I Drink at Restaurants

Why I'm a Lousy Vegan #62

2010-12-09T14:22:00.000-08:00

Milika: "...one of my kids brought me a Spider-Man band-aid..."

Me: (thinking) "...I'm a lousy vegan. I have Band-Aids that look like bacon strips..."

The Following Conversation Actually Took Place...

2010-11-19T12:40:00.000-08:00

Jess: "...and he's bringing me deer sticks. He's going hunting tomorrow for the season opener. Oh, I probably shouldn't tell you that since you're a vegan."

Me: "Oh, please. I'm on a strict diet. It's not like I'm doing it for the merit badge."

(I feel compelled to point out some embrace the logic that deer are also vegan, so anything related to deer must be OK.)

The following conversation actually took place...

2010-09-06T05:26:00.001-07:00

Husband: "He asked what my favorite red was."

Me: "Did you say 'Killian's?'"

Husband: "That would have been good. What's your favorite red?"

Me: "Johnnie Walker."

Bathroom Project

2010-08-24T07:58:00.000-07:00

Before...

Actually, in the true before that was too awful to document:

the window sported black plastic blinds,

brass-framed shower doors graced the tub area,

a tiny medicine cabinet mirror was hung over the sink at the perfect height for NO ONE,

a black-lacquered shelf extended from the sink over the toilet to the wall to provide a spot to set your toothbrush (blech!),

and the pièce de résistance... {drum roll}

the walls, sink and bathtub were painted off white. Mind you, the sink and tub were not refinished. Noooo. You could see the do-it-yourself brush strokes.

My then-bachelor husband immediately pitched the blinds and crusty shower doors.

A few years ago, we replaced the smallest medicine cabinet/mirror in the world with a mirror extending along that entire wall and two 45° mirrored cabinets on each side. We also added a larger light fixture and painted the walls a pale, creamy yellow to match the accent tiles.

Fueled by many frustrating work days, I gradually scraped the paint off the bathtub, but there are a few stubborn spots by the drain that I'll have professionally removed. As you can see, the paint in the sink was a bit more difficult to remove so the sink and I have come to an understanding (see below).

This week, while the cat's away, I'll be sanding, priming, and painting all of the trim a nice, easy-to-clean white.

Next up, the wall mount sink will be replaced with a nice pedestal sink, providing ample edge space to set a toothbrush or razor.

The sink was my Christmas present. Yes, I asked for a gift that goes against basis when we sell. I'm that girl.

The following conversation actually took place....

2010-07-04T06:16:00.000-07:00

Me: Last night with Andrea was awesome. We had grilled steaks, greek salad, and wild rice. We sat outside and talked about houses, work, family and how we both somehow have more of a crush on Alec Baldwin now that he's fat.

Husband: So, it was like a night spent with me, especially the Alec Baldwin part. I liked him in Hunt for Red October.

Me: {groan}

The following conversation actually took place...

2010-06-06T18:27:00.000-07:00

Me: Our hostas are so large, they look like hedges!

Husband: Host-edges?

Me: Nice.

Recipe: Simple Tsatsiki Dressing

2010-06-04T16:03:00.000-07:00

Kefir makes this a thinner sauce than traditional tsatsiki. You can use it as a dressing for a simple sliced cucumber salad, or as a dip for pita bread or to pair with grilled chicken gyros... actually, I think it's good on just about anything!

Mise en Place:

1½ c lowfat plain kefir

½ c grated cucumber (not needed if used as a sauce for sliced cucumber salad)

Can add more to taste:

¼ tsp sea salt

¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

½ tsp garlic powder

This one is pretty straight forward. Mix all the ingredients and give the flavors a chance to marry while you cook the rest of your meal.

To "grate" the cucumber, I used a vegetable peeler, then chopped it finer with knife- I happen to like my knuckles just the way they are, thanks.

You can make this ahead of time, but remember to use less seasoning and taste test before serving. The quanitities of the seasonings will vary depending not only on your personal preference, but also on the time of year.

Auntie Jeanne's Germany

2010-06-04T07:55:00.000-07:00

When my nephew was learning about where people live, he was a little confused by the fact that my sister lived in Germany. In his mind, just as some people lived in houses and others lived in apartments, Auntie Jeanne lived in Germany.

We tried to explain that he lived in America, etc., but his concept of Germany remained intact: Germany was where Auntie Jeanne lived and therefore one could only conclude that Germany belonged to Auntie Jeanne.

The kid had a point.

Germany was thereafter legally recognized by our family as "Auntie Jeanne's Germany," Bundesrepublik Deutschland be damned.

my nephew eating at a bar

A few years ago, Auntie Jeanne brought home her German boyfriend. He spoke some English, but lacked the confidence that comes from actually speaking a language outside of a classroom. I initially admired his courage- native speakers have been overwhelmed by my gregarious family- but soon concluded he really didn't know what he was in for.

Upon first meeting him, my nephew plunked down next to him on the living room couch, studied him intently for a thirty seconds and asked, "Do you have toilets in your Germany?"

Unsolicited, my nephew calmly explained to him that, "According to logic, you should wash your face before you wash your butt."

However belatedly recognized, the kid had a point.

Gott sei dank, that boyfriend has been an ex- for almost a year.

Future Auntie Jeanne boyfriends beware!

The following conversation actually took place...

2010-06-01T10:06:00.000-07:00

Jeanne: I worked on my sculpture. It needs something, though.

Me: More cowbell?

Jeanne: Yeah. Yeah, that's what it needs.

Happy Birthday to the World's Coolest Little Sister!

The following conversation actually took place....

2010-05-19T14:09:00.000-07:00

Me: Strider didn't clean up like I asked him to. Really, the whole "dog as maid" thing isn't working out for me.

Husband: My primary concern with the dog-as-maid approach is the clear breach of my rule* against putting outfits on the dog.

*This rule is the direct result of my intense desire to buy this costume in a XXXXXLT and dress Strider up as "Dogdor."

http://www.amazon.com/Dog-Dinosaur-Halloween-Costume-Custome/dp/B000VO1090

For my mom and anyone else who has been deprived of the legend that is Trogdor: http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail58.html

Saturday Night Supper Club

2010-05-06T07:21:00.000-07:00

When I got my first big girl apartment, I started Wednesday Night Supper Club as a way to get together with friends mid-week and to test out recipes. We rotated houses each week- the host/ess picked the menu- and the rule was that everyone had to bring extra money to chip in for pizza in case it was a disaster. We would prepare the meal together (some people just liked to nibble ingredients- Sue!).

