soooo over people!

Now, just as a warning, these take some planning. You have to leave the egg whites out to age for at least 24 hours. Something about moisture, protein and such. My father just glared at me when I told him. He's a chemist, so he does that quite a bit.

I am not a chemist. Yeah, cuz, you couldn't tell that right away!

As a matter of fact, one of the greatest shames of my father's tenure as my father is the fact that I had to take Basic Chemistry twice in high school. Yup, I am that girl. I am the girl that broke almost every piece of glass labware I came in contact with. I actually, during one lab, pulled down (accidentally people, come on!) an entire rack of test tubes. Freshly washed, drying for other lab folks test tubes.

All my father has to do is mention viscosity or slurry and I start to get sleepy. My brain just doesn't work that way. Awhile back I read a New Yorker article that was discussing the possibility of people suffering from the math version of dyslexia. If there is any merit to that theory, and I am living proof that there is, sign me up for THAT telethon! When it comes to math, I am one of Jerry's kids!

Where was I? Oh...right, macarons.

So, Bakerella did a post about macarons. More specifically, two posts about them. Which led me to this blog...wow! Which then led me to the recipe she uses, with photos and advice. It is definitely daunting, but since I have been ordered to stop already with the damn cakes, I have to make something! Don't I?

So a few days ago I gathered some egg whites. Four to be exact. I was worried that it would not be enough. Turns out, three would have been plenty. Lesson learned.

Now, your main job will be to protect said egg whites from the egg police. My mother is the egg police. She is so compulsive about raw eggs, it is hilarious. She tried on four separate occasions to talk me out of keeping the egg whites, making the cookies and leaving the egg whites out of the chilly climate of the fridge. I had my work cut out for me. She is a formidable opponent when it comes to food freshness.

I made sure to measure all the ingredients using this nifty new scale (thanks Mom & Monkey) that measures by weight. Can't recommend it highly enough. You can weigh on the scale directly, or put a container on it, zero it out and weigh your ingredients. Bliss!

I did not experiment too much since I was scared to death that these would fail, always a very real possibility when you are working with egg whites.

Don't you wish you could sleep like this?

This picture has no relationship to this post. I just thought it was hilarious.

Go get yourself some egg whites, defend them from the food freshness police and make some cookies! Experiment.

Pure joy! That is the look on this Lego Loving Boy's face!

Little Sister, Big Brother

2010-03-17T11:16:00.000-07:00

This just sort of speaks for itself, doesn't it?

Dear Batman,

2010-03-06T19:00:00.000-08:00

Today is the fourth anniversary of me going into labor. We walked the halls for hours, waiting and waiting. I told you we were in it together until the bitter end. I was so afraid, but glad to know that you were with me, even then.

Twenty two loooooong hours later I gave birth to 8 lbs. and 5 ozs. of baby boy.

I will never ever forget holding you for the first time. You looked right at me. You were wide awake and so curious! Where has the time gone and how can I get it back?

We had a spectacular ocean view. I watched gloomy thunderstorms roll in over the sea from our safe little nest. You slept under blue lights and I watched horrible television because I couldn't sleep. I was wide awake waiting for the tiniest peep from you. Ever vigilant in case you should need me.

I hated having you that far away from me. You had been with me for nine months and it felt so unnatural to have you sleeping in another bed or in an plastic box across the room.

Not long after you were born, I asked you to be patient with me. I was a new mother and we would have to learn how to do this together. I promised you I would try my hardest to be the best mother possible.

We have had our disputes, arguments, scary moments even. You have tested me in ways that I never could have foreseen.

I have been in love with you since the day I saw the first frantic little flicker of your heart on the ultrasound.

You are truly my favorite little boy in the whole world. You have taught me so much in your four short years. Every day you are more and more of a revelation and a joy. You have made me see the fun of everything again with your boundless enthusiasm.

It is such an honor and a blessing to be your mother. Thank you for being my son, my first child. I am still learning and still trying very hard to be the wonderful mother that you deserve. Some days I do better than others. But you are always willing to give me another chance.

So tonight I put my three year old son to bed for the last time. Tomorrow I will have a four year old son. I know it won't really be any different, but somehow, everything will be different. Just a little different with each passing day as you grow up and grow away. Just don't grow up too fast, please?

So tomorrow I will try not to cry since I know it upsets you. I will give you your chocolate cake with chocolate frosting as requested. I won't forget to get your milk. I will hug, cuddle and kiss you as much as you will let me for as long as you will let me.

I love you, Batman. Stay as sweet as you are.

Kisses,

Catwoman

Cake, cake, cake, cake, cake

2010-02-28T12:01:00.000-08:00

I have lost it. I have become a person that thinks about cake, makes cake almost every day, reads recipes for cake, talks about cake. Feel sorry, very sorry, for the poor folks that have to live with me. There is no escape from my cake obsession.

I have jumped the rails and I am now on the cake train. It is all about cake. I just can't stop it.

I know how this all started, but I am not sure how, or when for that matter, it is going to stop.

Lucky you, you all get to come on the Crazy Cake Train with me. Come along, won't you?

The front of the museum, a converted mill.

It all started on a crisp, blustery day in Eastern Pennsylvania. We were visiting the Brandywine River Museum. This was a journey into the past for my brother and me.

The house my brother and I grew up in on Twist Lane.

Our family would visit the museum every holiday season (usually more than once) and several times through the years we lived in Wilmington, Delaware. It was a distant time and place and we were excited to return with our own spouses and children.

Each year they have evergreens decorated with ornaments made from items gathered in the surrounding woods. The whole museum seems to have been taken over and decorated by creative wood nymphs and fairies. As a child it was so magical to me before I realized that actual human beings did this.

There is also a large room devoted to an elaborate model train display that had Grand Master H in its spell. He did not want to leave, even for a moment.

Like always, The Smith Family Players were on Pacific Time and can't plan ahead and take lunch with us. That meant eating at the museum restaurant. It is a lovely spot on the Brandywine River.

Can't you just picture both of my children running amok through these little tables. Each of them at different points, laying on the floor, throwing a tantrum? Delightful.

The view and the food made me almost forget my lackluster traveling companions.

Mr. Smith chose a piece of Boston Cream Pie for his dessert. I asked if I could have a bite. I am deeply ashamed to admit that I ate the whole piece of cake, pie...what ever you want to call it. Yup, I did that to poor Mr. Smith. He got a bite. That's it, just a bite. I was so busy chowing down this dream of a cake, that I completely forgot that I was only supposed to taste it.

The cake itself was such a fine grain, so delicate, so dreamy...it was as if it had been made by angels. Angels created this confection.

That was it. That is where this all started.

Now I wanted to recreate this magical cake. I looked for recipes for Boston Cream Pie, thinking that this was a cake recipe specific to that dessert. How is it possible that this has been kept from me for all these years? How did I not know about this?

Wrong wrong wrong. All wrong.

My first outing was an unmitigated disaster! I found the recipe from Country Living. I can't recommend the cake recipe. The pudding is to die for. I never would have thought of Vanilla Bean Pudding, but it is amazing. Perfectly fine, lovely even, without the rest of this recipe.

Alas, there are no photos for obvious reasons. It was just too sad. Too too sad.

Back to the drawing board.

Actually, back to Fannie Farmer. The solid old standby. The one that no one can keep house without. My ace in the hole. Someone with a wholesome name like Marion Cunningham wouldn't steer me wrong, right?

Wrong.

Again.

This time I made the Boston Favorite Cake. It is a "basic butter cake."

6 Tablespoons butter
1 cup water
2 eggs, separated
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
1 3/4 cups cake flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup milk

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and lightly flour two 8-inch cake pans. Cream the butter until softened and slowly add sugar, beating until light. Add the egg yolks and vanilla and beat to blend well. Sift the flour, baking powder, and salt onto a piece of wax paper. Alternately blend the dry ingredients and the milk into the butter mixture in three stages. Beat until smooth. In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff but not dry. Stir a third of the whites into the cake batter and gently fold in the remaining. Spoon into the cake pans. Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until a straw inserting in the center of the cake comes out dry. Cool in pans for 5 minutes before turning out onto racks. Frost as you see fit.

Seems simple enough. I made cupcakes instead of a layer cake. By and large, layer cakes and I are not friendly. There have been multiple occasions when I have sworn, before witnesses, never to venture into Layer Cake Land EVER AGAIN!

This recipe is quite good. It is light and subtle, easy to make and frost. It makes lovely cupcakes that were a big hit with Mr. Smith and The Monkey (very tough cake critics!)

Around this time is when I really started to lose it. I started doing more and more research. I found out about all the different types of cake. There are sponge cakes (make without baking powder), there are butter cakes, shortening (some with butter, some made with shortening), and on and on and on.

This just kept escalating and I kept getting more and more obsessed with finding the recipe for this Holy Grail of Cake.

So, on to the Sponge Cake arena. I had never made one. Just the name turned me off. I was not interested in anything that could potentially soak up liquid. Wet cake, the thought of it, YUCK!

But try it I did. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!

I figured I would try another recipe from Fannie Farmer. This time the True Sponge Cake. Doesn't that just sound good? So few things in life are just "true." But, by God, the sponge cake was going to be one of them!

On this front, however, I will leave the Sponge Cake alone. I did not like it, Mr. Smith did not like it, The Monkey did not like it. The frosting (or filling, depending on your perspective) was a hit. The recipe is below. A nice alternative to butter cream frosting.

The only one that liked it, Grand Master H. The one who doesn't like anything! Drat!

Yup, that would be him. Eating the cake like a turkey drumstick and leaving behind the frosting. This is the same kid that eats doughnuts with chocolate frosting, leaving behind all doughnut and no frosting. Go figure.

H with his signature cake-eating technique known as The Turkey Leg

Again, this cake was not right. I have a feeling that it was a problem on my end. I don't think I had the "courage of my convictions" as Julia Child would have said.

I start to freak out and second guess myself and get worried that I am doing it wrong. The result is a cake that just didn't work.

Chocolate Whipped Cream Filling

4 ounces unsweetened chocolate

2 Tablespoons butter

1 cup heavy cream

2 cups confectioners' sugar

1/8 teaspoon salt

Melt the chocolate and butter together in a small pan or bowl over simmering water. Set aside to cool. Combine the cream, 1 cup of confectioners' sugar, and the salt in a bowl; add the melted chocolate and butter mixture. Beat, slowly adding the remaining cup of sugar, for about 10 minutes, until the filling is light and fluffy. You will have enough filling for an 8- or 9-inch three-layer cake.

I would recommend chilling the completed filling before whipping. Mine did not completely get fluffy and I think that was due to the warmer temperature from the melted chocolate.

That brings us to yesterday. I decided to try the classic 1-2-3-4 Cake recipe on the back of the Swans Down Cake Flour box.

1 cup butter or margarine, softened
2 cups sugar
3 cups cake flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 eggs
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract (I left this out)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour three 9-inch (I used three 8-inch) pans. Make cake: In a mixing bowl cream butter and gradually add sugar, creaming until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. In another bowl, sift flour with baking powder and salt. Add flour mixture alternately with milk and vanilla to creamed mixture, beating after each addition until smooth. Pour batter into cake pans. Bake for 25-30 minutes. Cool in pans 10 minutes. Remove from pans and finish cooling on racks.

I also used Chocolate Buttercream Frosting recipe from the back of the box. Here it is:

3 3/4 cups confectioners' sugar

1 stick butter, softened

2-4 Tablespoons milk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, melted and cooled

Combine in a large bowl, confectioners sugar, butter, milk and vanilla. Beat at medium speed 1-2 minutes until creamy. Add chocolate and beat until well-blended. If necessary add more milk 1 Tablespoon at a time to reach desired spreading consistency.

Even this recipe is all well and good. Cake is good, but the cake at The Brandywine was beyond good. I am still looking, still trying recipes. Nothing is quite the same, but I will keep looking and I will keep posting my experiments.

Of Cupcakes and The Big Love

2010-02-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

I have never been a big fan of Valentine's Day. It just sets you up for all kinds of trouble. Okay, it sets me up for all kinds of trouble. I have heard tales (probably urban legends) of other people who can navigate the day without incident. Unfortunately, that is not me.

The days when I was dating/living with The Dead End Guy were the worst Valentine's Day experiences. My favorite was the year I made him peanut butter fudge and he informed me (after opening it) that I should not expect any gifts or cards from him because he was really busy. Gotta love that kind of heart-felt sentiment.

In 2005 everything changed. Now I feel like (and believe me, I know how gross this sounds. It even makes me want to puke) every single day is Valentine's Day, but even better.

I met Mr. Smith and he swept me away. When we went on our first date and he kissed me goodnight, that was it for me. I knew from that moment we would get married and we would have children together and our life would be a wonderful, exciting adventure. We had, after almost 39 years, finally found each other.

I got lost for about 45 minutes in an area I know fairly well. I got on the freeway, going North instead of South...three times. It was like I had been hit by a bus. I didn't see it coming and it just hit like a sudden storm.

Oh boy has it been an adventure! Two children under four, a whopper of a lawsuit, a new business, so much love and so much laughter.

Every day when I get to wake up with this man, it is like Christmas, even when we wake up at 3 am. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I think Christmas (not because of the presents) is far better than Valentine's Day.

I still get butterflies when I hear him open the front door. He makes me laugh harder than any other human being on the planet. He smiles and it is like the sun broke through the clouds.

I am the luckiest woman in the world and I am thankful every single day that I found what everyone looks for in a mate. I found a soul mate. I never believed that such a person existed. Every day, every single day, I am surprised and amazed that this has happened to me and to us.

Now I have Batman and Robin running around with sunglasses, masks and capes. I have a crazy dog racing around the backyard barking at nothing. I get to live the life I used to only dream about.

This week I made these cupcakes for Mr. Smith. My Mr. Smith. He is a tough audience. A self-described picky eater, he is hard to please.

Smitten Kitchen gets a win for this one.

I only made one small adjustment. Instead of mint (because I have a long, checkered history with Peppermint Schnapps that prevents me from making mint-flavored anything without gagging, which almost inevitably leads to dry heaves, or not so dry heaves. Sorry, but it is the truth.) I added 1/8 teaspoon of cinnamon. It gives just a hint of cinnamon and is just wonderful with the chocolate. If that doesn't do it for you, stick with the mint. I won't think any less of you.

Macaroni and Three Cheeses

2010-02-17T17:20:00.000-08:00

1/2 pound medium pasta shells (I usually make a full pound, otherwise there is just too much sauce). I have also used fortified penne and even rigatoni. Use the shape you like, believe me, it won't make a difference!

2 3/4 cups whole milk
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground black pepper
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 1/4 cups (packed) grated white cheddar cheese (8 ounces)
3/4 cup (packed) grated Gruyere cheese (about 4 ounces)
1/2 cup (packed) grated Fontina cheese (about 3 ounces

6 Tablespoons panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)

Cook pasta in large saucepan of boiling salted water until just tender but still firm to the bite, stirring occasionally. Drain.

Meanwhile, bring milk to simmer in heavy medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Remove from heat. Melt butter in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. When butter foams, add flour. Stir until pale golden, about 1 minute. Whisk in hot milk. Cook over medium heat until thick and bubbling, stirring occasionally, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in salt, black pepper, nutmeg and cayenne. Add cheeses and stir until melted and smooth.

Preheat boiler. Add pasta to cheese sauce and toss to coat.

Divide pasta mixture between six 1 1/4-cup custard cups (or in a casserole). Sprinkle with breadcrumbs. Broil until crumbs are golden brown, about 1 minute. Serve.

I also make this ahead and heat for about 30-40 minutes at 350, adding the breadcrumbs at the end and broiling them right before serving.

Add some tomatoes or steamed broccoli and you are in business!

Recipe from Bon Appetit, January 2002, so you know it is good!

Homemade Oreos, a love story

2010-01-28T14:00:00.000-08:00

Oh my goodness! These are phenomenal. These are simple and quick (ish) and oh so satisfying. These are so much better than Oreos!

I am not a fan of Oreos. I never have been. The filling is so greasy that it overpowers the chocolate cookie and leaves a coating on my tongue. Not good. Not fun. In fact, pretty yucky, in my book.

Smitten Kitchen posted this recipe ages ago, but for some reason it just spoke to me today. I have been craving something, anything chocolate and sweet.

These are so darn cute and just perfect.

Well, what are you waiting for? Go make some!

If you have lemons...

2010-01-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

make a lemon tart!

Or you can do what I did and just steal the lemons and then fret about them going bad before you can come up with uses for said stolen lemons. I know, I don't have enough to worry about.

Except I do!

I have plenty of stuff to worry about! Evidenced by my inability to sleep soundly for any length of time. I sleep in spurts between nightmares (mine and Famous Baby C's), anxiety attacks about various things I want to do and forgot to do, and on and on and on.

So during the night, my Mr. Smith sleeps and snores softly next to me while my mind whirls like a hamster on a wheel. Going and going and going, making lists, worrying and fretting.

It has always been this way.

When I was 9 years old, I would have so much trouble falling asleep, I would stay awake, ear pressed to my clock radio and listening to a theater program hosted by E.G. Marshall. Not a big thing except the show STARTED at midnight, meaning that I would be awake until at least 1 am. Not exactly the best idea when you have school in the morning.

It did, however, get me interested in Edgar Allen Poe. I can tell you from personal experience, your 4th grade teacher will find it disturbing when she learns that you have been reading the collected short stories of Mr. Poe. It does give one a bit of a Wednesday Addams reputation. Not the rep one wants to cultivate at the ripe old age of 9.

Today, as quickly as it arrived, the rains have stopped. The beautiful part of Southern California rainy season: the day after the rains stop. The sky is spectacular, you can see for miles, it is sparkling and stunning.

I have been reading The Kitchen Sink blog for some time now. I like her writing and her recipes are not too fussy, but elegant at the same time.

The Lemon Tart recipe that she posted last week had been kicking around in my "Recipes to Try" (yes, I am finally getting organized enough to have one of those!) folder ever since.

As you may or not remember, Vertigo B is a thief. More specifically, a lemon thief. Before the holidays I staged a caper involving lawn furniture, a rickety ladder and climbing onto a wall that was not meant to be scaled in order to acquire fresh lemons from my neighbor's loaded lemon tree.

Look, I am not proud of what I did. They guy has said we could have as many lemons as we want, but he wasn't around so I could not exactly ask and it was kind of emergency. He is a kind of crabby guy and I just needed one lemon. One thing led to another and I ended up pilfering about 30 lemons.

Now I have 30 lemons, what the hell am I going to do with all these lemons?! A really nice problem to have, quite frankly!

Cute little Sassycakes, until they started sweating profusely

I made some little lemon cupcakes. But they were a little too healthy for the likes of me, too heavy (more like a muffin) and the frosting just never got fluffy. No offense Tongue-N-Cheeky, but that recipe was not working for the Smith clan. Also, they started sweating. Today I had to throw away the last ones because they were sweating like Nixon, I mean crazy, put-a-paper-towl-in-the-container-to-sop-up-the-insane-amount-of-liquid sweating. It was really gross. It smelled GREAT, but man what a mess!

Also, I still had a TON of lemons left!

Zesting and juicing operation

One whole morning I zested and squeezed until my hands ached and stung. If you need any lemon juice ice cubes or lemon zest, give me a holler.

Glorious lemon zest

I, as usual, did not follow the recipe exactly. So what else is new, right?

I used pecans in the crust instead of almonds. I am just not crazy about almonds. They are so dry and the flavor just doesn't do it for me. If you feel differently, and you like them, go for it. Also, I didn't have any almonds. Obviously, I don't like them so I don't keep them around.

Otherwise, the recipe is fairly simple and easy to assemble. And, as you can see, the results are just gorgeous.

So go be brave and make some lemon curd even though you could just as easily go and buy a jar of it. You won't regret it. Just don't over cook it and you and your lemon curd (which, by the way, needs to change names. Lemon curd just sounds gross...perhaps too much like turd?...sorry Mr. Smith, but it is the truth).

Either way, this is a simple, beautiful, cheerful way to chase away the real or imagined clouds.

Cassoulet and rainy days

2010-01-21T15:00:00.000-08:00

It has been raining here. Epic, biblical, we-need-to-build-an-ark kind of rain. There has even been some thunder and lightning. The dog has had multiple mini breakdowns due to the thunder. Also, going outside to deal with his biological issues has been a chore. When he comes back in the house he is soaked and water touching him makes him kind of... well...insane is the right word.

That would be his butt just going around the back of the chair at high speed

I, of course, missed the thunder and light show. I was the victim of another practical joke played on me by the medical community. They find it endlessly entertaining to make me do ridiculous things (fast when I am 9 months pregnant, drink copious amounts of water and tell me not to pee and then make me wait more than 45 minutes (!) in their damn waiting room while other people drink water and relax to the ocean sounds on the Muzak. Thanks for that, by the way).

More on the medical tests in another post...when I am a little less bitter about it. In the meantime, here is a little photo to entertain you.

Spooky tray of scary medical equipment

Go ahead and talk amongst yourselves and imagine the indignities I was forced to suffer for medical science. They are varied and many, believe me.

On a happier note, I made a wonderful dinner last night. I have been watching Michael Chiarello (At Home with Michael Chiarello: Easy Entertaining) for some time. Mr. Smith has a little bromance going with him. He just loves the looks of everything the man cooks. Hmmmm....

The delectable finished product

Anyway, I caught part of a show the other day. I just could not stop thinking about this recipe! It just sounded and looked so good, so yummy, so cozy and perfect for a rain-filled nasty day.

A little note: I could not face the notion of investing in enough fennel seeds to make the rub for the chicken. As always, I just made up my own recipe for the rub.

Vertigo B Herb Rub

1 tsp. fresh thyme
1 tsp. ground white pepper
2 tsp. course salt (divided)
1 tsp. Italian seasoning

That is just how I roll. I can't leave a recipe alone, I just can't. It annoys my mother. It annoys my sister-in-law. It annoys my aunt when she asks for a recipe and I tell her I don't really have one.

I also used partially frozen skinless boneless chicken breasts. Again, that is just how I roll. I can't deal with chicken on the bone. It is too icky and I am a sissy. There I went ahead and said it.

My advice, add three cans of white beans. Two was just not enough. The beans are to die for!

It does take a little prep time, but believe me, it is so completely worth it. The results are so warm and comforting on a nasty day.

Facing your fears

2010-01-12T10:00:00.000-08:00

I have decided that 2010 is the year. This is the year I am going to face my fears. I am going to put on my "big girl panties" and face my fears.

Not only am I planning on facing my fears, I am planning on tackling my to do list and pulling myself together. I have been under water for over four years at this point. It is time. It definitely feels like the time. Time to clean, time to straighten, time to organize. Time, time, time. It is what I battle, it is what I never have enough of, what gets away from me.

Today, in about 20 minutes, I am facing a real whopper. I am going to the dentist. I have not gone to the dentist (I am completely ashamed to admit) since 2003. I am blushing with shame as I write that, but it is the truth. I have a million excuses for why I haven't gone. Pregnant...twice. Too scared...all the time. Too cheap...all the time. Afraid of what he would tell me...all the time.

The finished product

On Saturday, I faced another one of my fears. Making fried chicken. I know, I know, not exactly something to be afraid of, but I was nonetheless.

A work in progress

When I was in 9th grade, I attempted to make some deep fried donut item. It exploded and the airborne donut shrapnel burned my neck and arm. Pretty scary and painful stuff. Also, my mother is so freaked out by hot oil that I practically have to sedate her to make anything that is fried. Perhaps I inherited a little of her fear.

Pioneer Woman had a recipe for Fried Chicken Tenders on her site and the idea of making them has been percolating around in my brain for a while now.

These are so easy and so worth the little bit of extra work and planning. The best part, they taste great cold. The even bestier part (sorry, Mr. Smith), you can throw leftover strips on a cookie sheet and reheat them for about 15 minutes in the oven at 300°. Add your favorite condiment and go ahead and swoon over what you have created.

P.S. The trip to the dentist went extremely well. Turns out I just need a cleaning! See, I was afraid for nothing!

What have you been putting off? What are you afraid to face? Do you have something that you have been putting off because you are scared of what you might find out?

Chocolate Banana Cream Dessert

2009-12-25T09:45:00.000-08:00

Our wonderfully warm Christmas morning fire

Before the gift opening

Wow, all I can say is Wow! As Wubbzy would say, "Wow, Wow, Wow!"

This was such a huge hit around here. Go get the stuff, go make this. Make it right now. Believe me, I am NOT exaggerating how unbelievably good this.

My father-in-law, who is not one to gush, deemed it the "best dessert I have ever had." I am still basking in the glow of the compliment.

I will not take credit for this one. Here is the recipe. Thanks to Bakerella! You ROCK!

Note: I made this with Trader Joe's Instant Chocolate Pudding. The combination of the whipped cream, chocolate pudding and bananas (not to mention the lemons I pinched from the neighbor's Meyer lemon tree) is to die for.

After photo of the living room

Mr. Smith scored big time points by getting me retro green juice glasses

During the gift opening

I hope everyone has a wonderful, safe holiday! Merry Christmas!

Forty Four Years Ago...

2009-12-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

My parents on their wedding day, September 1965

Forty four years ago, there was a young couple. They had just gotten married in September, so they were celebrating their first Christmas as a married couple.

They did not have much money. He was in graduate school, she was working as a secretary (they still used that word back then) to support them both while he finished his schooling. Actually, they had no money.

Money was very tight, so she would need to work over the holidays and they would not be able to go home to their families for Christmas.

The wife was having a hard time with the idea of not being with her parents and sisters for Christmas. She was just 23 and this would be her first Christmas away from home. She was pregnant with their first child already.

Her husband told her that they would not be able to afford to have a Christmas tree, so that made it a little sad. She cried when he told her. It didn't really feel like a holiday at all.

It was cold as she walked home from work, a little sad at the thought of no tree, no family and no decorations.

When she got home, instead of an empty apartment, she found a Christmas tree, fully decorated, set up by her new husband to surprise her.

She cried when she saw it.

The young couple was my parents. The thought of my father going out, while my mother was at work, makes my eyes well up.

He got the tree. A real tree. He went to Woolworth's and bought the ornaments and lights. He probably broke the budget buying that 88¢ (!) box of 12 ornaments. He dragged the tree home, used their only knife (ruining it) to trim the stump to fit into the stand. He spent the afternoon decorating the tree before her return home.

It is probably the most romantic thing I have ever heard of my father doing. It is just such a grand gesture, completely out of character and so sweet.

It is my favorite Christmas story. I think of it every year when we get the ornaments out and start to decorate the tree. I like to imagine them that way, young and broke and making do with what they had. I like to think about how hard they have worked, everything they have accomplished together.

A few of the ornaments have survived all of our moves, all of our Christmases, all of our pets, all the hospitalizations, illnesses...everything. It says so much about their marriage, their commitment to each other and their children and now grandchildren. There are a few cracks, but it's still here.

The Great Cream Butterscotch Debate

2009-12-19T10:00:00.000-08:00

The Famous Baby C, always wear your sunglasses to cover puffy eyes!

Long ago and far away, John and Josephine Lander owned a general store. It was located in Lucinda, Pennsylvania. Lucinda, to this day, is no bustling metropolis. It is one of those places you miss if you blink while driving through. It is not a place that you would choose to visit. In fact, getting out of there is probably one of the smartest things my grandparents ever did.

John and Josephine were both of German ancestry, as were most of the occupants of Lucinda. These were pretty humorless people and they had a pretty tough existence. They were lucky enough to own the town store, but that also meant everyone worked in the store. Since they sold candy in their store, Josephine would make homemade candy for the family each Christmas and Easter. This tradition was carried on by her daughter, Hilda (my grandmother).

My father and his two sisters have all continued family tradition. By carrying on the family tradition in their own ways and putting their own stamp on it, a debate has raged for years over who makes the Cream Butterscotch correctly. Susan's is very shiny and smooth. Patrick's is grainy and hard. JoAnna's is very creamy and soft. Perhaps their end product says something about their different personalities? You bet your ass it does!

Well, this year I entered the fray. I have attempted to make the candy previously, but have had little success. I made Cream Butterscotch with my grandmother Hilda that never got firm. It was more like pralines. It tasted fine, but was not the right consistency. Hilda, ever the queen of passing failures off as successes, deemed it taffy-like and wrote me a note of encouragement. She suggested leaving the candy alone for a while to watch a show that Peter Jennings was doing on education in the United States (yeah, this was in the 80s, but it turns out the sentiment was correct).

We had an old fashioned candy thermometer that looked like a thermometer for a farm animal. It had a clip on it that was wildly undependable and could result in all kinds of disasters (molten sugar is REALLY HOT and REALLY DANGEROUS!).

When Mr. Smith and I got married, someone gave us a gift card for Williams Sonoma. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. Money to spend on cooking stuff! Yippee! One of the gadgets I bought was a digital, programmable candy/oil thermometer. I have used it for oil and now for candy. It has a clip that is much more reliable and it is far more exact, so you are not guessing at what the temperature is of your candy/oil, which can be a dicey affair.

I can not emphasize enough the importance of a good candy thermometer. My grandmother would tell you that she made candy for years without one. I would tell you that Hilda was and still is the master of selling cooking flops as innovations. Some day, I will tell you the story of the Butterscotch Pie Incident.

Having the right thermometer will take the guesswork out of making the candy. I am the type of person that is really really upset if I screw up a recipe. It bugs me for days and I obsess over it. I feel the need to make it again to prove that I can't be deterred by a failure. I might have a problem in this area.

Lander Cream Butterscotch Candy

1 cup white sugar
1 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 cup dark corn syrup
1/2 cup evaporated milk

2 Tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
nuts (optional)

Boil sugar, brown sugar, corn syrup, and evaporated milk until it reaches 235° (or soft ball stage). Let the mixture cool, stirring it occasionally to check the consistency. As it cools, it will begin to thicken and become more creamy-looking. Once you see this beginning to happen, you need to stir it until it lightens in color and thickens. Keep stirring until you feel like you are about to die, that is just about when the candy is ready to scoop (I would recommend one of those tiny scooper-deals, you know what they are. Get the smallest one, I believe it is 00 size, whatever the hell that means. It will give you the right size consistently, which is what you want).

Go ahead and scoop it out into individual pieces and nestle a pecan or walnut on top while the candy is still slightly soft. You can put the candy onto wax paper, but I prefer parchment paper.

Now, if you decide to eat some of the candy while it was still warm, that would be perfectly understandable. After all, you might be tired from all that stirring and need a little snack. Just be careful not to get caught!

Fudge, More Fudge, Butterscotch and Potato Candy

2009-12-15T11:40:00.000-08:00

Mr. Smith and I met when I was 38 and he was 37. We were both set in our ways, we still are, quite frankly. Over the course of the last 4.5 years, we have found ways to resolve most of our differences. Some of them just have to remain unresolved. There are certain topics we can't discuss (for example, if Abraham Lincoln was a good president or a traitor. Also our arguments about O.J. Simpson have been known to clear rooms of all other occupants).

Doesn't he just creep you out?

One of the things that we will never agree on is Alton Brown. Mr. Smith loves his show on The Food Network. I believe he belongs on The Science Channel or SciFi, but most certainly NOT on The Food Network! I will not refer to it as a cooking show, since he so rarely cooks.

Mr. Brown (I usually refer to him as Anus, much to Mr. Smith's chagrin. I tell Mr. Smith that Alton's real name is Anus, but he had to change his name because no one would buy a cookbook from some guy named Anus Brown. I think I am funny. Other people do not) does little skits, cutesy junk with the camera and too much science for a cooking show. He is annoying in the extreme and I hate him.

Before I met Mr. Smith, I had never even heard of this clown. Now his science geek ass is clogging up my TiVo. To the tune of 200 GB of his idiotic show. I can feel my hackles go up every time I am looking for one of my shows and have to scroll past this endless list of his blathering shows on how to buy a deep frying apparatus. BORING!!

Mr. Smith is religious in his devotion to this fool. I, on the other hand, wish his show would get cancelled and he would be silenced by some tawdry scandal involving hookers and drugs. Alas, he will not go away. In fact, they keep rolling him into more and more shows. He does ads for grape juice and has cookbooks, he pedals grape juice for Pete's sake!

Now, as if all of that weren't enough, he is plugging his latest book in Family Circle.

I noticed this recipe and was interested. Not because it is my arch enemy, Alton Brown, but because I am always interested in good biscuit recipe.

So, as a little surprise for Mr. Smith, I made these to have with our roasted turkey and gravy the other night.

I have to tell you, they are better than I thought they would be. I may even consider replacing my old, tried and true biscuit recipe. These are light and fluffy, worth a little extra work.

Okay, so now, I am officially a complete loser. It has taken me so long to post this that I actually caved in and used another one of this chucklehead's recipes.

Don't get me wrong, I still can't stand him. Nothing has changed in that department. He is a pretentious windbag.

So, at Mr. Smith's request, I made Alton's Chocolate Fudge. I have always found it a bit redundant to say Chocolate Fudge, but that is just like Alton, isn't it?

Here is the recipe.