Actually, Supper Club didn't start out rotating to other people's homes. That came about after what has become known as the Great Build-Your-Own Shish-Kebab incident: Put different kinds of meat in different kinds of marinades, chop up some veggies, put out skewers... great idea... what could go wrong? Um, it was the middle of winter so we each grilled our own on an itty bitty electric grill in my equally itty bitty kitchen and ate around my itty bitty dinette set. It took about four hours for everyone to eat and a lot longer than that for my apartment to air out. I never did get the teriyaki stain out of the dining room carpet. (And, thanks to Timmy, I now know that stew meat is not tenderloin conveniently pre-sliced for shish-kebabs.)

Wednesday Night Supper Club- Round 2

When Jeanne got her first big girl apartment, we created Monday Night Supper Club. We bounced around the Eastside making amazing comfort food until Jeanne moved to Germany and Andrea went back to Indiana (despite my constant reminders that Indianapolis is not on a Great Lake, doesn't have Summerfest, etc.).

It's time for Saturday Night Supper Club.

I propose Saturday, May 22, at 4:30pm at my house for the inaugural meeting. I'll break open the liquor cabinet and wine rack, and whip up one or two of the dishes I've been posting to facebook (admittedly to taunt you). We can figure out next steps from there.

This invitation is open to all facebook and blog friends, regardless of whether we've met face-to-face. The only rules are that you help, host and eat. Just let me know if you'd like to join in, and I'll give you directions to my liquor cabinet- oops! I mean, house.

I'm hoping the Saturday time slot will coax a few of people out before bar hopping as well as attract those of us who have embraced good clean living as the path to eternal youth. Out-of-towners are always welcome, too!

Recipe: Maple Sweet Potato Muffins

2010-05-03T17:14:00.000-07:00

Mise en Place

1 c mashed sweet potatoes (I used canned)
1½ c all-purpose flour
¾ c firmly packed brown sugar
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
¾-1 tsp ground cinnamon
dash of salt (I used sea salt)
½ c Egg Beaters (or 2 large eggs, slightly beaten)
¾ c vegetable oil (I used olive oil)
¼ c real maple syrup
18 toasted pecans

Place 18 pecans on a nonstick cookie sheet sprayed with I Can't Believe It's Not Butter (salt optional) and bake at 300°F for 20 minutes.

When done, preheat oven to 350°F.

In a large bowl, mix sweet potatoes, flour, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and salt.

Stir in eggs, oil and maple syrup. (If mixing by hand, whip with a whisk until smooth.)

Greased 1-2 muffin pans (makes 18 muffins) fill 18 cups ¾ full.

Bake at 350°F for 15 minutes, then top each with a toasted pecan*. Continue to bake for another 5-10 minutes or until inserted toothpick comes out clean.

These are awesome warm, but come out of the pan more easily if allowed to cool... not that appearances really matter.

*You could also chop the pecans and add them to the batter. I did this since not everyone likes pecans.

Vegan ...with Exceptions

2010-03-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

After my lovely 14-hour stomachache marathon, 72-hour hospital stay, and spending the past two and a half weeks nauseously avoiding anything more exotic than toast, I have decided to eat a vegan diet- more or less.

By "more or less" I mean with the following exceptions, which can be divided into two basic categories:

Stuff You Can Pry Out of My Cold, Dead Hands (Even Though I Probably Can't Eat Much of It Anyway)

Frango Mints

These are practically a food group in the upper Midwest. I don't want to know what's in them- I'm pretty sure the FDA doesn't require "magic" to be listed as an ingredient anyway.

Good Chocolate

See Frango Mints

Medications

If pig insulin will keep me alive, I'm taking it. Before you criticize me, read "Animal Farm."

Booze

I'm pretty sure this is in the clear. If there's some part of the booze-making process that involves animals or animal by-products, I don't want to know. More importantly, I don't need to know.

Filet Mignon
Seared on the outside to seal in the juices, then grilled to a perfect medium-rare... mmm! I drool just thinking about it. Faced with steak, I would definitely nosedive off the wagon. So? Exception granted.

Stuff for Which the Substitute is Suspect

Butter

I think margarine may be the source of all of the ills of modern society. Just think about it. Until scientific tests conclusively prove that's not the case, I'm not eating it.

Cheese

I have never eaten Velveeta or Cheez Whiz (I refuse to eat any product when the packaging has a higher nutritional value). I'll try soy cheese, but I must reserve the right to eat real cheese. This is Wisconsin and I am a Wisconsinite. I tolerate an extreme climate to live at the source.

Yogurt

I guess even soy yogurt can have bacteria that initially came from animal products. By that reasoning, you can't eat anything that has been planted in the ground because we've buried people in it. There has to be a boundary somewhere, and think this is as good a place to make a stand as any.

Being new to this way of eating, do you guys have any advice, recipes and product recommendations for me? (I really want to try soy cheese, but it's going to have to be pretty phenomenal to keep me away from the real stuff!)

For my non-veggie friends, what would you refuse to give up?

The following conversation actually took place...

2010-03-15T15:00:00.000-07:00

Me: Can you have beer with your cough medicine?

Husband: Well, it says "May enhance the effect of alcohol."

Me: What does that mean? Does that make drinking six beers like drinking eight?

Husband: It's really not a warning. It's a suggestion.

Plague

2010-03-12T07:14:00.000-08:00

This past week has been an adventure...

My husband has officially spent five whole days out of the office- the longest period of time out of the office since our honeymoon, which was the longest since he began his career. He has a nasty head cold and hasn't had a voice for the past two days. The doctor suggested it might be H1N1 before suggesing he might NOT want to come to the doctor's office.

Not to be outdone, I spent Sunday night and Monday morning praying to the porcelain gods. I finally stopped around 3pm, just in time for a white-knuckle ride to the ER. I was floored (almost literally) when the ER doc had me admitted to the hospital. When they decided to keep me a second night, I was still too weak to fight back. My hands and forearms look tattooed from all the tape gunk, needle marks and bruising. No real verdict was delivered- I'm just lucky, I guess. Here's what I stared at for two days:

Or this:

It's OK if you're jealous.

It's safe to say my St. Patty's drinking plans went down the toilet with the rest of my productivity for the week.

I'll be celebrating my favorite holiday with soda bread. Oh, wait. Wrong verb.

What will you being doing to celebrate? Any chance you could add a little celebrating on my behalf?

And Finally- He Barks!

2010-02-23T06:50:00.000-08:00

On December 15, 2009, we adopted a 92-pound German Sheperd mix from the local shelter. The shelter said he was 6. The vet said he was 8. We said he was perfect and brought him home.

We decided to keep "Strider," his pound puppy name. I, of course, immediately started to call him Strider-Dog. I craft revised lyrics to the old Spider-Man theme song daily:

Let out!

Let out the Strider-Dog!

Spots a treat

any size

cuz he's got

Strider eyes

Look out!

Strider started off slowly. His adjustment phase involved a great deal of sleeping and he was clearly wiped out before we even got around the block.

With the help of glucosamine, a high-protein diet, $800 in vet bills, and multiple walks around the block each day, Strider-Dog is considerably more energetic than the pound puppy we brought home. We even went to the dog park last week, where he ran around like a puppy. A very big puppy, but a puppy nonetheless.

For the most part, he's a well-adjusted dog. He fearlessly follows me wherever I go with the vacuum cleaner (which is somewhat counterproductive), but is not a fan of the dust mop. He "inspects" whenever I wipe nose prints off glass- a cycle more vicious than poverty. He whines but, despite constant annoyances (including some dingbat singing the Spider-Man song), he ~~has~~ had never barked.

He's still petrified of stairs. If I go downstairs, he'll now come to the top of the stairs- a major step forward- but he bolts if I acknowledge he's there. To help build his confidence, my husband runs him up and down the stairs on his leash every once in a while.

Last night, after several flights of stairs, we decided to see if he would come up the stairs on his own. My husband took him to the bottom of the stairs, released his collar, when back upstairs and called him. In that short amount of time, Strider had taken off.

Husband: (sweetly) Strider!

{nails scrambling against hardwood}

Husband: (normal voice) Strider?

{silence}

Husband: (annoyed) Strider Tierney!

{I laugh hysterically as husband goes down stairs, finds dog on our bed}

Husband: Down!

Strider: bark

I really am smart. Really.

2010-02-16T08:29:00.000-08:00

Blogger simply cannot be that difficult to figure out. It just can't.

I'm trying to create tabs, or pages, within my blog to separate out my posts by type. I thought it might be useful to be able to locate recipes without reading about my latest doggy adventure or vice versa. (Mostly because I post recipes I come up with and then come back to this blog when I want to make them again.)

So, if you click on any of the tabs and see nothing, well, I'm working on it!

Must Haves 2/16/10

2010-02-16T07:58:00.000-08:00

I discovered etsy this past Saturday night while nursing my dog-inflicted war wound*. Oh, my! The hours do slip by, don't they?

*If you aren't my facebook friend, you might have missed the bit about my very large dog swatting me in the eye in response to a good tummy rub followed by a race to the freezer for a bag of frozen sweet corn (don't laugh! It was first thing I grabbed... I had only one eye open and was worried the other one would start oozing out of my head) quickly wrapped in a t-shirt. Whether we're facebook friends or not, you probably heard a loud yelp Saturday night around 6:15. Now you know what that was all about. Aren't you glad you asked?

I'm not what one would call a stuffed animal fan, but these are quite possibly the cutest cuddle toys (other than my dog) I have ever seen!

http://ny-image1.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.123481525.jpg

http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=40571331

Recipe: Simple Bok Choy with Pork Tenderloin

2010-01-27T17:24:00.000-08:00

My measurements are usually to taste, so experiment with what you like....

Mise en Place:

3 T cooking oil (I use House of Tsang Wok Oil)

¾-1 lb pork tenderloin approx. 2" diameter (be sure it's not marinated), sliced to ½" thick medallions

1 large bok choy stalk/head/whatever they call it- rinsed and sliced to 2" thick strips

3 green onions, ¼" slices*

1 clove of garlic, minced*

½ tsp ground ginger*

*Stir chicken broth, ground ginger and minced garlic together until combined; set aside

Preparation Instructions:

Heat oil in a wok or deep skillet over high heat, until hot but not smoking.

Add pork and stir-fry until seared- about 2-3 minutes on first side, 1 minute on other side.

Add bok choy and green onion.

Add chicken broth, garlic and ginger mixture.

Stir fry until the leaves of the bok choy are dark green and just wilted, about 2 minutes.

When the liquid begins to boil, cover, and steam for 1-3 minutes, or until the stalks are tender-crisp and leaves are wilted.

Serve immediately.

Serves 2 without steamed rice, serves 4 with steamed rice.

Recipe: Sour Cream Pie

2010-01-21T10:10:00.000-08:00

Norske Nook is a little restaurant in Osseo, WI- the town isn't much bigger than the restaurant- that holds ELEVEN first place ribbons from the APC*.

*That stands for American Pie Council, not Armored Personnel Carrier- I looked it up.

Despite it's unfortunate name, Sour Cream Pie is GOOD. Really, really, (edited because my mom would yell at me if I cussed) good. I love the raspberry, but I could only find the recipe* with raisins.

*It was SO good that I bought the $23.95 cookbook and gave it to my mom with the hope that she would make me a pie. She told me to make it myself. I'd rather drive 4 hours and buy one.

The cookbook says Helen, the proprietress of Norske Nook, made her Sour Cream Pie on Letterman* once.

*And no, I'm not sure if it was a stupid human trick segment. Helen pointed out that all other sour cream is inferior to Wisconsin sour cream. If you're not blessed with Wisconsin residency, ~~just buy the thickest full-fat version you can find~~ move to America's Dairyland. The weather is really nice this time of year. I promise.

It surprises me that their Sour Cream pie has never won an award, but I'm betting the APC doesn't have a Sour Cream pie category since I am sort-of Norwegian* and had never heard of it, either.

*My Norwegian ancestors were mostly Sami, the shortest people in Europe. I have no fear of ever becoming tall, statuesque or blonde, although I do like Wagner... but he was Austrian.

Sour Cream Raisin Pie (10" pie) reprinted from "Farm Recipes & Food Secrets from the Norske Nook" by Helen Myhre with Mona Vold (yup, word for word, der hey)

2 c sour cream
4 egg yolks (you can save whites for meringue, but I prefer real whipped cream as the topping)
1 ¾ c sugar
4 heaping tsp flour
1 ½ c raisins
1 baked 10" pie crust
1 recipe for meringue (Norkse Nook uses real whipped cream, so buy the cookbook if you want the meringue recipe)

1. Stir the sour cream and egg yolks together in a heavy medium saucepan.

2. Add the sugar. Dump in the flour, then raisins, and mix using a wooden spoon.

3. Cook over medium heat until the raisins are plump and the filling is glossy (about 5 minutes after a full boil, or just a little longer, depending on your burner).

4. Cook the filling slightly, then pour it into the cool crust.

5. Preheat the oven to 400°F. Prepare the meringue and spread it onto the pie.

6. Put the pie in the oven. Watch it closely for 15 to 20 minutes, then take it out when the peaks are golden brown. Let it cool. Eat immediately or keep in a cool room. Do not refrigerate unless keeping it overnight.