A warning here: Candy making is not for the faint of heart. As my belovedly blunt Aunt JoAnna said, "It is bullshit. Too much work and not enough in the way of results." You can embark on the little endeavor, feeling pretty confident, feeling sassy, like you have the world by the tail. Then the weather isn't just right, or you are an idiot and you use condensed milk instead of evaporated milk (okay, that was just me) and the whole thing turns into a cinder block. It can be really heartbreaking. Maybe I am just too sensitive to failures, another thing I need to work on...great!

Over the last several days, I have been bitten by some kind of candy-making bug. I do not recommend it. It is really time consuming, tiring, and as my Aunt JoAnna said, "Not very rewarding." Sure, you get the satisfaction of that little "WOW" factor when you tell people that you went all Martha Stewart and made your own candy. But two hours of stirring for about 20 pieces of candy, to quote JoAnna, is "Bullshit."

This week I have made four batches of Cream Butterscotch (recipe coming soon), three batches of Fudge (two different recipes...don't ask) and one batch of Potato Candy (also, recipe on the way). I can't even tell you why I am doing this, but I seem unable to stop myself.

Mr. Smith LOVES the Alton Brown Fudge (of course) so now I probably be stuck making it all the time. I have to admit, it is really pretty good. Mr. Smith would like me to use it to frost a cake. We will have to see about that one.

A little extra something extra to consider for your fudge (or any chocolate recipes, for that matter) King Arthur Espresso Powder. Gives it a little something extra that is just wonderful.

Back to the kitchen to churn out more candy!

Golden Winter Soup

2009-11-12T16:13:00.000-08:00

I know. We don't really have winter here. There is just something about Fall that makes me start to get crazy to cook. More specifically crazy to cook cozy warm soup and cookies. I want to have my Gingerbread Coffee and sit at the table making out my shopping list. I want to pick out beautiful Butternut Squash, and leeks and baking potatoes and make some of this soup.

I am so surprised I have written about this soup yet! This is a HUGE favorite around here. It is even on Mr. Smith's List of Acceptable Meals I Have Promised to Eat Any Time. Take it from me, this is a VERY short list. Making it onto the list involves testing, ingredient clearance and a whole long ceremony. It is not easy process, but this one is one there, so take heed.

Make this ahead of time and warm it up. Make it ahead of time and freeze it. Leave out the milk, it won't make a damn bit of difference. This is another soup that is absurdly healthy, but feels so creamy and decadent, you will swoon.

Add the little cheese toasts and you will feel more pampered than you have felt in a long time!

My favorite veteran and Roasted Cauliflower Soup

2009-11-11T09:30:00.000-08:00

Papa Doty, in uniform with Patty D, my mother

Today is Veteran's Day. It was originally designated as a day to honor the veterans of World War I. My great-grandfather, Charles Doty served in that war. Later on, it was extended to include all veterans. My dear sweet Papa Doty (his son) served in World War II.

Baby B, Papa Doty and Katie

Papa left us a little over a year ago. It has been a tough year for a variety of reasons. He is sorely missed by us all. He still deserves our thanks for leaving his young wife and his baby daughters, for risking his life, for surviving.

Thank you, Papa. Thank you for making it home. Thank you for having more daughters. Thank you for being such a sweet soul. We love you and miss you terribly. I would give anything for one more bear hug!

Papa Doty with Baby C, September 2008

I have been cooking and I know you will all love this recipe. Even if you hate cauliflower, you will love this soup. Trust me, would I ever steer you wrong?

Roasted Cauliflower Soup

1 large or 2 small (3 pounds) heads cauliflower, cut into florets (about 10 cups)
1 large onion
2 cloves garlic, each halved
2 Tablespoons olive oil
2 cans (14.5 ounces each) chicken broth or you can use Better Than Buillion (they even have vegetarian buillion available)

1 bay leaf
1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme (I used dry and it was just fine)
1 cup half-and-half (I left this out and we did not miss it at all)
1 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon black pepper

Heat oven to 400°. In a large roasting pan, toss cauliflower, onion slices and garlic with olive oil. I also threw in the salt (coarse sea salt) and some pepper.

Roast at 400° for 30 minutes, stirring halfway through.

In a large saucepan, combine roasted cauliflower mixture, chicken broth, 1 cup water, bay leaf and thyme. Cover; bring to boiling. Reduce heat; simmer, covered for 20 minutes.

Discard bay leaf. In blender or food processor, puree soup in batches. Return soup to saucepan. Stir in half-and-half, if desired; add salt and pepper; cook over medium heat until heated through.

Per cup: 98 calories; 9 g fat (3 g sat fat); 2 g protein; 4 g carbohydrate; 1 g fiber; 741 mg sodium; 13 mg cholesterol

Honestly, leaving the half-and-half out makes the soup so much healthier and you will not miss it!

Cheatin' Pea Nuttin' Brownies

2009-10-14T14:30:00.000-07:00

If you follow this blog, or you know me, or have ever heard of me, you know that I have deep profound love of all things peanut butter and peanut butter related. Add chocolate to the peanut butter and I am your's forever.

I have been spending the past several weeks on a recumbent bike, pedaling like a mad woman in an effort to rid myself of too many Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Sundaes. The mainstay of my super healthy, all-you-can-eat pregnancies. BaskinRobbins is the work of the devil. I'm just saying!

Anyway, we were having some good friends over yesterday. The perfect excuse for making a dessert and an opportunity for me not to inhale the whole thing.

As I was trolling through the recipe archives (believe me, you have NO idea how huge this archive actually is!) I came upon a really fussy Martha Stewart Peanut Butter Swirl Brownie recipe. Now, there was a time when I would have gone to the store, purchased the requisite amounts of prissy "high quality semi-sweet" and "high quality unsweetened" chocolate. Those days are over. I have two kids that get up anywhere between 3 am and 4:30 am. A trip to the store for Martha's required fussiness is simply out of the question!

Made with real Chocolate Chips, so you know its good!

Luckily, I remembered I had a Trader Joe's Truffle Brownie Mix (I am something of a brownie freak and these are the best I have ever had) hanging around the pantry. I have been fighting hard to resist the urge to whip these up since I bought the mix. I was weary of fighting, so I gave in and jumped into the deep end of the peanut butter-filled pool.

Oh please, come on in and join me, the peanut butter is FINE!!!

Go get yourself some brownie mix. I don't give a damn what kind, but I have found that the cheaper the mix, the better the brownies. Get the store brand if you like. You can even, if you are lucky, pick some up for 99 cents. There isn't much you can get for 99 cents these days!

Peanut Butter Swirl

3/4 cup smooth peanut butter (although, I suppose you could use chunky if you are feeling sassy)
1/4 cup melted butter
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 cups confectioner's sugar

Prepare the brownie mix as directed on the box. Spread the batter in a parchment lined 8 x 8 x 2 pan. Place dollops of the peanut butter mixture on top and swirl with a knife. Lick off the knife (you know you want to!).

Bake as directed on the brownie box. You might have to bake a little bit longer due to the addition of all the peanut buttery goodness, but the wait is worth it.

Once you have tasted the deliciousness, send me a thank you email! I love to get email...oooh and comments too!

P.S. Do you love edge brownies as much as I do? If you do, go check out this all edge brownie pan! Too cool!

Hello, King Arthur People, send me one. If you do I will say more really really nice things about you!

Wasted time, tears, Ginger Drops and Mini Donuts

2009-10-11T16:00:00.000-07:00

Over the past 2 + years, Mr. Smith and I have been waging a war. Unfortunately, we have been waging this war alone. There was no one to help. No one that could help, for that matter.

Even the attorneys that we have hired throughout this nightmare have failed us at every turn, interested in feathering their own corrupt little nests, while leaving us financially ruined and twisting in the wind. Don't get me started on what horrific medieval things should be done to all lawyers everywhere. Sorry you stinking dirtbags, but you know as well as I do that you deserve it.

Our war began with no warning. It came to us in the form of a subpoena, as the worst, most pointless wars often do. We were being sued and we had to be in court the next morning. The most shocking part: we were being sued by The Other Mrs. Smith, Mr. Smith's mother.

A brutal development. A harsh blow for even the most detached son, which Mr. Smith is not. This does not happen to people like us. We are nice, we are kind, we had not done anything to warrant such a severe action. Yet, to court we went to be informed that, without any evidence, we were already deemed guilty and would be forced at great expense and heartache to prove our innocence in this matter.

The reason for the lawsuit is complicated, and as it turns out, doesn't matter much. Suffice it to say that The Other Mrs. Smith's chief problem is believing that other people's property belongs to her. Simple as that.

Lucky for her, she is resourceful and was able to become a pro bono client of an extremely powerful, litigious law firm in our area. Always lands on her feet...amazing really.

You see, The Other Mrs. Smith is indigent. She decided to retire at an early age from a job she did not have. She opted to be taken care of by her son without his consent.

When her son fell in love, got married and started a family, her complete dependence on him became a very serious issue for her. He, like any normal man, was interested in having his own life. He was no longer interested in babysitting an adult. His new wife (me), his children, his career were all stealing attention and time from what was truly important to her...herself.

As you can imagine, this caused some problems, but nothing we couldn't handle. Boundaries were set, these were ignored or crossed over and over again. Outrageous demands in the form of time, attention and huge sums of money were made. Some were met, most were denied or ignored in an effort at self-preservation on our part.

Unfortunately, the bulk of this story is not mine to tell. I am simply (like my children, my parents) collateral damage to The Other Mrs. Smith's crushing narcissism and unrestrained greed.

In the end, we have been stripped of everything. We are left homeless (except for the good grace of my phenomenal family that I will never be able to thank sufficiently), penniless (bankruptcy and judgments are a couple of funny things that I will tell you about some day) and exhausted from a draining battle with no winners, only losers. We have each other, we have two children to raise without the benefit of money, and a business with loads of potential.

It has been incredibly hard to hold it together and keep a brave face. Most days I have failed, some days I was able to soldier on and pretend this wasn't happening to Mr. Smith, to us, to our little family.

Finally, this week, there is a pinprick of light, tiny, but hopeful. Yes, it may be a locomotive in the tunnel, I don't know that yet. Each time I have been hopeful, I have been leveled by the next blow. Each time I have been forced, for my family, for our children, to pick myself up.

I am exhausted, I am battered and bruised, but I will not surrender. I will never let The Other Mrs. Smith and her cancerous, hateful ways harm my family. We are better than that, stronger than that. What we have is true and real and cannot be destroyed by something, by someone as petty as she has shown herself to be time and time again.

So, where to go from here?

To the kitchen. My refuge, my sanctuary, my happy place. It is where I am in charge, where I dictate the rules and do only what I want to do.

When Fall is in the air, Mrs. Smith's (This Mrs. Smith) fancy turns to ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves and all things baked.

Yesterday, H and I collaborated on a project from the King Arthur Flour people. If love comes in the form of baked goods, these folks are Don Juan. Holy Moses, go to their website and I dare you not to order one of everything. I have yet to find something that isn't wonderful, delicious and quickly devoured by my audience.

I have had the donut mix (but you can make it without the benefit of the mix, if you have a mind to) and the pan floating around the pantry for months. Each time I thought about making it, I chickened out. Yesterday, I just needed the therapy that baking, even with H "helping" can provide. So, I dove in.

We made Mini Donuts and frosted them with the following Chocolate Glaze from The Joy of Cooking.

Note: if you make these, be very careful not to overfill the forms with batter, if you do, as my little helper did, you don't get a hole in the middle of the donut!

Chocolate Donut Glaze
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1/4 cup water
4 ounces semi sweet chocolate

Melt in a heavy saucepan or double boiler. When melted, removed from heat and whisk in

1 1/3 cups confectioner's sugar

Frost the donuts and let set as long as you can stand it (which, I assure you, will not be long, especially if your sous chef is 3 1/2 years old!).

Today, I added some cocoa and made the mix into chocolate donuts and used the same Chocolate Glaze. Heaven. Yes, there is nutmeg and cinnamon in there, Mr. Smith. No it is not, in fact, poison, or nuts. They are spices and taste wonderful with the chocolate. OPEN YOUR MIND DAMMIT!!

Also, if you are lucky enough to live near a Trader Joe's, go and get some of their Gingerbread Coffee. I am here to tell you, it is the most comforting thing I have discovered recently. It gives me such joy to smell the spices while the coffee is brewing. It just make me feel warm, happy and safe. I know, I know, what the hell, it is just coffee for Pete's sake!

In other, completely unrelated news: Here is a recipe for Soft Ginger Drops that will absolutely curl your toes!

Soft Ginger Drops

1/2 cup shortening
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
1 1/4 cup molasses
4 1/2 cups flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. cloves
1 cup boiling water

Bake at 400 for 8-10 minutes.

Frost while warm with frosting made from milk, vanilla and confectioner's sugar (until frosting is desired consistency).

So go make some of these cookies and wallow (as I did) in the warm, spicy, Fall smells in your house!

P.S. Five years ago, on October 12, I interviewed a very cute, but nervous Mr. Smith for a job. That was our previous life. He was already Mr. Smith. I had no way of knowing that in less than a year, I would be Mrs. Smith. What can I say, he gives good interview!

What we havin' for dinner?

2009-08-17T18:30:00.000-07:00

Fresh snow peas and haricot verts

That was the question from H today when I got him up from his wonderfully long afternoon nap...3 hours, a mother's dream!

His sister, on the other hand, is a punk and only slept about 1 1/2 hours.

When my brother was little, he would ask my mother what we were having for dinner immediately after breakfast, sometimes while we were eating breakfast. It was if he had to plan the rest of his day based on what her answer was.

I could never figure out why he cared. The kid was a legend among the picky eaters, and he has been paid back in recent years. Neither of his sons eats voluntarily. A2 has been known to come dangerously close to inciting violence at the dinner table. I know because I witnessed it.

Snow peas in ice bath

I will never forget when I was visiting them and A2 asked the greatest question of all time, "Who picked this dinner?" My sister-in-law, in her continuing effort to appease her picky eaters, had instituted the system that allowed each family member to pick a meal they wanted on a given night. Unfortunately, on this night, A2 was not pleased with the choice. Obviously, the choice had been made by some other family member.

Roasting red peppers

The dinner that night was Chicken Pot Pie. A2 has a problem with various foods touching. The casserole concept as a whole runs counter to everything he holds dear. Thus his objection. I thought my normally patient sister-in-law was going to go across the table at him.

So, this afternoon when I went to get H out of bed, and he asked me, "What we havin' for dinner?", it just cracked me up. He has no intention of eating it, why would he care what we were having? He is my brother all over again and I am reminded of my brother as a child every day.

Tonight we are having Roasted Chicken with Pesto and Dijon with Pasta Salad with Roasted Red Pepper Dressing.

The finished product. I replaced the peas with haricot verts, just because those
are much more acceptable to the picky eaters here.

H ate yogurt and drew on his face, arms and hands with markers. He then announced, "Yo ho, yo ho, life is but a dream. Fast and curvy H's with no tails!" That is H-speak for, "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. Avast you scurvy dogs. Dead men tell no tales!"

Yo ho, yo ho, life is but a dream!

As a totally unrelated aside, this is what greets us when we come in the door. Isn't this gorgeous?

Vertigo B Strikes Out

2009-08-16T19:00:00.000-07:00

Mushroom Bourguinon

Last week I went to see Julie and Julia. If you like to cook or bake, go see this movie. It is such an interesting story and Meryl Streep is just a delight to watch.

I have always loved Julia Child. I remember watching her show, about a million years ago, on PBS with my mother. I don't think my mother ever tried any of her recipes, but she loved to watch her, both of us on the edge of our seats, never knowing what Julia would do or make next.

After seeing her brought to life again, I wanted to be like her. I wanted to be as adventurous and daring about eating as Julia was. Her enthusiasm, her willingness to embrace the unfamiliar was so contagious!

In this vein, I started poking around, looking for new recipes to try. I found this one on Smitten Kitchen's blog.

So, I did the leg work, assembled the ingredients (after a couple extra trips to the store to procure enough Portobellos...not the best at planning, it turns out). Did all the necessary cutting, chopping, etc. Followed the recipe exactly.

It looked gorgeous and smelled even better. Unfortunately, we are not mushroom people. Well, one of us is, but really this makes far too much for one person to eat easily. We may not be as adventurous as Julia, but I think she would be proud of us for being willing to try something new.

I can tell you, if you are a mushroom person (and in my opinion, you either are or you aren't) you will love this recipe. There is just no gray area on this issue.

The moral of the story: Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

On the other hand, I decided I could no longer live my life without this cake also from Smitten Kitchen. So, on top of everything else I was juggling today, I made it as well. If you are into chocolate and peanut butter, go make this cake. If you aren't, I ask you, what in heaven's name is the matter with you?