I'm not sure how the raspberry works, or how to know it's done without brown peaks on your meringue. It's probably just as well, since I bought a 10" Raspberry Sour Cream pie Monday evening and just finished off the last piece for breakfast this morning. This isn't Kindergarten so, no, I did not share with others.

I'm fond of the drink.

2010-01-13T07:28:00.000-08:00

I came across a reference to "Armagnac," and I, of course, had to look it up.

According to trusty Wikipedia, it's a type of brandy made in France.

If you can make it through all the mind-numbing stuff about grapes, it gets very, very in-ter-es-ting:

In the 14th century, Prior Vital Du Four*, a Cardinal, claimed it had 40 virtues.

"It makes disappear redness and burning of the eyes, and stops them from tearing; it cures hepatitis, sober consumption adhering. It cures gout, cankers, and fistula by ingestion; restores the paralysed member by massage; and heals wounds of the skin by application. It enlivens the spirit, partaken in moderation, recalls the past to memory, renders men joyous, preserves youth and retards senility. And when retained in the mouth, it loosens the tongue and emboldens the wit, if someone timid from time to time himself permits."

...and I thought saying, "Alcohol kills germs," was clever!

Ahem.

Still not chuckling at the clever turns of phrase?

Maybe it would be more amusing if the contributor had spelled "paralyzed" correctly.

Yup. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that means exactly what you think it means.

*This was said by a Cardinal and scholastic theologian of the Catholic Church in the 14th Century before Protestants were even a twinkle in anyone's eye. Kind of makes you wonder where everything went wrong, doesn't it? I'll be sure to let you know if I discover which liquor created indulgences.

The following conversation actually took place...

2010-01-13T06:35:00.000-08:00

Me: Sounds like he thinks you're cute.

Jeanne: He's dating one of those hyper-skinny women.

Me: Hmm.

Jeanne: You know, that leathery, low body fat, exercise-addicted skinny.

Me: Still...

Jeanne: Janet, his girlfriend looks like Skeletor.

Me: Well, you look like... (pause)

Jeanne: Fat-a-tor?

Me: I was going to say, "She-Ra," but I couldn't remember if she was cute.

See, Jeanne? You're totally a brown-haired hottie! Dig the boots...

Certain things have come to light, man.

2010-01-12T11:29:00.000-08:00

1. At the start of December, my dad had a heart attack.

Initially, we thought it was his third, but later learned it was his sixth or seventh. It seems that, several times in the past, he "had some chest pain, but it eventually went away" so he didn't bother to see a doctor. Feel free to consider this option should you ever want to have your own quintuple bypass.

2. We got a dog.

After watching Lou, my brother's 31-pound couch potato, I lobbied heavily for a similar dog. I furnished my husband with a complete annual budget estimate: obedience lessons, doggy bed, leash, toys, treats, food, food bowls, grooming, pet insurance with considerations for deductibles for medicines and vet visits, additional car washes... yes, I AM that German. And, yes, he did request a budget estimate to inform his decision.

I also promised to be responsible for all walks, all trips to the backyard, and all clean up. (I said I wanted a dog.)

We went to the shelter to look at our options...

and we are now the dog-whipped owners of Strider, a 92-pound German Shepherd-Husky mix who stole our hearts and, as my husband describes it, "won the Tierney lottery."

As for the budget estimates, let's just say a bigger dog means bigger bills (that's an extra large dog bed and may be too small). I should also note that my $5.00 monthly budgeted amount for dog toys is dangerously close to being exhausted for the year.

With the exception of a two-day trip to Oshkosh to see my dad, I have been primary on all dog exercise and clean-up. I am grateful Strider came to us housebroken, but I wish he could be trained to shed outdoors as well. In my eagerness to get a dog, I didn't carefully consider the indoor clean-up requirements. In my eagerness to get this particular dog, I didn't carefully consider that we adopted an animal borne of the two shedding-est possible breeds.

I have no regrets... except maybe keeping his Pound Puppy name:

Vet: Hey, Aragorn!

Me: Aragorn?

My Husband: It's from LOTR.

Me: LOTR?

Vet: Lord of the Rings.

My Husband: Strider was the ranger name of Aragorn.

Me: (eyebrows raised)

My Husband: The human guy who could live a long time.

Me: Oh.

My Husband: He was a ranger.

Me: Yup. Got it.

Operation Can We Get One? Doggy Diary

2009-11-27T10:13:00.000-08:00

I really want a dog.

I have had great success with houseplants (I have kept both an African violet AND and cymbidium orchid alive, which is no small feat) and feel I am ready for the next step.

Every time I ask my husband if we can get a dog, his response is, "Will you take care of it?"

I interpret that as a "no."

My brother adopted one of the many dogs I've wanted to bring home, a little charmer the shelter claimed was a German Shepherd puppy who we now suspect is actually a Whippet. He's full-grown at 31-pounds and looks sort of like a Doberman puppy:

Lou spent last weekend with us while my brother was in Lake Geneva for a conference. I sold it to my husband, who has never had a dog, as a "trial run." Mr. Discipline (aka my husband) agreed as long as the dog would not get people food, be allowed on the furniture, or sleep in our bed.

Lou walked in the door, wandered around the house with some curiousity then- at my husband's prompting- jumped up on his lap and licked his face (which did NOT go over well). He whimpered a grand total of twice when my brother left, then- at my husband's prompting- hopped up on the couch.

I cooked a dinner that night of baked salmon, broccoli and wild rice. Lou zonked out on the kitchen floor in front of the oven where he had been watching the salmon bake, then wandered back to the couch while we ate. Because he was "such a good boy" and didn't beg, my husband gave him a little piece of baked salmon.

We left Lou alone briefly (in part to see how he would fare alone, but also because I wanted a DQ Blizzard), and found him in the exact same position on the couch when we returned.

For the rest of the evening, Lou and I shared the couch while watching home improvement shows after achieving what can best be described as an awkward detente:

After much debate, he got 45% of the couch, despite my compelling argument for surface allotment based upon pound per square inch:

I placed a nice, fuzzy blanket on the floor on my side of the bed. Lou went straight to it without any direction at bedtime. My husband coaxed him onto the bed, but Lou hopped down after a few minutes and went back to "his" blanket.

At 2:00am, I found Lou back on the couch, curled up in an adorable little ball. He followed me back into the bedroom and hopped up onto my side of the bed where he sprawled, forcing me to my husband's side of the bed. My husband and I woke up around 3:30am to find ourselves sharing 50% of a King-sized bed while our 31-pound bunkmate took up the other 50%. We still think he faked his sound sleep- no living animal could possibly stay asleep while two adults are trying to get him to move. I will also add that his rigormortis of the legs made it impossible to reposition him in a way that took up less surface area.

When my husband got up, he crawled over onto the other side of the bed and curled up in his space-saver position:

I tried to wake him at 7:00am. Then, I tried to wake him at 8:00am. He finally woke up around 9:15am, and stretched for another 10 minutes before getting off the bed (I just caught his tail as a hopped off):

I made a breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheddar, garlic hash browns, bacon and pancakes (I took a picture because no one- myself included- ever believes I cook like this):

Lou lazed on the living room couch while I cooked, apparently having no interest in unprepared ingredients (I can relate). My husband was surprised Lou wasn't being a pest and decided he should receive a bacon-y reward. Yes, that's right. The love of my life took a small piece of bacon to the dog.

After breakfast, Lou got a few schnibbles of bacon and scrambled eggs for "being such a good boy." I don't think I need to say from whom...

Lou, my husband and I went outside to finish painting our exterior windows. Lou lounged in a sunny spot with his bone while we slaved away. After about 30 minutes, I took him back inside to warm up and he immediately returned to the couch.

He clearly didn't realize I was painting the window over our sink the one time he left his "throne" to investigate what edible delights might be on the kitchen counter. He practically jumped out of his coat when I gave him a stern "No!" from the other side of the glass (which was pretty funny!).

Around 2:00pm, my husband ran to McDonald's for a late lunch. After we were done eating, Lou got a doggy burger. My husband pointed out that he'd also gotten an extra cheeseburger, but we decided to save that for Lou's dinner.

Later, my husband headed out for a night with the boys so Lou and I made dinner. In our respective calorie comas, we headed for the couch and (after I decided Lou didn't particularly care if watched Animal Planet) watched a chick flick. The couch-sharing arrangement was more equitable- I'm pretty sure the cheeseburger helped:

After the movie, Lou and I tucked ourselves in with Lou on my husband's side of the bed.

Later that night, I woke partially to hear my husband mutter, "I don't think so, little guy," then felt a dog settle next to my feet. We made it through the night without needing to reposition the dog and Lou slept in the next morning again.

My husband walked to the deli for hot ham and rolls and I took Lou on his morning walk. We met on the way back to the house and Lou was eager to get at the hot ham until he caught scent of a squirrel (by this point, I referred to his walks as "Squirrel Patrols").

When Lou and I finally got back to the house, my husband informed me he bought one and a half pounds of ham (we usually order three-quarters of a pound) in case Lou wanted any. Yes, he doubled the order. I limited Lou's ham consumption to three thin slices...

Lou spent a little more time sunbathing outside while we continued to paint, then went back in the warm house to see if my husband would pet him- this elicited a bark since my husband was working and really should have been alleviating the dog's boredom:

My brother came to pick him up early in the afternoon. Lou lifted his head off what had become "his spot" on the couch, thumped his tail a few times, and zonked back out. (I think my brother was a little disappointed by the enthusiastic greeting he received, but he said that it was par for the course.)

About an hour later, my husband came to tell me the house seemed "so quiet without the dog."

We (OK, I) have been looking at dog adoption websites ever since...

Drink or Dine for a Difference!

2009-11-26T10:00:00.000-08:00

Drink for a Difference

Milwaukee's New Nonprofit Connection

is Hosting a

Cocktail Hour

to Benefit

Greener Milwaukee

at the Milwaukee Ale House

233 North Water Street, Milwaukee, WI 53202

on Wednesday, December 9 from 5-8pm

The following conversation actually took place...

2009-11-25T10:32:00.000-08:00

Me: Would you be willing to take Lou for a walk?

Husband: I guess I could do that.

Me: You have to take a baggie. You'll get fined if you don't clean up after him.

Husband: In that case, I'll just take my checkbook.

Relationship Advice: Old Yeller v. The Person You Think You Should Maybe Kick to the Curb

2009-11-15T08:04:00.000-08:00

Lately I have had a lot of friends ask how I landed the love of my life. (His ankle was broken so he couldn't run away.)

Laugh and be assured that you will find the mate of your dreams... until then, here are the criteria I used for determining when it was time to move on:

Old Yeller

Young boy loses father and becomes man of the house. Enter wonderful dog that is perfect in every way and charms everyone around. The dog single-handedly fixes broken hearts and proves himself useful in every way. He is, by every possible standard, the perfect dog. Life is not only good now, all signs point to a glorious future.

Then, he turns on a dime.

He becomes the worst dog. Even getting near him will mean horrible misery and eventual death. There is not a single shred of the perfect dog he used to be left.

The boy has to shoot the dog for the good of everyone.

It's an awful, coming of age moment that makes all kids realize being a kid is a pretty good gig- and all adults, too, since being a grown up means doing some really unpleasant things (like being responsible).

The Person You Think You Should Maybe Kick to the Curb

You move out of your parents' house/graduate from college/experience some life-changing event. Enter wonderful person who is perfect in every way and charms everyone around. This person single-handedly fixes broken hearts and proves himself or herself useful in every way. This person is, by every possible standard, the perfect mate. Life is not only good now, all signs point to a glorious future.

Then, this person turns on a dime.

This person becomes the worst mate. Even getting near this person will mean horrible misery and eventual death. There is not a single shred of the perfect mate this person used to be left.

You have to kick this person to the curb for the good of everyone.

When I see this alter-ego type behavior in people, I always hear the scruffy old guy from Old Yeller say, "Hydrophoby."

My advice? Shoot the dog already.

Next Issue: Pet Cemetary v. Taking the Loser Back

Janet Diet: Breakfast

2009-11-12T08:06:00.000-08:00

I have recently (as of a few minutes ago) concluded that one Betty Crocker Warm Delights Mini Decadent Dark Chocolate Cake* is not enough for breakfast.

On the upside, they're only 150 calories (3 WW points) each.

That's a 300 calorie (6 WW points) breakfast... I'd call that a healthy start to the day.

I'm starting the Janet diet: for $12/week, I'll tell you what you can eat and still loose weight (theoretically).

*They taste truly awful raw. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The following conversation actually took place...

2009-11-10T18:54:00.000-08:00

Me: Isn’t it cute?

Husband: It’s a punt dog.

Me: If I get one, you can’t punt it.

Husband: That’s not true. Your ownership presents zero impediments to my punting it. In fact, I’m quite certain I’ll be able to get it over the uprights.

The Best Months for Being Single

2009-11-08T12:01:00.000-08:00

I was really, really good at being single. Friends who found themselves unexpectedly single and/or friends trying to decide whether to be single would call me to ask what single people do.