I skipped the chocolate/peanut butter glaze that you can pour over the top. It just seemed like too much. In hindsight, I am glad I did. This is a super rich cake and super rich frosting. I can't imagine the jumbo jug of insulin I would need to compensate for the cake with the glaze!

Sure, I can deal with two needy children, one of whom can't stop bumping her head on every damn thing while whipping all this food up. No problem!

Notice the giant welt in the center of her forehead.

Her record in the ring for today: Furniture-2, Baby C-0.

She started off by smacking her forehead on the leg of the kitchen chair. The judges deemed that one a technical knock out. Decision goes to the chair.

To round out her day, she smacked her left temple/cheek bone on the headboard of the bed. Decision goes to the headboard.

Today, as a reward (yes, bribery does work) for being brave and getting his hair cut, H discovered the virtues of Rockem Sockem Robots. That classic toy is still a hit with the crazy kids. He and Mr. Smith were very loudly playing with them this afternoon. Just look at their faces, locked in fierce competition! Hilarious!

Check out the snazzy new hair cut!

And last but not least, Francesca, this one is for you! Sorry. I intended to post this one this week, but got sidetracked by something shiny! Enjoy, even if you can't get the smuggled veggies!

Pasta with Vegetables in Salsa Fresca

1 pound pasta (I used fortified penne, but the original recipe calls for fettucini)
2-3 small zucchini, sliced lengthwise paper thin (use the vegetable peeler to cut ribbons)
2-4 carrots, sliced lengthwise paper thin (also use vegetable peeler)
2-3 tomatoes, seeded and chopped
2 Tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
4 teaspoons grated Parmesan cheese
1 teaspoon minced peperoncini peppers (green, pickled in a jar, but optional. Gives a little zip to salad)
1 garlic clove, minced
Freshly ground pepper, to taste

1. Cook the pasta according to package directions. After about 8 minutes, add the zucchini and carrots; cook until the pasta is al dente and the vegetables are tender, 2-4 minutes longer.

2. Meanwhile, combine the tomatoes, oil, cheese, minced pepper, garlic and ground pepper in a serving bowl. Drain the pasta and vegetables, then add to the sauce, tossing to coat.

I added the haricot verts, but you can use any vegetables you have/like.

Off the Road Again Part 3: The Final Insult

2009-08-11T16:30:00.000-07:00

The River Road

As is always the case, all good things must come to an end. It was difficult to admit that our vacation was wrapping up and that we would have to caravan back to Maryland and then venture home. I was not terribly interested in getting back in the car with The Vomiter (H). I wanted to get back on a plane with H and Baby C even less!

The River Road

And so with heavy hearts, and de-vomited Dodge Nitro rental, we headed South.

Funny (or not so funny, depending on your perspective) Smith Family-Type things that happened on our trip:

1. Mr. Smith yelled at our children, while we were lost in Virginia, attempting to find our way to our Georgetown hotel, "For the love of God, shuuuut UUUUUPPPP!" I don't think Baby C has ever even heard him raise his voice, so she just about jumped out of her skin, and burst out crying. H was already completely fried from too much travel and not enough food, so he burst out crying. Nothing like a family trip to draw everyone closer together!

2. Mr. Smith (new to the Waverly area) was unaware of the fact that a portion of the famed River Road is a one-way road. As he drove the wrong way, the natives shouted at him as he drove past. Afraid of incurring the wrath of the locals on his return trip, he looped the really really long way around to get back home.

3. One of our 10 person caravan party ended up in this urgent care during our return trip. After much discussion, this person (who shall remain nameless, Vertigo B respects HIPAA around here, people!) ended up being taken by ambulance from this lovely Urgent Care Facility

to spend an all expenses-paid, fun-filled night in a hospital with a guest of their choice. These nice people even accept patients that just happen to be driving by and having a health crisis! At the end of the whole thing, despite the stress, extra driving and turmoil, everything is okay...not to worry. All 10 people participating in said caravan are intact and relatively healthy.

4. In Dulles airport, Baby C and I got on the wrong shuttle, almost taking us to the wrong terminal, thus almost missing our flight. Mr. Smith and H were standing outside screaming at us to get off the shuttle, I could not hear him and was already pretty pissed that we were so late AGAIN. We got off the stupid shuttle and sprinted to the right shuttle. As we were ~~strolling~~ clambering onto the correct shuttle, H's 1,234 foot long shoelaces (don't ask) got stuck in the super safe grate, immediately causing H to do a dramatic faceplant in front of the stroller that I am pushing at top speed. I almost ran him over in my haste to get on the right goddamn shuttle.

This is the only photo I could find. They are about the size of a smallish train car, but just as crappy in real life.

Dulles Airport has the stones to call these damn things "Mobile Lounges." It has made me hate the marketing people at Dulles. Looks nice and comfy doesn't it? Cuz it isn't. And the people were almost as hostile as a bunch of Southern Californians!

5. As we were checking our luggage, H spots a set of presidential toy cars for sale at the handy dandy airport gift shop. Of course, he completely ignores the fact that he already owns this particular gift item (courtesy of Aunt Michele, thank you). He flips out and chants through the luggage check-in, security ~~fiasco~~ line, and sprint to our gate, "I need Barack Obama's motorcade! I need Barack Obama's motorcade!" As we arrived at the gate, H really got going, throwing himself on the floor, and Mr. Smith encouraged me to ignore him. Mr. Smith and I had a micro spat about that, since it is impossible for me to ignore a short person following me around, yelling at me. Call me kooky, my ears just don't work that way.

6. As we were exiting the stupid shuttle thingy, we had so much crap that we left the all-important diaper bag behind. A very long-suffering gentleman was kind enough to hand it to me as he gave me an exasperated look while exiting the stupid shuttle-thingy. For his kindness, he was rewarded by not only being on our flight, but he was further punished for his good deed by having to sit next to our loud cranky asses. That's right, MISERY is embroidered into our family crest, bitches!

7. Once we arrive at LAX, aka Hell on Earth, we were taking a Super Shuttle to our home. We waited for said shuttle. Since we had 8,371 bags, we reserved our own van. Immediately after the van pulls up, H launches into an epic tantrum, screaming, crying and chanting over and over again, "I wanna go home to Maryland! I wanna go home to Maryland and Pop Pop!" Because of the hysteria, the driver proceeds to break every California traffic law and get us home in record time (I am thinking, chiefly to get the little butthead out of the car). That would have been fine, if there had been ANY shock absorbers on the van. It was like riding in a Conestoga Wagon at about 85 mph.

8. H woke up at 2:30 the next morning. He was on Eastern Daylight Time and would not be negotiated with on the point of sleep. We got up. It was an incredibly long ugly day. Turns out, H is now juuuust tall enough to set off the burglar alarm. Not the little innocuous beeping of the door opening and closing. Nope, the actual 5-alarm siren that screams out the chimney. He set it off and Mr. Smith and I did not realize what the odd noise was until after the alarm company had called AND had alerted the police. At this point, I informed H that he would be going to jail for his crimes. He protested, so I made sure that he saw the friendly deputy and was exactly afraid enough to nip his one man crime spree in the bud (or butt as Mr. Boss used to say). It was all he could talk about for the rest of the long ass day.

9. Mr. Smith do you have anything else to add?

I am not sure what the moral of this story is. I guess I just hope you found it entertaining. I don't know, I feel a little better now, don't you?

Perfection...

2009-08-10T17:00:00.000-07:00

Contraband Penne Primavera

This past weekend was pure perfection. Busy, but not hectic. Happy, with a minimum of crying, tantrums, and whining. H and Baby C were good too.

Aunt Maureen has been visiting us and she was kind enough to smuggle some Birney Farm ~~contraband~~ vegetables to our ~~undisclosed location~~ front door. We got a box heavy with luscious zucchini, yellow squash, cucumbers, potatoes and tomatoes. It was like winning the lottery. Turns out the post office doesn't bat an eye if a box you ship across the country is leaking dirt. Good thing, we would have all been in trouble. Also a good thing we were able to eat all the incriminating, yet delicious evidence!

Friday night I made homemade pepperoni pizza. I know, I know, it is easier to call and have one delivered, but the results are worth a little extra work. And really, how much extra work is it to throw the ingredients into the mixer with the dough hook and knead the heck out of it? It just requires you to start dinner a little earlier in the afternoon.

Pizza Crust Recipe

3 1/2 cups flour (I have even used 1 cup of whole wheat flour with 2 1/2 cups white flour)
2 Tablespoons yeast
1/2 teaspoon salt (I use kosher)
1 cup warm water
1/4 cup olive oil

Mix the ingredients together and knead until a nice ball forms. Oil the bowl and let it the dough rise for about one hour (or until doubled in size). Punch dough down and let until doubled again. Punch down and roll out to fit your pizza pan.

IMPORTANT: Drizzle and spread some olive oil on the crust before spreading sauce (it keeps the the crust from soaking up the sauce).

Add any sauce and any toppings that curl your toes.

Get your oven fired up to 500° and bake the pizza for about 10 minutes. Keep an eye on it so it doesn't get too dark on the bottom.

Then on Saturday, we all went to The Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens in Pasadena (the land of Mr. Smith's birth). All the photography is courtesy of Mr. Smith, aspiring shutterbug.

Can I just say, what a lovely oasis. It is quiet and serene. There are several art exhibits in the different buildings, a variety of gardens, etc. If you haven't been and you are in the area, I highly recommend checking it out.

Sprinting through Shakespeare's Garden

Naturally, we were with the Little People, so we spent the majority of our time in The Children's Garden.

Entrance to the Children's Garden

To be honest, I wasn't expecting much. I was pleasantly surprised. It is well thought out and perfect for even our disgruntled little girl. There are fountains, jumpy water and other kidcentric fun.

I can go in, I can go out

Whoops, only splashed himself

Vibrating water thingy, very popular

Baby C weighs her options

Our little Water Baby

IncrediBoy sprints (against the rules) through a flower bed

Caroline works on levitation

Baby C growling at a carved fish

On Sunday, Mr. Smith and I went to breakfast at The Original Pancake House. It is the only way we can have a meeting without being interrupted between 15 and 20 times each hour. Their Buttermilk Pancakes are to die for, I tell you, just die for. Light, fluffy, perfect vehicle for butter and syrup...all at a reasonable price. Find one near you and go.

We then hit Trader Joe's and found some wonderful bargains. By the way, try their frozen cheese and chili tamales, you will be so glad you did. Add some sour cream and salsa, then pick yourself up off the floor, and take the second bite. The Monkey also gives two thumbs up to the Joe's Diner Macaroni and Cheese.

After that, Pop Pop and Mr. Smith agreed to baby wrangle for a few hours while I went to see Julie and Julia with my mother and Aunt Maureen. Wonderful movie, eat before you go or you will end up devouring a seat cushion. I felt like some kind of heretic eating movie theater nachos while watching the movie! I may even have girl crush on Meryl Streep!

Sunday night we had a wonderful dinner at Trabuco Oaks Steakhouse. Wonderful steak, both children held it together until we were done with dinner.

And when I looked into the back seat, this is what I saw:

My darling children holding hands while we drove home from dinner.

All in all, I could not ask for anything more, so I won't!

Off the Road Again Part 2

2009-08-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

As always, The Smith Family Players had an amazing adventure getting to Waverly. We flew from LAX to Dulles airport. We spent two funnish-filled days in Georgetown/D.C. area. I say "funnish" because it is not fun to spend two days in a hotel with two children under four. They are cute and all, but man oh man, are they MOODY!!

Natural History Museum, home of the epic tantrum.

Aren't these just about the cutest little hotdogs you have EVER seen? Courtesy, Johnny Rocket's Kids Menu.

As we made our way north, we were peppered with demands (Goldfish, and other "tasty snacks") and questions. "Are we there yet?" was, of course, the mantra of the day.

We stopped at this lovely rest area in LaPorte, Pennsylvania. And yes, they still have a telephone booth there. They like to rock it old school in PA.

Mr. Smith got to experience a rest stop bathroom with what could only be described a toilet seat with a hole in the ground. To quote my niece, A1, "Don't look down, Grammy!"

H was so happy to be out of his car seat that he ran around like a wild animal and then refused to get back in the car for about 10 minutes. Although the boy appears to be in fighting shape in this photo, immediately after these were taken, he announced, "My throat is bad" and proceeded to projectile vomit for the rest of our trip to Waverly. Once again, traveling with kids, always risky.

During our journey we passed St. Basil's Church in Dushore, PA that some of my ancestors helped construct. Absolutely beautiful with a ton of family history. There are legions of my relatives that were married, baptized and even eulogized in that church.

Yup, that is my Mr. Smith driving the Dodge Nitro. In the background is St. Basil's.

Mr. Smith was a little surprised by the number of Adult Bookstores in PA. He doesn't understand how long and lonely the winter can be. I thought it was hilarious that they have large parking lots to allow tractor trailer parking!

After a few brief, but necessary stops (change vomit-soaked clothes, procure Dramamine, paper towels and a few boo boo presents) we arrived in Waverly. It is not exactly like Brigadoon, it is there all the time. You don't have to wait for 100 years to pass. But it is beautiful and peaceful in a way that Southern California is not.

In the summer it is green and lush, instead of brown and dry and occasionally on fire. I have been traveling to this lovely place for decades. The pace is slower, the air is cleaner (in comparison to Orange County) in this spot. Despite the fact that the farm is directly across the road from train tracks, you will never get a sounder night's sleep.

My aunt and uncle got married as teenagers, had three children. As a young husband, my uncle Jim rebuilt the house (originally his grandmother's) after the devastating flooding of the Chemung River in 1972 (after hurricane Agnes dumped 20 inches of rain). His family has lived on the land for generations, farmed the land and sold the fruits of their labor.

The strawberries, cucumbers, sweet corn and potatoes are legendary. There is nothing to equal them in my mind.

Their produce is legend in the valley. My aunt still makes homemade strawberry jam, lots and lots and lots of jam. Here they are, lined up like rubies in her freezer. Delicious!

We gathered for a big, rambling, loud, Irish family reunion. My mother is one of five sisters, three were in attendance and in rare form.

Left to right: Patricia, Elizabeth and Maureen

The final count, 48 attendees on July 4th! Yikes.

The 3 sisters, their husbands, children and grandchildren

Uncle Frank made popcorn. Yup, that's his popcorn maker. He brought it with him!

Uncle Frank made lemonade, and Sno-Cones in preparation for his seaside snack stand of the future. The moment the Sno-Cone machine was unpacked, a long line formed.

If you make Sno-Cones, they will come!

Everyone loves Uncle Frank!

It occurred to me that they grow most of the ingredients for one of Emeril's best side dishes. Is called Maque Choux and I have made it several times for Thanksgiving. The thing to do is get yourself some of the corn that is only grown at Birney's farm. Cut the luscious kernels off the cob, make sure to capture every single one and get that corn milk! Don't waste a single drop! You can freeze it or you can make it right away. Either way you won't be sorry. It is a lovely alternative to creamed corn.

All in all it was a lovely week. We had a wonderful time. I got to show off my babies and my husband. There was no drama, no lawsuit for a whole week, no lawyers. It was pure bliss!

Thank you to Maureen and Jim for their hospitality that appears to know no bounds. You made our stay so wonderful and so special. Thank you for opening your home to all of us.

In the next installment: the journey home. Holy Moses, was that a trip!

Things I cooked today.

2009-07-23T20:00:00.000-07:00

If you are a regular reader (and I sure hope you are, and if you are, thank you thank you thank you), you know that Mr. Smith and I have had a rough couple of years (legally speaking). My dirtbag mother-in-law is suing us and that has put a great deal of strain on us.

Don't get me wrong. Our marriage is fine, better than fine, actually. We are very happily married. Our children are wonderful, puzzling, maddening creatures, but our lives, except for one big, fat, glaring exception are pretty happy and basically good.

In an effort to make Mr. Smith's 42nd birthday happy, I decided to make him breakfast. He slept in, and I got breakfast started. I ended up making lunch (okay, it was frozen, but I still had to cook it!) and dinner. Oh yeah, and dessert.

Boy are my dogs TIRED!

1. Buttermilk pancakes (Trader Joe's has awesome pancake mix that was on sale for $1.99!)

2. Applewood bacon (As Mr. Smith says, "Bacon makes everything better).

3. Kind of gross Weight Watcher English Muffin Egg and Cheese Sandwich (for the 3 year old that ate one of everything today and refused to wear anything more than a diaper all day). These are gross because the microwave, in general, is not kind to any bread products. English Muffins, it turns out, are bread products. One side gets hard enough to drive penny nails and the other side is wet and soggy. Blech.

4. Scrambled eggs to appease the raging 3 year old who was not happy with the quantity of scrambled egg product contained in #3.

5. Trader Joe's Frozen Fettucini Alfredo (YUM!)

6. Trader Joe's Frozen Haricot Verts (you know, those little French green beans that are so great). Added to #5 with a little leftover #2 (bacon) thrown in for good measure.

Baby C's hands and face are regularly stained indigo. She is on an all freeze-dried fruit kick
(mostly blueberries, hence, the bluish cast to her hands and face).

Is 14 months too young to be described as an Emo kid?

7. That Graham Cracker Thing in celebration of Mr. Smith's 42nd birthday. If you have failed, for what ever reason, to make this recipe, shame on you!

8. Mr. Smith's Mythical Mystical Bundt Cake also in celebration of Mr. Smith's 42nd birthday. The whole sordid tale of this recipe is here. Apparently, when you are freshly 42 and can't make a decision about which cake you would like for your birthday, you get both of your choices. I tried to be a hard ass and insist on one, but I got guilted into making both by my mother and Aunt M. They both uttered the following, "After all, it is HIS birthday." So I did some more damn dishes and got to work.

9. Horseradish Mashed Potatoes.

10. More Trader Joe's Haricot Verts.

Pop Pop (aka The Monkey) and H clean up after my cooking frenzy.

I am not complaining. Obviously, I love cooking. I have a cooking blog for Pete's sake! I love to cook for this man, my wonderful, patient, loving, handsome husband. He is a self-proclaimed picky eater, but I know, if Mr. Smith likes it, it is culinary gold.

Our anniversary (4th) was yesterday. Yup, we got married the day before his birthday.

Anyway, before I pass out after all this cooking, I just want to let Mr. Smith know, you are the light of my life. Every single day that you are in my life is like Christmas, the best birthday, the best day ever.

You have given me everything I never thought I would have and for that, I will be forever in your debt.

Thank you for joining me on this crazy ride. I can't imagine what the next four, or forty years hold for us!

To wrap up this post, I wanted to include a quote from H. When asked what his hand smelled like, "Dog ball."

I think that kind of says it all doesn't it?

Post edit: I forgot that I also cooked Orzo (aka "Little Tiny Noodles") for H for lunch. That was after his absurdly huge breakfast and mid-morning snack.

Mr. Smith's Mythical Mystical Bundt Cake Recipe

2009-07-23T19:12:00.000-07:00

The original cake of legend was baked by my errant mother-in-law (amazing since she is about as domestic as an angry cobra). For months, Mr. Smith waxed nostalgic about the virtues of this cake, how moist it was, how delicious, how desperate he was to have it again.

Anyway, we had to fire the mother-in-law, so we did not have access to the recipe. So I went spelunking in the recipe archives and came up with a worthy successor to the mythical bundt cake recipe. Every once in a while Mr. Smith campaigns for one. Well, The Mr. Smith is turned 42 today. His dilemma: the desire for two birthday desserts and an inability to choose between them. The solution: Mrs. Smith should make both!

Be warned, this recipe is not healthy, it has no redeeming nutritional qualities, it is pure indulgence!

Mitch’s Mythical Bundt Cake Recipe

4 eggs

1/2 cup oil

1/2 cup water

1 cup sour cream

1 small box of chocolate pudding

1 box of yellow cake mix

1 bag chocolate chips

Whisk eggs, oil, water and sour cream together in a large bowl. Then add box of pudding. Whisk until smooth. Add cake mix and whisk until completely blended. Fold in 1 small bag of chocolate chips (or 1/2 peanut butter chips, 1/2 chocolate chips if you prefer).

Stir until blended, pour into bundt pan. Bake for 1 hour @ 350 degrees. Wait until it cools (that is the hardest part for Mr. Smith) and enjoy with a glass of milk.

Off the Road Again...Part 1

2009-07-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

First off, let me ease everyone's mind, we are all fine. Things have been kind of nuts, in a good way for a change, around here. The cookie cake was wonderful. Here is a shot of a piece of it. I can't advise you strongly enough to make it a few days ahead, it makes a HUGE difference.

The Smith Family Players have been on the road, so the posting has been extremely light. Turns out traveling with two children under four can be time-consuming AND stressful! I do not recommend it.

This was our first trip with Baby C. She has actually proven to be a pretty good traveler, that is if you aren't really attached to the concept of a decent night's sleep. She and her brother are morning people, loud morning people.

I am not exactly sure what I did wrong in my last life, but I (not a morning person) have been thrust into a family of morning people. My "birth family" are all morning people and my husband is a morning person, and, heaven help me, my children are both morning people.

I, on the other hand, am an insomniac night owl. They torture me endlessly and I guzzle coffee. Such is life.

I can remember traveling with my parents and my brother on family vacations. Spending countless hours wedged into the back seat of a Pontiac Firebird (my father has a Jim Rockford complex to this day), getting more and more carsick. Luckily, I discovered Dramamine and was able to sleep through most of the later travels. That however, made sleeping at night difficult at best. My night owl tendencies did not make me popular with my family of morning people.

The next morning, I would be groggy and in a foul mood while the rest of my family was bouncing around, showering, going to breakfast and just generally being obnoxious. And so it went, until I could stop traveling with these people.

For years I traveled on my own. I kept a much more leisurely pace and was happy with it. I completely kicked my motion sickness issues and actually enjoyed travel. I would arrive early and end up waiting for my flights. I could get through security without creating a huge bottleneck at the metal detector. It was wonderful.

Now, I am married and have two children. Travel is much more difficult and daunting when you have small children.

I am THAT woman. That one with with the crazy hair, sweating profusely, using 850 bins to get all her belongings through the stupid scanner at the TSA check at the airport. Yup, that woman is now me. I see the rolling eyes. I feel the anguish of the people that are stuck behind us. Turns out you have to have your shoes scanned even if you are only 14 months old!

Yes, that was us being paged in LAX to report to the gate. Yes, we were exactly that late for our flight. We were the last people to board our flight (no small feat with a car seat, about 215,978,321 bags and two pissed off kids). We went through that airport at a dead run and barely made it.

By the way, Virgin America is fantastic. Love love love them. The food is awesome, love the whole, order-your-food-and-have-it-delivered-to-your-seat-concept. My ONLY complaint is the flight attendants on our return flight (the two women, actually one may have been a man in a skirt, there is no way to be 100% sure without embarrassing everyone) were total beyatches. You know who you are. You know, the one that called me "Sweetie" and told me that I could not change my son's diaper in my seat, despite the fact that there was a line 8 people deep for the stupid bathroom.

Otherwise, your little airline has my full support.

Here are a few shots of where we were headed.

It is a magical land called Waverly, New York. My aunt and uncle have a farm there and we all gathered for a family reunion.

I have not been back for over 9 years, so this was a pretty big deal. The last time I visited, I was single and childless. My goodness, so many changes in so little time!

But more about that later!

Semi-nude superheros and Cookie Cakes

2009-06-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

H is at that awkward age when clothing, in his mind, is still optional. At any given moment, he strips down to his diaper, runs through the house shouting, "Chase me", and generally refuses to put his clothes back on.

Last week, my cousin (thanks Min!) sent these leg warmers. I figured, since H generally runs too hot (as in, "Mommy, I just too hot"), there was no way he would wear these. Boy was I wrong!

He begged me to put them on, immediately after one of his spontaneous stripping episodes. As you can see, it makes him look like the lost member of The Village People.

After getting them on, he jumped up and proceeded to run through the house yelling, "I a superhero! Take my picture, Mommy!"

Being the obedient servant of said superhero, I did just that.

Now, he wants a cape. Time to get out the sewing machine.

In other news, after trying desperately hard to weather the law suit storm without resorting to the wonders of modern pharmaceuticals, I have decided I am not that tough. I started the anti-depressants last week and now I feel like a superhero too. Not like I feel like I could survive a jump off the roof-type superhero, just so so so so much better than I have been feeling.

I am not advocating the use of these drugs for anyone else. It is a difficult and highly personal choice. This was not an easy decision for me or Mr. Smith, but now we both know that it was the right one. I don't feel so overwhelmed now. I don't feel so defeated. I feel like I want to write again, get to work, etc.

I feel like H must have felt when he put those leg warmers on!

As you can see, I am back and updating regularly again. I read several food blogs, as you well can imagine.

This one is one of my favorites. She has amazing recipes, great and unique ideas, beautiful photographs and I love the stories that go with her recipes. Definitely worth checking out.

A few days ago, she posted this recipe for her Neapolitan Cake. The photos were what really got me. It is absolutely stunning...great "wow" factor.

We are having guests in a few days, this one needs to age for a few days to be perfect, so it seemed like the ideal dessert to serve to our guests.

I used Boysenberry Jam, but I would recommend you use your favorite.

I expected this to be pretty fussy and the cookies to be difficult, but they really weren't. Using the cake pan and pressing the dough into the correct size and shape worked flawlessly.

The cake is resting, looking all beautiful and impressive on my diner-style cake stand. I will let you know how it tastes!

And the results are in...

2009-06-17T13:49:00.000-07:00

my tummy, that is!

When I was in college, I worked in a movie theater as a cashier. I was the girl in the glass booth, selling tickets. I had to wear a maroon bow tie and matching polyester vest. We all shared the vests and believe me, they got pretty stinky. I still hate the smell of movie theater popcorn burning. Sends me on an extended flashback.

It was the first upscale theater in our area, so it was pretty big news. We sold ridiculous things like ice cream, espresso, Swiss chocolate and Jelly Belly jelly beans. Don't ask me why, but it was extremely popular.

Down the red carpeted ramp, to the left was a kiosk that sold cinnamon rolls, pecan buns and other heavenly creations. The owners were so smart, they would come and get the movie schedule from us (the one that charted all the exit times of the different theaters for the ushers) so they could have fresh, warm, seductive rolls ready for people leaving the movies.

The smell, oh the smell, wafting into my bullet-proof booth was unbelievable. You could smell them anywhere in the mall. The cinnamon fingers of the perfume, luring you to the spot where you could purchase the delight. Okay, so now I am drooling.

Until now, I have not found a Sticky Bun to rival those. This recipe is a winner. Yes, it requires a bit of planning and yes, it makes three pans of these Sticky Buns. Take my work for it, you won't be sorry to have three pans of these things. Your clothes may be a little tighter, and yes, you may have to go a few extra minutes on the treadmill.

So make the room in the fridge.

Yes, that is, in fact, melted butter that those soon-to-be Sticky Buns are swimming in right there.

Yup. Made the Sticky Buns, baked the Sticky Buns, ate the Sticky Buns.

I am not going to lie, they were still warm when I ate them. I am also not going to feel guilty about it! It was out of my hands, dammit. The blame belongs with those bastards (I mean that in the kindest sense of the word!) at King Arthur Flour.

I mean, are you kidding me? Just look at that molten sugar, oozing down the sides.

Is there are more sublime concoction than butter, sugar and cinnamon? I think not. The sugar changes into sweet lava during the baking. When the are still hot, you flip the pan over and have the ultimate decadent indulgence. Gooey, sweet, warm Sticky Buns.

A few notes, I used walnuts instead of pecans. I didn't have any pecans on hand, and honestly, I like walnuts better.

I also made my own cinnamon filling with granulated sugar, cinnamon and a little water. Worked just as well and saved having to order their stuff and wait for it to arrive. After I saw the recipe, that was completely out of the question.

Lastly, I used some honey and some Karo syrup and it worked just fine as well. It seems like a pretty bulletproof recipe, so change it up to suit your tastes!

These people are KILLING ME...

2009-06-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

When I checked my mail this morning, this is what I found!

Now, I am forced to make them, devour them and report the results to you, internet. Thanks for NOTHING!

Do you realize how many hours I am going to have to ride that exercise bike like some manic hamster to get rid of these sticky buns? HUH?? Do you even care, internet?

Of course not.

So no more of you getting all inter-netty in my in-box and causing all this trouble! My big chubby butt can't take it any MORE!!! This is the last time I am going to fall for your sticky bun tricks.

Okay, probably not, but I had to at least sound like I was putting up a fight.

The dough is in the fridge.

I will let you know what happens tomorrow

And that is what you get for makin' Whoopie

2009-06-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

Apparently, Whoopie Pies are making a comeback. I never even knew they were that much of a thing. I found this recipe (and a whole host of variations) here.

These are simple, straightforward and yield great results. Since I am a huge fan of all things peanut butter, you just knew I was going to go that route first, right?

They are almost like a chocolate cupcake with peanut butter frosting, on the inside. A little messy, but the kids loved them. You could even have them help, if they are willing.

So, go forth and make Whoopie Pies!

Chocolate Peanut Butter Whoopie Pies

4 cups flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 cup cocoa
dash of salt
2 cups sugar
1 cup shortening
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1 cup warm water
2 tsp. vanilla

In a mixing bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, cocoa, and salt. Make sure the mixture is very well blended. In separate bowl combine sugar and shortening. Add eggs and mix for about 2 minutes until well blended. Alternate adding dry ingredients with milk and warm water in three-four additions. Add the vanilla and beat until thoroughly blended.

Use a #40 disher (or drop by rounded tablespoons full) onto ungreased, non-stick cookie sheets. Bake at 375 for 10-12 minutes (watch closely and adjust to your oven). Bake until the centers of the cookies spring back when pressed lightly.

Remove from cookie sheets and cool on wire racks. Cool completely before filling.

Peanut Butter Filling

Peanut Butter Filling
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
3 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar
1/2 cup milk

Cream together the butter and peanut butter. Add confectioner's sugar until well blended. Add milk slowly and mix until thoroughly blended together.

Here's how to handle the paparazzi!

2009-05-30T09:45:00.000-07:00

Baby C knows how to dodge those pesky photogs. Engage in a little peek-a-boo and they will give up!

Primavera for the masses

2009-05-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

I am definitely in a pasta kind of mood these days. There is just something about a nice pasta dish that can be served hot or cold that beckons to me when the temperature and the season start to heat up.

Yesterday we spent the day being punished by the Disney Gods. They lure you to their "resort", beat you over the head with their sadistic, outrageously loud music, characters and rides. Then, for the final insult, they chuck you on a tram and dump you in a parking garage with little chance of locating your car.

My favorite part of the day, however, was the moment when I was admonished by a hyper-vigilant "cast member" wearing canvas overalls with screen-printed ants on them, for changing my son's clothes. She stood next to me, never making eye contact and informed me that, "morally, it would be much better for the child if I did not change his clothes around other people."

Yup, that kid really looks like he is in danger of being morally compromised. I am not sure how much they pay adults to wander around, dictating morals while wearing canvas overalls with little ants screen-printed all over them, but I am sure it isn't enough. It certainly is not enough for her to be telling me about morality, not when she is employed by the likes of the House of Mouse. Not by a long shot, Missy. I will get my morals from ANY other source, not from you, thankyouverymuch!

Luckily, Mr. Smith was able to talk me down before I slapped her.

Obviously, Baby C has her misgivings about the morality police, stationed throughout The House of Mouse.

But, I digress. Back to the recipe for today.

I am completely on an artichoke heart kick right now, so my apologies if you are not feeling the artichoke love.

I wanted to make dinner, but really was completely fried for the experience of going to the House of Mouse with two children under four. It was the equivalent of working a trade show floor for a full week, pain-wise.

Here is what I threw together last night:

12 oz. box of Rotini (you know, those little corkscrew-looking things. I like to use the fortified or whole wheat, tastes the same, but gives you a little something extra in your pasta)

1 bunch of broccoli

1 can artichoke hearts, drained

1 dozen sweet grape tomatoes, cut in half

finely diced pepperoncini peppers (to taste, depending on how spicy you are feeling)

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

3 tablespoons freshly grated parmesan

1 clove of garlic finely minced

salt and pepper to taste

Cook the pasta according to the package directions. Please, please, please don't overcook the pasta. It will make me sad if you eat mushy noodles. There is no greater cooking crime, so please don't be a noodle hater.

While the water is boiling and the pasta is cooking, get to choppin' broccoli and draining the artichoke hearts, cutting up tomatoes, etc.

When pasta is about half cooked, I throw the broccoli in the cook with the noodles (saves on clean up and time).

Now you need to mix up the "sauce." Get a nice pasta bowl, add the olive oil, parmesan, chopped peppers, garlic, salt and pepper and tomatoes. Mix well.

Drain the pasta and broccoli when cooked.

Add the pasta and broccoli to the sauce mixture and toss well.

Go ahead and stuff your little face. You will be so happy you did! Feel free to add the vegetables you like. It is Spring, so there are plenty of great options available to you now.

I served this pasta dish with these breadsticks (that are to die for!). I threw 2 teaspoons of dry Italian Seasoning and 2 teaspoons of garlic powder in the dough. Just lovely for the starch loving heart!