I would then lend my expertise to explaining how single people hired out or personally performed auto and home maintenance, took all dirty clothes to the laundry, did social things with friends and sometimes (gasp!) made new friends, ate over the sink, and only took into account their own best interests and deepest wishes in any and all decision-making.

In short, I was a single-status evangelist*.

*oddly enough, what usually hooked people was when I said we weren't required to send holiday cards

That single was just my natural state was probably best for all involved. I would get annoyed when I found my own dirty laundry laying on the floor*, irritated when I discovered I drank my last beer, and flat-out livid when I got toothpaste on the bathroom mirror and didn't clean it off. Bluntly put, I wouldn't have dated me.

*My husband is awesome and, as part of the negotiated settlement that led to our marriage, agreed we would declare bankruptcy before he would even suggest we save money by having me launder his dress shirts.

Lately, there has been a rash of people* who don't deserve to date/be married to my friends.
*I use the term "people" loosely.

Friends, just in case you don't buy my whole single-is-better philosophy, here's a little advice on dating re-entry:

Why Not to Date in January

New Years’ Day- especially awkward if you didn't spend New Years' Eve together since you're hungover, wondering who the other person kissed at midnight, and whether the other person is wondering who you kissed at midnight (and whether the other person realizes you kissed more than one person to ring in the New Year right)

Super Bowl- either you don't cheer for the same team, do cheer for the same team and/or get invited to multiple Super Bowl parties, which involves picking one persons' set of friends over the other, and then having to impress or hope the other person impresses the friends you chose; also, wearing matching couples' anything is just too precious, even if you genuinely like the same team and each owned your team gear pre-relationship

Why Not to Date in February

Valentine’s Day- if I have to explain this...

Plus, it's always miserably cold here in February and you won't want to leave your warm house, even for a hot date- be honest.

Why Not to Date in March

St. Patrick’s Day- you'll want more than one person to kiss you because you're Irish*.

*Everyone is Irish on March 17th.

Why Not to Date in April

Easter- Christian? Not Christian? Meet the family? Too much potential drama.

Spring Break- what happens in (wherever you go that's warmer than here) stays in (wherever you go that's warmer than here), but why risk the guilt?

Why Not to Date in May

Mother’s Day- The awkwardness potential is far too high- meet the family, do you want kids... yuck

Memorial Day Weekend- three straight days is a long time to spend with someone and you know you'll have to explain why you aren't spending three straight days together

Why Not to Date in June

Father’s Day- see Mother's Day

Parish Festival Season- awesome people watching and the person you find most amusing might be related to your new amour, two people can drink for the same amount of money for half the time, and/or you'll limit your options

Summerfest, particularly Big Bang- see parish festival season

Why Not to Date in July

4th of July Weekend- see Memorial Day Weekend

Summerfest- see parish festival season

Every Other Lakefront Festival- see parish festival season

Bastille Days- see parish festival season

Why Not to Date in August

Last Month of Summer When You Need to Catch Up on All the Fun Stuff You Meant to Do- duh, I said "fun" meaning stuff you know is fun, not stuff you think might be fun but could be ruined by the other person

Irish Fest- and miss a chance to kiss someone(s) who's really Irish and has a sexy brogue?

More Lakefront Festivals- see parish festival season

Why Not to Date in September

Labor Day Weekend- see Memorial Day Weekend

Why Not to Date in October

Halloween- as mentioned related to Super Bowl, couples dressing alike is verboten; you will either be tempted to dress in the cutest couples' costume or you will have to explain why you won't to someone who doesn't know what "verboten" means (which is grounds for breaking up right there, so why start a relationship you already know is doomed)

Why Not to Date in November

Thanksgiving- a four day weekend with family meeting potential, holiday shopping that will inevitably lead to whether you're getting each other gifts... if you try to make the other person happy, you'll gladly trade the turkey bird for a single shot of Wild Turkey and we all know a good Thanksgiving includes plenty of both

Why Not to Date in December

Christmas- all the hassles of Easter PLUS gift-giving

New Years’ Eve- don't blow a chance to kiss random, good-looking strangers*
*especially if they're Irish and have a sexy brogue

The ONLY exception to my single-is-better philosophy is pairing up with someone who is:
1. so genuinely, phenomenally awesome you would willingly put up with their shit in perpetuity,
2. who is so perfect for you that he/she would never make you put up with his/her shit in the first place,
3. who would never, ever complain about putting up with your shit,
4. and who you would never make put up with your shit*.
*ALL four, NO exceptions

Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together

2009-11-06T20:15:00.000-08:00

You would think, after my last creative culinary endeavor almost left me with a new stove and no presents on gift-giving holidays ever again, that I would either quit trying new things or- at the very least- stick to the recipe.

Nah.

...although I did recently shift to baking and haven't actually used my stovetop since the "incident"...

Tonight, I added streusel topping to my first-ever pumpkin pie (my first-ever pie of any kind, actually).

Why?

Because it seemed to me like it would taste really, really good (and possibly because I hadn't jacked up my oven yet and feared it would feel left out).

In truth, I can think of very few things that would not be improved with the addition of dark brown sugar and real butter (can it about the stovetop- that was already on my list).

Because this was a test, I only put streusel on half the pie.

I think you can see how the experiment turned out from the portion of the pie that has been consumed (mostly by me):

It's probably a good thing I limited the scope of my test. There's a very real possibility this pie would reflect my face print otherwise... if there was any left at all.

Cooking on an Electric Stove

2009-11-05T13:36:00.000-08:00

If the element (the coily thing you put a pot or pan on) is not glowing red, do not assume it is not hot and/or that the stove is broken*.

More importantly, do not touch the element to determine if it is hot.

Hold your hand above it. If it is on, you will feel the heat radiating off of it.

If you don't feel heat, flick some water on it and listen for a sizzle.

If you don't hear a sizzle, you should probably assume it's hot anyway and reassess after whatever you're trying to cook has stayed cold for a few hours.

*None of this applies if the corresponding knob was in the "off" position in the first place.

Cooking on a Gas Stove

2009-11-05T13:30:00.000-08:00

If something drips into the burner, turn off the burner before wiping it up.

If you forget, immediately run the flaming dishtowel under water then throw it away in the neighbor's garbage before your mom/spouse comes home*. (It's very important to do these things in this order.)

Also useful: Clean something unexpectedly so your mom/spouse focuses on that instead of any leftover burny smell.

*Look innocent and deny everything if asked what happened to the dish towel.

My Anti-Food Network* Show

2009-11-05T11:13:00.000-08:00

Reason #gazillion-and-four why I should not be allowed to use the stove when home alone: if a chemical is strong enough to clean burned stuff off a glass cooktop, it would make good sense to wear gloves. Lesson learned.

Yesterday, feeling very confident about my extraordinary culinary prowess, I decided on a dinner menu of apple-stuffed pork tenderloin, wild rice and glazed carrots.

The glazed carrots recipe called for a bunch of liquids and brown sugar, which was to be cooked down in a 10-inch heavy skillet until syrupy (the recipe said "reduced to a glaze," but "syrupy" sounds better). Once syrupy, you add the steamed carrots, stir and serve. Sounds good, doesn't it?

Well, I decided that the whole sugar-melting-glazing trick would be awesome for apples. A little impromptu dessert, if you will. Piece of cake. I am a culinary genius.

Yeah.

I put apple cider and a LOT of brown sugar into my 10-inch skillet and watched it bubble, stirring it occasionally while slicing the apples.

Then it bubbled over.

All over.

On my glass cooktop.

Which both the salesguy and the manual said was a no-no.

Which I promptly dismissed when we bought the stove a few years ago because why would I ever heat sugar, much less ANYTHING, on the @#$% stove?!?

So, I cleaned most of it up right away- narrowly avoiding serious burns from the carmelized sugar and the burner, I might add.

I kept cooking the sugar in the same pan on the same burner because I wanted to impress my husband with the apple stuff.

It did not go well.

I may have melted the glass cooktop.

You read that correctly. Melted.

Which I discovered just as my husband walked in the door.

To top it all off, the apple stuff tasted exactly like baked apples covered in honey. Exactly.

Oh, you know it gets better...

In an effort to redeem myself, I made him breakfast this morning. Hashbrowns, a cheddar cheese omelette and bacon.

On a different burner.

But in the same 10-inch skillet.

That still had sugar on the bottom of it.

Not only have I messed up two burners, melted glass cooktops can crack and possibly cause serious injury when reheated.

On the upside, I think I have found my calling in life:

I will star on my own anti-Food Network show.

I will illustrate what not to do for those capable of learning from the mistakes of others.

More importantly, I will save everyone else from the culinary-related delusions of grandeur that inevitably follow watching the Food Network, searching recipes online and/or watching late night info-mercials about kitchen tools that enable one to make anything.

In any case, it will be funny (if you like "Jackass").

And I'm sure my injuries will heal.

Eventually.

I know fine restaurants, fast food delivery places and painkiller manufacturers will line up to advertise during my show (wouldn't you, if you owned a restaurant and/or made pharmaceuticals?) so all involved would make a boatload of money (after expenses like rebuilding the set and replacing the fire extinguishers after each show, of course- before you freak, remember I wouldn't need a script since even Seinfeld's writers couldn't make this up).

Which would be good since "Mythbusters," "Disaster House" and pretty much any show about explosions would qualify for insurance before my show would.

If you know anyone in the TV industry, please have them give me a call.

*No, I don't have permission to use their name, but I plan to pitch my show idea to their lawyers when they call.

With Sympathy

2009-11-03T06:29:00.000-08:00

Today, I mourn the loss of my most trusted kitchen utensil, my paring knife.

I received it as a free gift at a 1999 Pampered Chef party my mom insisted I attend (bless her, she still hasn’t given up hope).

It had started to hesitate and move slowly these past few years. I even found myself cheating on it with other knives. Still, I could not get up the courage to end our relationship.

It had been a loyal and trusted companion through five ZIP codes, and dutifully sliced limes for every party, sporting event and bad day.

Like any good paring knife, it tightened screws on everything from my glasses to a loose cabinet handle, but it was so much more:

It opened countless packages, slicing cleanly through packing tape with an excitement to see the contents that matched my own, and always broke down cardboard boxes for recycling.

In my two major painting projects, it covered up my sloppiness by scraping paint drips off tile, metal and glass. Not once did it say “I told you so,” when I hired a professional painter (unlike some people).

The many times I recaulked my bathtub and the occasional window, it removed the old caulk without ever scolding me for waiting too long.

It stood in for an absentee landlord, successfully removing a cracked washer from a bathroom faucet, slipping a screen back into its track, stripping wires for a new light fixture, and clearing a lyme-encrusted screen in a kitchen faucet.

In the interest of keeping me warm through the winter, it willingly placed itself between filthy layers of cracked weather stripping and then helped cut the replacements to the correct length.

You can see why I was stunned that it gave up on life yesterday when I tried to use it for its intended purpose.

Instead of thanking it for its years of dedicated service, I said some unkind words and threw it away. As an added insult, I immediately replaced it with a younger, firmer model.

It gave me the best ten years of its life and I am truly (if belatedly) grateful.

Party Planning Tips for College Students

2009-11-02T08:19:00.000-08:00

Throwing our annual Halloween party last Friday night prompted a trip down memory lane…

Party invitations involved telling one or two people the day of the party*.

*Costume parties usually involved a few extra days' notice.

Preparation started five to ten minutes before everyone was expected to arrive, which was never an exact science. We’d fill the bathtub with a large bag of ice and one or two six packs of cheap beer. If any liquor had survived the most recent party, it would land on the kitchen table along with a stack of disposable cups that had been liberated from various fast food places.

We never rearranged furniture as our helpful guests could be expected to clear the dance floor themselves.

We never worried about music. There was always some fifth- or sixth-year senior guy who would “DJ” all night for the chance to woo naive, unsuspecting freshmen girls with the rarity of his bootleg tapes and speaker strength of his boom box.

The appropriateness of host/hostess gifts was easy for our guests to determine*:

Under 21? Chips or “mix.”

Over 21? Cheap beer or store brand liquor.

*Bringing nonalcoholic beer was the only real faux pas.

Everyone showed up at once, nicotine haze filled every room, every square foot was filled with people, every surface held neglected drinks and at least one overfilled ashtray, and the crowd always exceeded legal capacity.

Since everyone smoked, there was never reason to step outside. In fact, that was discouraged out of consideration for our extremely tolerant neighbors and the nice police officers who would have to stop by but would not be allowed to join us for a drink. Regardless of any drama, respect for our elders and authority* kept the volume at a respectably low roar the whole night.

*also known as “fear of a huge fine that would need to be explained to Dad”

Conversation topics ranged from heated discussions of issues related to one’s major to the cute guy/girl conversation starter, “What’s your major?*”

*which, of course, led to heated discussions of issues related to one’s major

If it ended that night, a party ended just before dawn with everyone walking back to their dorm or campus apartment.

If vodka, tomato juice and orange juice* were available the next morning, guests would psychically know to return, and the party would crank right back up with a round of Bloody Marys and screwdrivers.

*Infrequently, some inexperienced “bartender” would mix up an exciting, new replacement concoction only to discover, for example, that peppermint schnapps and tomato juice is NOT a hangover reliever.