Go forth and cook some pasta, people!

Tomato Artichoke Pasta

2009-05-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

Things around here are still kind of crazy, but they seem to have reached a more manageable level of crazy. Does that even make sense?

I guess, once reach a certain point, you just kind of get used to it. You learn to give in to it a little more and stop fighting so hard. Fighting it is pretty useless since the stuff is going to happen whether you fight or not, might as well take it easy and not get to bent out of shape about it.

For now, The Sad House is gone. It does, however, seem to be sticky, so that could change at any moment. Some day, I will explain that further, but for now, that is all I can offer.

In the meantime, I will be cooking again. It is time for me to find comfort where comfort has always been.

We are planning a trip, a Smith Family trip, which should give us tons of new material. If you would like to see what happens when the Smith Family takes it one the road, go here to be entertained by our tale of woe. Six months later, it is hilarious, even to us.

Turns out we like the notion of travel much more than the reality. The Smith Family does not travel well, so you have that to look forward to this summer!

This is a recipe that was discovered by Grammy in Parade Magazine (you know the insert in your Sunday paper, if you are still rocking old school, like we are and get a Sunday paper) of all places.

Very zesty and simple. A nice alternative to regular red sauce. Also, if you pair it with a nice salad and you use fortified pasta, you have a complete meal.

12 oz. can oil-marinated artichoke hearts (I used artichokes in water and then used olive oil for the sauce)
1 cup chopped onions
1 tablespoon finely minced garlic
2 28-oz. cans plum tomatoes, crushed
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 teaspoon dried basil
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/8 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt and pepper to taste
2 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley
Cooked pasta (pick a shape that you like, I used penne) 12 oz. box

Drain the artichokes, reserving the oil, and halve them lengthwise.

Place 3 tablespoons of the artichoke oil marinade in a heavy pot. NOTE: I used water-packed artichoke hearts. We have an aversion to things packed in oil around here. It is messy, kind of icky and quite frankly, not terribly healthy. Okay, mostly because it is kind of icky and that oil is nearly impossible to rinse out of the sink.

Add the onions, and stir over low heat for 10 minutes, adding the garlic during the last 2 minutes. Stir in the tomatoes, tomato paste, basil, oregano, and red pepper flakes. Season with salt and pepper. Simmer, uncovered for 45 minutes.

Add the reserved artichoke hearts with the remaining oil marinade and stir while simmering for 20 minutes. Stir in the parsley and adjust the seasonings. Serve in shallow bowl over cooked pasta.

The Recipe for Disaster...

2009-05-23T19:52:00.000-07:00

This evening, Mr. Smith and I were discussing our upcoming family excursion. Suddenly, I was filled with that old sense of complete panic. What just a damn minute, this has all happened before!

Then I remembered. We have, in fact, tried traveling (just over night) with the H and Baby C. Mr. Smith considers this one of my greatest hits so I wanted to share it with all of you.

Here is the Smith fan-damn-ly in ALL their glory. Say a little prayer that you aren't in the room next to us any time soon.

Grammy and Pop Pop wanted to have the rugs cleaned. So, we decided to try a mini vacation at Disneyland. We thought it would be a fun little getaway. We could not have been more wrong. A warning: this is long. It took me a long time to write it, but it seemed so much longer when we were living it. Read it at your own risk!

December 3, 2008 approximately 11:57 am - The Smith family arrives at Hotel Hell. We were dropping off Mr. Smith’s car and then planning on heading to Disneyland for the day. When we arrive, we discover that they are resurfacing the parking lot and we will have to park 1/4 mile from the front of the stupid hotel and lug all our belongings to our room.

12:15 pm - We arrive at Disneyland.

1:33 pm - We have lunch.

4:57 pm - We decide to cut our losses and leave the park.

5:17 pm - We get into our room.

6:18 pm - The room is destroyed.

6:30 pm - Baby C goes to bed under extreme duress since we have no swing. Yes, she still sleeps the swing. I know, I know.

7:15 pm - We have dinner.

8:00 pm - I make the mistake of opening the sofa bed for The H and he proceeds to jump on it for the next 15 minutes while I yell at him to stop.

8:30 pm - I end up laying down with him on The Most Uncomfortable Sofa Bed in All of Humanity. The H finally goes to sleep, turns out he snores.

9:00 pm - I very quietly (not really) get out of The Most Uncomfortable Sofa Bed in All of Humanity and sneak into our bed. I am almost crippled due to the wafer thin mattress on The Most Uncomfortable Sofa Bed in All of Humanity.

10:40 pm - Baby C wakes up screaming. I am somehow able to nurse her and get her to go back to sleep briefly.

December 4, 2008 approximately 2:18 am - Baby C wakes up crying. I try to nurse her, but this time, no dice. She just escalates to full on screaming.

2:41 am - The H wakes up and has no interest in sleeping.

2:46 am - I decide to take our wailing infant daughter to the car. I figure if the car gets carjacked, they will take the baby and I will be able to get some damn sleep. While I am hoping someone steals her, I fall asleep for about 5 minutes. Then, as I sit in the car listening to her cry, I look back up at the hotel and see one lone light on in the entire place. It is our room. I pine for the luxury of a bed. I briefly toy with the idea of driving home and leaving her in her swing and returning to Anaheim.

3:34 am - Mr. Smith sends me a text message to let me know that our son is still awake and watching Monsters, Inc. on his DVD player.

3:40 am - Baby C and I return to the room. I try once again to put her down. She starts crying immediately. I take both children into the living room. Leaving Mr. Smith to get some sleep in the bedroom.

4:10 am - The lovely people in the room next us pound on the wall to alert us to the fact that our daughter is screaming, crying and hysterical. I am pleased that these generous folks are so kind. We had all failed to notice that someone in our party was inconsolable. I immediately start having revenge fantasies. These vary from breaking into their room and leaving Baby C with them, to knocking on their door and punching them in the face. I am not generally a violent person, but seriously folks. It is not like we had the TV turned up too loud or were partying!

4:15 am - The H informs me that he is hungry and wants food. I am lucky enough to find some Cheerios in the diaper bag and I have some milk left from his dinner the night before. Thankfully, I was smart enough to bring some bowls and spoons. I am also able to find some freeze dried peaches in my bag. He inhales the peaches and immediately demands more. I don’t have any and inform him of that fact. He flips his lid, throws himself on the floor and starts screaming and crying.

4:36 am - Baby C finally goes to sleep with me holding her. The H is still asking for more peaches. I find freeze dried pineapple and banana in the bag. When I offer this, he demands pineapple juice. I, of course, have none. Once again, screaming, crying, throws himself on the floor. Baby C wakes up, immediately starts screaming and crying. Somehow, Mr. Smith manages to sleep through all of this.

6:20 am - Mr. Smith emerges from bedroom.

8:00 am - We can finally order breakfast. Baby C falls asleep. The entire hotel breathes a sigh of relief.

8:25 am - We get breakfast.

8:27 am - Baby C wakes up screaming. She is getting two teeth. She now has 4 bottom teeth and no sign of top teeth. I am not sure what to make of this. She kind of looks like an old lady with no upper plate. To add to the drama she also has diaper rash, diarrhea and some weird rash on her cheeks. Her brother is also having diarrhea. In less than two hours, I have changed 5, count them, 5 poopy diapers!!!

8:45 am - Mr. Smith takes Baby C and is able to get her fall asleep on his chest.

9:40 am - Baby C wakes up screaming and crying.

10:30 am - I am ready to throw in the towel. We are defeated. These children have ground us into a fine powder. We decide that we need to go home, wet rugs or not.

11:30 am - After four trips to the car, we are finally able to vacate the scene of the crime. We get on the elevator, relieved to finally be headed home. As we are exiting the elevator in the lobby, I accidentally hip check The H slamming his head into the metal door. He immediately bursts into tears, a welt instantly appears on his right temple and he collapses onto the floor of the hotel lobby in sobs. Mr. Smith takes Baby C and all the other crap I was carrying. I sit down on the floor of the lobby (a small hostile crowd looks at us in complete disgust) and attempt to console him. Luckily, I have a stash of Matchbox cars for just such an occasion. I got out of this mess by offering him two new cars. Cold comfort for a head injury.

11:45 am - Finally driving back home. Back to the swing. Back to a schedule for these children. Back to free access to pineapple juice. Back to sleep. Before I even pull onto the freeway, before we are speeding home on the 5 South, they are both in comas in their respective car seats, sound asleep. I don’t turn on the radio, I just drive home in silence. I enjoy the occasional sleepy sigh that emanates from the back seat. I think about driving all the way to San Diego just to savor the quiet that is the inside of the car, but instantly realize I would run out of gas or fall asleep while driving.

12:30 pm - We arrive home. Baby C wakes up as soon as I turn the car off. H wakes up as Mr. Smith attempts to lift him from the car. He is upset and confused. I take him upstairs, removing his shoes and socks as I walk. I change his diaper and try to put him in the crib without putting his shorts on. He starts sobbing because he wants his clothes on. I put his shorts back on and he collapses onto the mattress. He is asleep before I can leave the room. He sleeps for 3 hours.

12:35 pm - Baby C goes to sleep in her swing. I hurry downstairs and eat quickly. Hoping to catch a nap before someone wakes up again.

1:40 pm - Baby C wakes up crying yet again. She finally goes to bed at 5:30 pm.

7:40 pm - The H is finally in bed, after much negotiating, book reading, discussion about the finer points of Toy Story, etc.

8:10 pm - I fall into bed, and hope, hope, hope that everyone (including me) sleeps through the night...and they do!

This is what we are walking into by traveling again with these children. I am trying to be brave, but they scare the hell out of me!

My cup runneth over...

2009-05-22T13:48:00.000-07:00

All you lovely people just make me want to weep with gratitude.

Thank you so much for your kind words and your thoughts and your prayers. We are (keep your fingers crossed) starting to see some tiny pin pricks of light at the end of a very long tunnel.

The last two years have been harrowing for us. It has really tested us in so many ways.

I feel that we have passed what ever this test has been. We have not broken up, lost our children, harmed anyone, or gotten down in mud with these animals. We have maintained our dignity, when others have not. This has come at an extremely high price for both of us.

However, we still have each other, we have our beautiful, healthy, happy children, we have a business that is thriving. We have a roof over our heads, food in the kitchen and a place to lay our heads each night. So many people don't even have those simple things.

My parents (pictured above on their wedding day, some 43 years ago) have stepped into a breech left my the other set of would be grandparents. They have done so willingly, with unfailing generosity and support. Mr. Smith and I will never be able to sufficiently thank them for everything they have done for us. I will owe them an enormous debt of gratitude for the rest of my life...I am more than glad to repay it with anything my meager means will allow.

I think the most amazing thing to me though has been the supportive emails and comments from this blog. Total strangers stopping by, leaving a little line of support. Just amazing. None of you know me. We have never laid eyes on each other. Yet you have reached out to me.

I have never in my life experienced anything like it. You all make my heart swell and my eyes fill with happy tears that are now spilling down my cheeks.

An experience like this could make you lose faith in people. And, I will admit, on many days, I have hated this life and the world and many people in it. I have felt that no one cared, that we were so alone out here, fighting to keep our heads above water, felt helpless and hopeless. But you people, you wonderful internet bloggers, tweeters, writers, you keep me afloat.

You are total strangers, but I will always be thankful to you as well. You have warmed my heart on some of the coldest days of my life.

So, enough wallowing in the self-pity. I will be getting back to cooking and getting away from venting.

Where did I go?

2009-05-12T08:50:00.000-07:00

Oh the stories I could tell! Over the few weeks, it has been crazy around here. We had Grammy's birthday, we had a cancer diagnosis after it was cured, we have had much drama with The Sad House, we have had even more drama about The Lawyer's Fee-Generating Lawsuit (fittingly just before Mother's Day...thanks to my MIL and the big bad scary abusive law firm...way to go!), and last but so very not least, Baby C is now a year old.

I also was heavily involved with a project concerning my beloved and recently departed Papa Doty. During the archeological dig that is his home, his World War II journals were unearthed. To describe them as chilling, moving, amazing, beautiful would be selling them short.

If you are feeling curious, and would like to read them, they are here and here.

During all of this, turmoil, angst, busy-ness, I have been fretting about my neglect of vertigobcooks. I have been trying desperately to come up with a post. I have about a half dozen half-written, half-hearted posts, but not a single one has been right.

Truth be told, I have been fretting about many many things...for about two years. In that short space of time we have gotten sued (by my Mother-in-Law...Happy Mother's Day!), found out we were having Baby C, gone bankrupt (I don't recommend it), lost my grandfather, had a cancer scare, had countless stress-related medical problems, lost a house, got a house back, paid far too much money to lawyers that failed to get results, kept a business going in this economy and a bunch of other stuff that got lost along the way for obvious reasons.

Last week the notion of anti-depressants was floated by our therapist. For now, I (after much discussion and thought with Mr. Smith) have decided to ride this out. I am hoping that this will pass and that it will not become necessary to take them, but none of us know what the future holds. Our situation may get worse or our situation may get better.

In the meantime, we are seeking comfort where we can find it. Naturally, food provides comfort and heaven knows, I (we) need it now.

We will just have to wait and see and that is the hardest part.

For now, I choose to focus on these two little faces. They will make me laugh, will make me smile, will brighten my day when I need it brightened. The caption for this photo comes from Mr. Smith, "No drooling on the piano!"

I rediscovered this gem the other day. It is one of those that you can whip up after dinner, or have for an after school snack, or just because you need some chocolate to tide you over while you wait for the next disaster to sweep over you.

No Bakes

1/2 cup butter
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup milk
4 tbsp. cocoa
2/3 cup peanut butter
3-3 1/2 cups quick oats
2 tsp. vanilla

Combine butter, sugar, milk and cocoa in a medium sauce pan. Heat until boiling. Boil for 1 minute. Remove from heat and add peanut butter, oats and vanilla. Once mixture is thoroughly blended, drop by teaspoonful (or tablespoonful, if you are feeling ambitious or particularly in need of comfort) onto wax paper or parchment paper.

Allow to set, if you can. I keep them in a plastic storage container in the fridge, but what you do with them at this point is entirely up to you. They are pretty tasty, even while still warm, comforting too!

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-10T09:00:00.000-07:00

This photo kind of says it all. Three generations together. This photo was taken in early August of 1966. The family had gathered for my christening. I was a few days old and obviously not too thrilled about it.

That is my poor exhausted mother on the left and my beautiful little Irish Grandma Doty on the right holding me, the screaming object of their affection.

Mother's Day can be a little sad around here. Grandma Doty left us almost 13 years ago. She fell down the stairs, hit her head and a few days later was gone. It was that fast. Anything but simple. I am not quite sure that we have fully accepted it to this day.

I feel her spirit almost every single day. She was a nurturer extraordinaire. She raised five daughters, helped raise grandchildren, and dozens of other people's children. For decades she ran the most lovingly firm daycare center from her home.

She was tough, but so loving. She taught some children to crawl, she taught others to accept the little boy that wanted to wear a dress all day, she taught us all what we needed to learn when we needed to learn it.

She was tiny, but formidable, Irish to her marrow.

Recently I found her Yellow Layer Cake recipe. It is in her handwriting (Palmer method and perfect). The handwriting I remember seeing in her weekly letters to my mother when I was growing up. She would keep us informed on the weather, and all the news from the neighborhood.

For a period of time, she has a Barbie pink felt tip marker that she used to write just about everything. I love it because it was so completely out of character. Too flashy for someone as below the radar as Mary tried to be, but use it she did. Every so often we will unearth an old note or recipe jotted down in that raucous splash of color. It makes me laugh every single time.

I think about the chain that goes back farther than any of us know, much farther than those three generations on that couch in 1966. Now it extends into the future with my daughter. All of these things, these recipes, these photos, these memories, will be passed down to her now too. Like a string of pearls, priceless pearls.

The Last One

2009-04-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

Today I took my final Prenatal Vitamin. No, I am not pregnant. My doctors have all insisted that I keep taking them while I was still breastfeeding.

Today, both are done. I am done breastfeeding and I am done with the vitamins.

I am a little sad about both.

It is one week before Baby C turns one. My little Cinco de Mayo baby is going to be a year old. She is getting ready to start walking. She is fiercely independent. She no longer wants to be held, or snuggled or rocked. She wants to go. She doesn't care where, she just wants to go.

She had no interest in being breastfed any longer. She wants to feed herself.

The last time I breastfed my son was the night before his first birthday. And I felt a little sad, but this is different.

There will be no more babies. She is my last baby. I will never breastfeed again. I will never be pregnant again. Which, don't get me wrong, I am pretty happy about. Both of my pregnancies were miserable.

The best part, the part I will always yearn for, always miss, is feeling the baby move. That first little flutter, when you aren't quite sure. The bigger movements when you are sure what you are feeling, and just are stunned with the knowledge of what is going on. That delicious feeling that for now, for that time, they are all yours, that no one else can feel them the way you can, know them the way you do. The intimacy is so complete.

And that continues after they are born, after you are able to hold them. For a time, you are the only one that can comfort them, give them solace, feed them.

Slowly, very slowly, they start to grow, pull away, become separate from you. A tough pill to swallow.

So this morning, I swallowed the last vitamin.

I will let her go, as much as I can right now because that is the nature of this relationship. The rest of her life as my daughter will be her pulling away and me slowly letting her go.

Enchilada Time!

2009-04-28T06:30:00.000-07:00

I know, I am kind of cheating. Okay, I am totally cheating.

I have already posted this recipe. However, it deserves to be posted again. It is THAT good!

This is a real favorite in the Smith house. Mr. Smith gets positively giddy when he hears that this meal is on the meal plan. He usually wants it the same night he hears about it. No matter what.

Yes, they are a little fussy. Yes, the enchilada sauce could easily be weaponized. Same with the chipotle in adobo...yikes that stuff can stain ANYTHING.

But the results are completely worth the stains, the orange hands, the reddish grout on the tile counter, the red splotches on my clothes.

The other beautiful thing about this meal, it makes two 9 x 13 pans (gotta love that 9 x 13 action...is there anything bad that comes out of a 9 x 13 pan...I don't think so.) of enchiladas. Cover the second one with freezer wrap and foil (don't put the foil directly on...the tomatoes will dissolve it). Take it out of the freezer when you want to serve it. Bake it for about 30-45 minutes on 350° and serve it with Spanish Rice (Mahatma brand is my personal favorite) and refried beans and everyone will be happy.

Ingredients

3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 1/2 pounds skinless boneless chicken breast
Salt and pepper
2 teaspoons cumin powder
2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 teaspoon Mexican Spice Blend
1 red onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup frozen corn, thawed
5 canned whole green chiles, seeded and coarsely chopped
4 canned chipotle chiles, seeded and minced
1 (28-ounce) can stewed tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon all-purpose flour
16 corn tortillas
1 1/2 cups enchilada sauce, canned
1 cup shredded Cheddar and Jack cheeses
Garnish: chopped cilantro leaves, chopped scallions, sour cream, chopped tomatoes

Directions

Coat large saute pan with oil. Season chicken with salt and pepper. Brown chicken over medium heat, allow 7 minutes each side or until no longer pink. Sprinkle chicken with cumin, garlic powder and Mexican spices before turning. Remove chicken to a platter, allow to cool.

Saute onion and garlic in chicken drippings until tender. Add corn and chiles. Stir well to combine. Add canned tomatoes, saute 1 minute.

Pull chicken breasts apart by hand into shredded strips. Add shredded chicken to saute pan, combine with vegetables. Dust the mixture with flour to help set.

Microwave tortillas on high for 30 seconds. This softens them and makes them more pliable. Coat the bottom of 2 (13 by 9-inch) pans with a ladle of enchilada sauce. Using a large shallow bowl, dip each tortilla in enchilada sauce to lightly coat. Spoon 1/4 cup chicken mixture in each tortilla. Fold over filling, place 8 enchiladas in each pan with seam side down. Top with remaining enchilada sauce and cheese.

Bake for 15 minutes in a preheated 350 degree F oven until cheese melts. Garnish with cilantro, scallion, sour cream and chopped tomatoes before serving. Serve with Spanish rice and beans.

Recipe from The Food Network, Tyler Florence.

Worth the Trouble

2009-04-25T07:00:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the extended silence. Things around here have been...well...exhausting.

We are attempting to navigate the treacherous and choppy waters of graduating from crib to "Big Boy Bed." This has been terribly ugly and sleep-deprived.

Thankfully Grammy came up with a solution that can remedy the situation in the short term and we all got a decent night's sleep last two night.

Whew! What a difference a day or two can make.

Today, rather than try to bake something from scratch, I ventured into the wonderful world of King Arthur Flour again.

If you enjoy baking (or cooking, for that matter) please go to their web site. You will not be disappointed. They have virtually everything you might need to bake. They also have some very good mixes and kits to make all different types of muffins, breads, etc.

These were up today. Now, I will warn you, these are more involved than most muffin mixes. I was pretty crabby when I was putting these together (still haven't gotten enough sleep to not be crabby). There are four parts and it seemed like too much work. That being said, the results are so completely worth it.

There is the muffin batter, the filling batter, the streusel and the glaze for the tops of the muffins. Yikes! But look at these beautiful things...are you drooling yet?

Yeah, I know.

Mr. Smith is not a fan of muffins in general. (I know, I know, I married him anyway. You can't have everything!) However, Mr. Smith LOVED these. He also suggested insulin, since they are on the sweet side.

Peachy Pie

2009-04-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

After my Grandma Doty died suddenly in 1996, my mother and her four sisters took over the care of my Papa Doty. This was nothing he requested of them, or required. They were just bound and determined to do it.

So, they fluttered around him, fussing over him for the last twelve years of his life (he left us on October 27, 2008). They would each call him on a certain day of the week. This schedule had to be organized due to his hectic social life. He was busier than people half his age.

The youngest daughter, my Aunt M, lived the closest. As in so many families, the one that lives the closest seems to end up with the most responsibility. It isn't fair, but the other four sisters lived so far away, daily contact was simply impossible.

M was the one that got the heart rattling calls. Papa stayed with her after his shoulder injury. He would join the rest of the family for "dinner" midday each Sunday. She would pay his bills while he was out of town for extended periods.

My favorite part of their relationship was the efficient system they had worked out. Aunt M, bless her heart, has a full-time job as a social worker in a school not too far from Papa Doty's house.

Over time, she started leaving things in her car for him to pick up (he had a set of keys to her car). In return, he would do the same. He would leave his laundry each week for her. She would return his washed clothes and linens. She would leave him a loaf of homemade bread. He would leave her magazines she would be interested in reading. She would leave him a peach pie.

Papa loved homemade peach pie, so Aunt M made it for him when peaches were in season.

I know Papa would have loved this recipe. He would have enjoyed the novelty of baking the pie in a cast iron skillet. I think he would have liked the addition of the apricots.

His absence is still felt so deeply. I know Aunt M feels it more than the rest of us. I am so pleased that he met my children and my husband, but I will always miss him.

This one is for you Papa!

Pie Crust

9" double pie crust, prepared

Use your favorite recipe here. Everyone has one, don't they? Hey, I don't even have a problem with you buying pie crust at the store. To each his own. I know, some people (Mom, this means you) just don't do pie crust. I don't blame you. If everything doesn't go right, it can turn into a nightmare.

Pie Filling

2 16-ounce bags frozen peaches, partially thawed, about 6 cups sliced peaches
1 cup chopped dried apricots

3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon almond extract (optional)
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons butter, melted

2 tablespoons milk
2 tablespoons coarse sparkling sugar (optional)

Preheat oven to 425°.

Coarsely chop the semi-thawed peaches; you can use the food processor, but I just chopped them with a knife.

Mix the peaches with the rest of the filling ingredients, stirring until well blended.

Roll half of the crust into a 13" circle, and lay it in the pie pan or cast iron skillet.

Spoon the filling into the crust.

Roll the remaining crust, and lay it on top of the filling. Press the edges together, and crimp the edges together.

Brush the crust with milk, and sprinkle with coarse sparkling sugar. Cut several slits in the top to vent.

Bake the pie for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350°, and bake the pie for an additional 30 minutes, until the edge of the crust is brown. Cover the edge with a crust protector, or with strips of aluminum foil, to prevent over-browning.

Bake the pie for 15-20 minutes more, until the top crust is browned and the filling is bubbly.

Remove the pie from the oven, and allow it to cool completely, preferably overnight before cutting.

Yield: 9" pie, 8-10 servings

Adapted from King Arthur Flour.

Fresh Fruit Spring Rolls

2009-04-19T09:15:00.000-07:00

Fresh Fruit Spring Rolls

Confession time: I can't definitively tell you where this recipe came from originally. It is lost to the ages. I want tell you it came from a magazine like Shape or Self, except I can't be sure. There was a time in my life, before I was married and before I was a mother that I actually exercised and worried about what I ate.

Those days are over, at least for now. Someday, not sure when, I will be able to get to part of my "To Do List" that covers a diet that an adult would partake in or regular exercise.

Anyway, this is vegetarian and healthy. I know, I know, what the heck. It is just so darn tasty. The tartness of the fruit and the raspberry coulis is wonderful.

Fresh Fruit Spring Rolls

1/4 cup honey
1 vanilla bean split
2 tsp. orange zest
2 tsp. lime zest
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 cup orange juice

1/4 cup strawberries
1 cup blueberries
2 cup pears

8 spring roll wrappers
Non-stick spray

Combine honey, vanilla bean, citrus zest, cinnamon, and orange juice in a sauce pan. Simmer for 5 minutes. Stir in fruit and allow to cool.

Remove vanilla bean and discard.

Spoon 1/4 to 1/3 of a cup of fruit mixture onto lower edge of spring roll wrapper. Dampen all four edges of wrapper with small amount of water. Begin at the edge closest to the fruit mixture and fold over slightly. Then fold the sides in toward the fruit mixture. Bring fourth side up to cover fruit completely and gently seal. Place spring roll on greased cookie sheet. Spray lightly with non-stick spray. Repeat with remaining seven wrappers.

You should have a cookie sheet full of little beauties like this one. If you are lucky, so very very lucky, you will have a couple of extra and you will have ten or so spring rolls.

Once all rolls are complete, bake at 400°for 5-7 minutes. Watch closely so rolls do not burn, but do not remove before they look slightly golden brown and crisp.

Serve warm with Mandarin Raspberry Coulis.

Mandarin Raspberry Coulis
2 cups mandarin oranges
1 cup raspberries
1 tsp. ginger

Puree ingredients in food processor or blender. Now, I HATE raspberry seeds. Which is really sad, because I am crazy about raspberries. The seeds make me crazy, so I prefer to use a strainer to weed those nasty little buggers out. That is just me. If you don't mind the seeds...first of all, how can you stand it? Secondly, you can just leave them or strain them...it is entirely us to you. But I can't imagine what would possess you to leave them.

Giant Spicy Meatballs

2009-04-18T07:40:00.000-07:00

I discovered this recipe in Real Simple while I was flying across the country.

I was being sent on a mandatory, no excuses, two week vacation by my boss, Mr. Boss.

I was not planning on coming back.

I wanted to leave the job, the life, the state. I wanted to find some other place, some other way of living, because this one wasn't working for me.

Things at the job were messy to say the very very least.

We could not pay our bills. It was a struggle to make payroll. We had a new client that was a nightmare of neediness that never seemed to end. Mrs. Boss was pregnant and having personality changes that made Sybil seem even-tempered and calm. Due to the wanna be monsoon season we had been experiencing, the office roof had leaked, destroying the lobby rugs, one bathroom and a portion of our training/conference room. The stink of muddy, swamp water in the carpet is unforgettable.

To make matters even worse, I was developing a crush on a new employee. I had a strict rule against ever getting involved with someone at work. I could feel myself wanting to break that rule.

Things were not ideal. I needed to get out of town. I had never taken a two week vacation, especially from this job. Taking a week was usually next to impossible.

My refuge, my place when I am under stress, is the kitchen. Cooking has served me well over the years. It is always a comfort to me. Focusing on the measuring, the ingredients, etc. makes me feel calm.

So, I went to visit my brother, sister-in-law and their children. It was wonderful. It was between Thanksgiving and Christmas, so I got to go with them to get their Christmas tree. I got to make Christmas cookies with my niece and nephew. I got to experience just enough of winter to enjoy it and not feel punished by it.

I was able to read about 10 books. I took naps when I wanted to take naps. My brother and I went back to see our childhood home and neighborhood. And my sister-in-law and I cooked together.

That trip was when I started to hatch my plan for escape. That trip, in my mind, is a dividing line.

When I got back, things had changed.

Mr. and Mrs. Boss were no longer supportive employers. This were taking an ugly turn. They seemed to be setting me up for something. The air felt hostile.

On the other hand, the new employee...ahhh the new employee. Over the next few months, New Guy took up residence in my attention and eventually my heart.

One rainy day, New Guy met me at my car with an umbrella to walk me into the office. He would stay after hours and we would talk, for hours. We would talk on the phone almost constantly. We would email each other throughout the day. Something was definitely going on here, but I could not be sure what it was.

And then, with almost no warning, I smashed my rule. I smashed all of my rules (almost all of my rules), threw them out, obviously, they had not been working anyway, so what good were they?

By April Fool's Day, the New Guy had become Mr. Smith. But that is another story for another day. Or for several days.

Back to the original point of this post, this is a really big recipe (I would recommend cutting it in half unless you want a ton, and I do mean ton, of leftovers. Really really yummy leftovers.). And it makes REALLY BIG meatballs. I have never been a huge fan of meat shaped into other things (balls, loaves, etc.). This one changed my mind. The blend of beef and pork, really makes a huge difference.

Big Spicy Meatballs
2 pounds lean ground beef
2 pounds ground pork
1 medium onion, minced
2 slices soft bread, crusts removed and torn into pieces
5 cloves garlic, minced
2 eggs
½ cup chopped fresh parsley
¼ cup olive oil
1 tablespoon Italian seasoning
1 tablespoon kosher salt

1 ½ cups freshly grated Parmesan
3 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1 ½ cups ricotta cheese

Preheat oven to 400°. In a large bowl, combine the first 10 ingredients, 1 cup of Parmesan, and 2 teaspoons of the pepper. Mix just to combine.

Shape the mixture into 16 to 18 large meatballs (each should be about ¾ cup of meat). Place on a baking pan and set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine the ricotta with the remaining pepper; set aside.

Bake the meatballs for 20 minutes in upper third of oven.

Spoon 1 tablespoon of ricotta mixture onto each meatball.

Broil 3 to 5 minutes or until the ricotta just starts to brown.

Serve with jarred marinara sauce or your favorite sauce. Or, if you are feeling sassy, you can leave the meat out of this recipe and serve it with the meatballs.

This recipe is originally from Real Simple, December 2004.

Had anyone heard anything about http://www.condron.us/?

I get a ton of traffic from them, but don't really know what the point is or how they got ahold of my information. Anyone out there know what the deal is with www.condron.us?

Sauce in a Flash

2009-04-16T07:48:00.000-07:00

Back in the day, the Pittsburgh days, I was living with The Dead End Guy. After numerous, extended explosive break-ups, getting-back-togethers, epic battles and absurd negotiations, we moved into a two bedroom apartment. As I look back on this (a good 19 years later), it was not the smartest thing I have ever done.

We were unhappy almost immediately. At least I was.

I remember having a huge argument the day we moved in and wanting to leave right then.

I wanted something more. I knew that much. I just wasn't mature enough to figure out that he was not the man (hell, he wasn't even a damn man, let's face it, he was a boy...probably still is) that was capable of giving me what I wanted or needed.

For a period of time after I graduated from college and was looking desperately for employment when there was none to be had, I played at being a housewife. I wanted that, I wanted to be the perfect little wife, waiting with a delicious hot meal when he got home from class.

I very diligently made meal plans, shopped for ingredients, chopped, cooked, and cleaned. I was play-acting at being a wife, the thing I so desperately wanted. Even though, deep down, I could never envision us being married, let alone happily married.

I would ask him what he would like (this recipe was a real favorite) and then dutifully make it. Hoping that at some dream-like point, he would notice how wonderful I was and realize that he wanted me.

He never did.

This worked for a little over a year. I played this little game that there was something I could do, some meal I could conjure up, something I could wear that would please him enough.

He found someone else he had more in common with, and he eventually, ironically, married.

It was really really hard to realize that the time I had spent trying so damn hard to make him love me had been completely wasted. I should have had the good sense to let go, to let him go, to let the non-relationship go, years and years before I did.

Then, after a really long time...and I am talking about a really long time, I met this guy. He was handsome and sweet. He seemed to like me just like I am (miracle!) so I married his butt as fast as I possibly could!

He likes what I cook. He likes that I cook. He didn't care that I could hardly cook during both pregnancies. He appreciates that I try new recipes and (as long as I don't add nuts) is willing to try the things I am experimenting with.

All that time, all those years...they weren't wasted. It was just training for the real thing. Now I really know how to be a good wife, for real. But more importantly, I know how to accept the unconditional love that is given. No questions asked, no strings attached, just love. No more pretending, no more begging to be noticed and accepted.

Either way, the pasta sauce is wonderful...whether you are serving it to The Dead End Guy or Mr. Smith, although for Mr. Smith, I skip the mushrooms. It is the least I can do.

Sauce in a Flash

3 cloves garlic
1 medium onion, diced
1/4 lb. mushrooms, sliced
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 lb. lean meat
1 can (28 ozs.) crushed tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1 1/2 teaspoons fresh oregano, or 3/4 teaspoon dry oregano
1 tsp. sugar
3/4 tsp. salt
1 jar (7 ozs.) roasted red pepper or pimento, drained or diced
1/3 cup chopped parsley
1/4 cup loosely packed basil leaves, shredded or 1 tablespoon dry basil
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper

Brown the meat in a skillet. Drain it if you want to, heck, you can even rinse the fat off of it in a colander. I don't because I don't like getting fat in my colander, but that is just me.

After the meat is cooked, just add the rest of the ingredients, mix well and heat through.

Serve with your favorite pasta shape and enjoy!

Homemade Playdoh or my son the ingrate

2009-04-15T11:00:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about getting H some Playdoh, but have not wanted to spend the money. He is so mercurial that dropping money on anything other than Matchbox/HotWheels/DubCity cars is pure folly.

So, a few days ago, I floated the idea of playing with clay. We may have even seen some children playing with clay on Sesame Street. I am not sure, since Caillou, Sesame Street, and all things Pixar on an endless loop around here, it is getting blurred.

Also, vertigob had Mommy's Night Out with Miss Amy (thanks for that, by the way, Miss Amy! I had fun, you are still a great date!) last night...and...let's be honest here...Mommy has a hangover. There I said it. I had two margaritas and I feel like Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Stinkin' Vegas. So, there is some additional blur that is not usually present. This is not your every day, run of the mill, sleep deprivation. Blech.

In my semi-blurred state, I decided to go to the all-knowing internets for a homemade Playdoh recipe and see what all you guys had to offer.

Wow! This page has tons of recipes, activities, advice, the whole shebang. Done and done.

I decided to try this one:

Cooked Playdough (flour and salt)

3 cups flour
1.5 cups salt
6 tsp cream of tarter
3 tbsp oil
3 cups water

1. Dissolve salt in the water.
2. Pour all ingredients into a large pot.
3. Stir constantly over medium heat until a ball forms by pulling away from the sides.
4. Knead the dough mixture until the texture matches playdough (1-2 minutes).

Store in plastic container. Should last for at least 3 months.

NOTE: This recipe is made from edible ingredients and not toxic in small amounts for children. However, a dog got sick after eating a batch of playdough. It is not intended as a food item. Please be sure to put it away after your children have finished playing.

I used Kosher Salt (just because it is what I had around and in the volume necessary for this recipe. I kind of freaked out when the mixture in the pot started to get gummed up and clumpy. However, as soon as I got it onto the wooden board (lightly floured) to knead it, it was fine. Also, kneading the really warm dough was soothing and kind of therapeutic. I wondered if it would feel good to people with arthritis. I will have to check that out.

Here is the conversation:

H: What is it?
Me: It is like clay, you can make things out of it.
H: Is it a car?
Me: No. It is like clay.
H: I need my knife.
Me: Okay.
H (taking whacks at the dough with his knife): Why is it warm?
Me: Because I just finished cooking it for you.
H: I don't want to play with this any more.

Oh okay, kid thanks. Why do I bother? Ingrate.

He is back to playing with his cars. So much for Arts & Crafts time.

Banana Bread Redux

2009-04-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

Mr. Smith hates nuts. He does not feel that adding them to any recipe is ever a good idea. Even if the recipe calls for it, he feels they should be left out. No matter what the consequences might be.

Today, we had a very sad, almost black banana just laying on the counter this morning. The Monkey had deemed it inedible. Mr. Smith pleaded for some banana bread, so Banana Bread it was to be.

Now, I have made this recipe before. And it was successful. In fact, I like it more than I have any other banana bread recipe I have ever tried.

This time, since Mr. Smith was my target audience, no nuts. He was a little sad last time I made and there were nuts in it. Of course, the nuts ruined the whole thing for him.

This time he begged me to leave the nuts out. It was so sad, I had to comply.

So, instead of 2 bananas, I added a little cup (one that you would use for your kid's lunch box) of Granny Smith apple sauce. I also, heaven help me, left out the walnuts.

I hate to admit this, but I actually like it better. It seems like the apple sauce made the finished product very moist. Also using cake flour really makes the bread nice and light. Not the greasy heavy loaf I remember my mother making.

It is so easy. The hardest part is keeping yourself from eating it while it still blazing hot.

Hilda's Molasses Sugar Cookies

2009-04-14T08:55:00.000-07:00

My grandmother, more specifically, my father's mother, Hilda, is a force of nature.

By the way, I have always wondered, how, in the name of all that is holy, you look at your newborn daughter (your fifth) and decide to name this innocent child Hilda. Never got that one. Ran out of names? Really wanted to give a name that you would only hear in a damn German opera?

Anyway, Hilda is the rock of my father's family. She is the one that loaded the kids and their belongings into a car every summer and drove to whatever small town baseball team had employed Barney (my grandfather).

I can picture her fierce determination, packing the car, making the most of the space they had available, taking all the things that they could not live without during the hot summer. Hurtling toward heaven knew what, her babies in the car, probably just in their underwear since that was before the days of automotive air conditioning. Another small town, another unsuitable apartment over a brothel or funeral parlor, another adventure.

She had to be tough. She was one of 12 children. Esther, Jim, Herb, Bob, John, Millie, Alice, Grace, Hilda, Tom, Eddie, and Pat scattered over a span of 25 years.

She wanted to get out of Lucinda. One of the nuns told her when she was a girl that the best thing she could do is get the heck out that town. Hilda really took that one to heart.

Hilda wanted out. Out of Lucinda, out of the ceaseless intermarriage, small town-ness that Lucinda still hasn't shaken off.

He had a one-way ticket. He did not intend to come back and that was all she needed to hear.

So she married a dreamer. The one guy in Lucinda, PA with a dream and a one-way train ticket. He didn't want to be a farmer or a miner. He wanted something completely off the map. He wanted to play baseball.

He took his one-way ticket and what little money he had. He didn't have enough to make it back, so it was sink or swim time. He swam.

And they were on their way.

He got a contract with the St. Louis Browns. He eventually became a manager/coach for a multitude of minor league teams. In the off season he would take whatever job would get them through the winter until the season started up again.

Barney in the dugout, one of many.

This was a time when there were no million dollar signing bonuses. You were lucky if you kept your gig from one season to the next. Where Barney was, there was no glamor, no glitz, no shine. Their's was not a charmed life, but they made a living.

Each winter, he would get a contract, skim it quickly and hurl it into the corner. There it would sit until he was ready to read it again and consider signing it. He always did. He could not stay away.

Watch Bull Durham and you will get a taste of what his life was like. What their lives were like.

He would go to Spring Training in Paris, Texas or Bluefield, West Virginia or any one of a thousand places that had a baseball team. Once school finished for the children (there were eventually four, my father and three sisters) she would follow. Always loyal, always willing to make do, always ready for the adventure, a true pioneer spirit.

This recipe was one of those perennial favorites in the Lutz household. Hilda has a real sweet tooth and likes to have a little something around to indulge it.

This recipe is written exactly as she wrote it on the card. And it is just like her. No flowery descriptions of method. Just the facts.

One time, about a million years ago, we were helping her move. She made sure to have the ice bucket/cookie jar in her car for the trip from one apartment to the other. She very slyly suggested that I check and see if there was anything in the cookie jar.

We ate them while she drove. Speeding forward toward her next adventure.

Hilda's Molasses Sugar Cookies
3/4 cup shortening
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup molasses
1 egg
2 cups sifted flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. cloves
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. salt

Cream shortening, sugar, molasses and egg. Beat well. Sift together dry ingredients. Mix well, cover, chill. Form into 1 inch balls. Bake 375° for 8-10 minutes.

Bee update...

2009-04-13T12:30:00.001-07:00

If you were reading over the weekend, this is the before shot.

And this is the after shot of the Bee Mission.

No more live bees. Okay there were a couple of sad stragglers, but the watermelon-sized hive disintegrated upon contact with the BeeDeath™ procured by The Monkey. I don't even want to think about what might be some of the ingredients contained in BeeDeath™. Made up the name, by the way.

At some point, The Monkey was on a mission to wipe out the slug population on the back 40 and purchased a product, ominously named SlugDeath™. Yikes. I bet just the sight of that box made those slug quake!

Before endorsing the mission, Mr. Smith checked with The BeeMan and he said there are more bees than ever before. We were concerned about Colony Collapse Disorder. We have all heard that there are fewer bees. The BeeMan says that the media has blown that out of proportion.

Apparently The BeeMan has been doing this for 30+ years. He is one of those great characters you run into when this kind of things happen.

Penne Alla Gorgonzola

2009-04-13T08:33:00.000-07:00

When I was pregnant with H, I had this amazing, huge appetite. I was eating constantly. I was nauseated and hungry all the time.

I had been given the advice to eat several small meals and that would help curb the morning sickness. There was no way I could just eat small meals. I had to eat full meals 6-8 times each day. It was really hard to eat that much, to be required to eat that much. It was the strangest thing, he just took so much fuel to grow!

Poor Mr. Smith was put in the position of Food Procurer. It was a full-time job.

I couldn't really cook very easily since I felt so nauseated all the time. Raw meat just made me want to run to the bathroom. Dairy products, forget it, didn't even stay down for 10 minutes. I will never forget the day I ate some potato soup. Ughh.

I craved turkey. I was roasting a turkey breast about once a week. I wanted turkey with every meal. I had a turkey sandwich almost every day of my pregnancy. Not to mention the full turkey dinners I was eating for breakfast (stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, thankyouverymuch). Yikes. No wonder I kept getting "the talk" at each doctor's appointment, you know, "the talk" about my alarming weight gain. "The talk" about what I had been eating, how often, how much.

The worst thing I craved was blue cheese and gorgonzola cheese. Both on the forbidden list for pregnant gals. Drat! This was a tough one. It seemed like every salad, sandwich, pasta, every take out menu was littered with blue cheese and gorgonzola. I could not get away from it.

Finally, at long last, during the narrow window between children, I found this recipe. I was elated. I finally could eat the forbidden substance again!

Now, I know this particular cheese is not for everyone. The sauce is rich and decadent, but so very delicious. Elegant and easy. If you pair it with some fortified pasta (I like Bertolli), you have a complete entree. Steam some broccoli and you got yourself a beautiful meal.

1 lb. penne
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon thinly sliced fresh sage or 1 teaspoon dried sage, crumbled
1 cup whole milk
1/2 lb. Gorgonzola dolce or Saga Blue, rind discarded and cheese cut into pieces (2 cups)
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
2 ozs. finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (1 cup)

Cook pasta in a 6-8 quart pot of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally, until al dente, 10-12 minutes.

While the pasta boild, heat butter in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat until foam subsides, the cook sage, stirring, about 1 minute. Add milk and gorgonzola and cook, stirring and breaking up cheese, until sauce is smooth, about 2 minutes (sauce will be thin). Reduce heat to low and stir in pepper, nutmeg, and salt to taste.

Reserve 1/2 cup of cooking water and drain the pasta. Add pasta and parmesan to sauce, stirring to coat. Thin with a little reserved, lovely starchy water if necessary.

Makes 6 main-course servings.

Adapted from Gourmet, October 2003.

We got bees...

2009-04-11T17:29:00.001-07:00

Some pretty serious bad ass bees. Yup, those are all bees. Yikes.

When you over cook potatoes...

2009-04-11T11:24:00.001-07:00

you just have to make mashed potatoes. At least, that is what I did. You know, like the lemons and the lemonade.

It was kind of a rough day around here yesterday. Things were bad at Sad House, getting it ready to sell, moving a desk that would only fit in an empty Rose Bowl, getting it stuck on the stairs, crazy kids, etc.

Mr. Smith turned in for the night around 5 pm last night. I made Macaroni and Cheese for dinner and put both kids, and The Wonder Dog to bed. Mr. Smith had conked out with his laptop on my side of bed, and I didn't have the heart to wake him up, so I slept (or didn't sleep) in the office. Let it be stated, for the record, that there is so much computer equipment in said office, that I practically woke up with a tan!

Anyway, all this back story to explain that I got virtually no sleep. I did not get to sleep until after 11 pm (started watching Season 3 of Friday Night Lights), Baby C woke up the first time at 3:20 am, H woke up at 4:25, and Baby C finally got up for good at around 6 am. It was a very very very short night.

I was getting the Potato Salad started for tomorrow. I put the potatoes on the stove to boil, sat down and promptly forgot that I had something on the stove...for about an HOUR! Sad when the mind goes...and in one so young!

The potatoes were cooked beyond all recognition. They were collapsing in the colander. It was horrible. I was devastated. I was so looking forward to the potato salad. Mr. Smith, always cool-headed in these situations said, "Make mashed potatoes."

Brilliant.

So I mashed them, skins and all. Added some horseradish, cream, butter, salt and pepper. Here is the recipe:

3 lbs. Red potatoes
2 teaspoons kosher salt (for the water)

Boil potatoes in salted water in large pot until a knife pierces the potatoes easily. No need to skin the potatoes.

Once the potatoes are thoroughly cooked, drain completely and return to pot you cooked them in (this will get rid of any excess water).

While the potatoes are hot, add 6 tablespoons butter, 1/2 cup cream (damn the calories, full speed ahead!), 2 tablespoons horseradish, kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste.

Now all that is left to do, sit down in a quiet, happy place and enjoy the hell out of the creamiest mashed potatoes ever.

I am a HUGE fan of mashed potatoes. Always have been.

I went to Lora Little Elementary School in Delaware in the 1970s. It might as well have been a private school in the 1950s. It was such a throwback to another time. It was a neighborhood school, we all walked, no one rode buses. My parents were on the PTA. It was all very Leave it to Beaver.

The school cafeteria was easily the most amazing part of the school. They had this crew of little grandma-types that manned the kitchen. The food was so damn good. Every single thing they made was just the best comfort food you have ever eaten.

They had cookies (chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodles, oatmeal) that were the size of your head. They mashed potatoes and gravy were easily the best I have ever eaten. I liked them so much that I would buy an extra serving to savor.

Mashed potatoes were always the food I wanted when I was sick. They especially came in handy during my college-hangover days. I never ever ran out of Hungry Jack Instant Mashed Potatoes. They might just be the perfect food.

So endeth the lesson for today.

Easter Bunny?

2009-04-10T15:12:00.000-07:00

Okay, more like the UPS man.

We could not, no matter how many stores we combed, locate a single pack (roll, sleeve...what the hell are the called anyway?) of PEZ.

The H only likes PEZ. He does not like Smarties, he is not partial to chocolate. Nope. Just the PEZ. All other candy is rated far below PEZ in The H’s estimation. He is, in fact, a PEZ junkie. The little man refers (thanks to Mr. Smith) to PEZ by the code name “chalk.”

So, out of desperation, we turned to the internet. That is where we can find anything and everything.

Mr. Smith located an establishment that had PEZ. They had cases of PEZ. We ordered $30 worth. That translates to about 90 packs, rolls, sleeves...whatever.

All of this to avoid the raging tantrums that go a little something like this:

The H approaches me at a high rate of speed wielding a PEZ dispenser.

The H: “It gettin’ to be time for chalk. Yeah.”

Me: “Oh honey. We don’t have any chalk.”

The H: “How come?”

Me: “Well, you ate all the chalk we have. And we can’t find any in any of the stores.”

The H: “But I want some.”

Me: “I know sweetie, but we don’t have any.”

The H: “YEAH WE DOOOOOO.”

Me: “No, we don’t honey.”

The H: “YYYEEEEEAAAAHHHHH WEEEEEEEEE DOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

At which point, he runs out of the room screaming. A few minutes later, we begin again.

Happy Easter!

Coriander Herb Rub

2009-04-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

This recipe is absolutely a favorite of Mr. Smith's. I made this for July 4th dinner (with Potato Salad). It has become our annual tradition. We are partial to using it on steak, but it would certainly work with just about any meat you choose.

I usually make a double batch of it, so that I can have some extra around for next time.

2 tablespoons coriander seeds
2 tablespoons whole peppercorns
3 tablespoons fresh thyme, chopped
3 tablespoons fresh rosemary, chopped
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt

Put it all in a spice grinder (re-purpose your coffee grinder, you know you want to) give it a good whirl. Then all that is left to do is rub it on the meat and cook it up.

You will be thanking me later.
Once again, this one is from Bon Appetit. They just know how to do it. 'Nuff said.

Have a fabulous Easter!