In the party aftermath, the place looked surprisingly the same as it had before* with the possible exception of a few revelers who had decided- consciously or unconsciously- to spend the night on the floor.

*Every guest followed the clean-up-your-own-mess rule which dictated all spilled drinks, ashtrays and chips must be ground into the carpet with your foot until not immediately noticeable.

I could almost long for that simpler time... if my home and everything in it could be replaced with a trip to Goodwill.

My Favorite Halloween Game: Costume or Outfit?

2009-10-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has ever 1) lived on Milwaukee’s Eastside, 2) had a child who refuses to wear anything other than their costume for weeks on end or 3) been a child who refused to wear anything other than their costume for weeks on end will particularly appreciate this fun holiday game:

1. Find a restaurant with outdoor seating at a prime people-watching location*. Lunch works best, but an early afternoon Happy Hour is also a good time (sunlight is optimal for viewing).

*I used to prefer The Chocolate Factory on Farwell (RIP), but BBC’s, Hooligan’s and Twisted Fork have been getting my business these past few years.

2. Invite many people to join you there on Halloween.

3. Dress for the weather*.

*You’ll just need to suck it up if it rains unless you’re under the awning at BBC.

4. Order your usual (and tip your server well).

5. Try to guess whether each person walking by is wearing a COSTUME or an OUTFIT*.

*I can say with relative certainty that the guy wearing the head-to-toe chicken suit IS wearing an outfit (I asked him).

I take credit for the creation of this game, although I'm sure someone else, somewhere else plays this game, too. I've been inviting friends and random strangers to join me since Halloween 2003, but I was redshirted in 2007 and 2008.

Halloween Decorating Phase 1

2009-10-28T07:46:00.000-07:00

I am a minimalist. (I gave serious consideration to the irony of buying a book on minimalist design.) Bauhaus anything warms the cockles of my heart. When my office was in the Milwaukee County War Memorial Center, I would tell people I worked in an Eero Saarinen-designed building before I would tell them what I did. Lately, I have started informing my husband of units available in 860-880 N Lake Shore Drive in Chicago (with the hope that we will buy a "cabin").

Admittedly, all of my places have had traditional touches, accomplished through art or creature comforts seldom found in true minialist design... or free furniture.

In my ideal home*, everything would be either a shade of grey or brown, leaning towards dove grey, taupe, cream and white. No fabric would have patterns, just varying textures; everything would be either at a right angle or a 45° angle; all windows would be floor-to-ceiling. Yes, my husband says, "Eins! Zwei!" in his best Hogan's Heroes German accent when I unconsciously adjust pictures that aren't level.

*If possible, the house would also be hermetically sealed.

My husband likes modern design, but also likes that heavy, engraved, ornate look that breeds upolstered furniture with tassles and burgundy damask.

To maintain domestic tranquility, we've both stored or donated most of what we brought into the marriage and have been slowly acquiring things we both like.

You need to know all of this to understand the split personality vibe of our Halloween decorations:

See that? It's subtle and creates a little delayed humor. More than one car circled the block to get a better look when this was our lone decoration for most of October last year.

Every year, usually within days of trick-or-treat, my husband becomes the Clark Griswold of Halloween. Here is his progress so far:

(You can see another of my Grim Reaper masterpieces in the background.)

The spider moves.

We also have a full-sized Grim Reaper hanging high up in the tree on our terrace, but not so high that his motion-sensored evil laugh isn't triggered by the unsuspecting passer-by.

The flower bed under my Grim Reaper window is now decorated with lighted skull lanterns that chomp their jaws.

Most recently, a huge LED-lit pumpkin found its way onto our porch.

Oh, we're not done, kids. The real stuff will be put out on Friday...

Recipe: Guaranteed Perfect Turkey Every Time*

2009-10-28T06:29:00.000-07:00

Ingredients
1 phone

Directions

Dial information and ask for the closest deli.

Complete the call.

Order a pre-cooked turkey.

*Also known as "Flipping the Bird."

This photo essay of my latest cooking endeavor reads from left to right:

Clock on the stove showing 7:31pm.

1.2lb turkey breast that defied the laws of all published charts for turkey cooking times...

…which is probably a blessing since I learned (towards the end of its second hour in the oven) that it shouldn't have been defrosted on the kitchen counter for 20 hours...

...resting on the rack that burned me the umpteenth time I checked the meat thermometer.

Chinese delivery receipt.

Miscellaneous dinner "replacements."

Bottle caps from two (of the) Spotted Cows my husband (and I) drank while I was assuring him that "any minute now" the turkey would be done.

The following conversation actually took place...

2009-10-27T07:09:00.000-07:00

...regularly during my childhood.

Me: I'm hungry.

Mom: Go fix yourself a snack.

Me: (from kitchen) There's nothing to eat in here!

Mom: I just went grocery shopping. Did you even look in the cupboards?

Me: Yeah. All I see are ingredients!

Mom: Well, make yourself something to eat or starve to death*.

I used to wonder why I never literally starved to death.

* It is worth noting that one of my mom's good friends once said, "Do you realize most of the things we did and said while raising you kids are now illegal?"

Recipe: Brownie Cookies

2009-10-26T08:10:00.000-07:00

Can't decide between cookies and brownies? This recipe* is easy, quick and only makes 20 cookies (effectively reducing the amount you can eat in one sitting).

¾ c semi-sweet chocolate chips

¼ c butter (use the real stuff)

½ c sugar

1 egg

¾ c all-purpose flour

Preheat oven to 375° F.

Line two cookie sheets with baking parchment paper.

Microwave chocolate chips and butter in a Pyrex bowl or 8 c glass measuring cup on HIGH for 40-60 seconds (until smooth), stirring every 20 seconds.

Add sugar and egg, and mix until well blended. Use a mixing spoon- this will be too thick for a whisk.

Add flour and mix until flour is just incorporated.

Spoon batter/dough/whatever you want to call it onto the cookie sheets: make blobs/cookies/whatever you want to call them 1" diameter and space them 1" apart. You should get about 18-20 cookies.

Bake 9-10 minutes or until edges are firm. (While waiting, you can clean the few dishes you used, which will take all of two minutes, but reduces the amount of time you'll spend salivating at the oven door.)

Eat as soon as they won't burn skin off the roof of your mouth.

By some miracle, six cookies made it through the night. I sealed them in a Ziploc last night and they were still chewy when I ate four of them for breakfast.

That's two remaining... for now.

*This recipe is a variation on a recipe from Pampered Chef that was much more complicated. I changed it so even I couldn't louse it up.

The following conversation actually took place...

2009-10-25T16:00:00.000-07:00

(Micheal Jackson "This Is It" movie promo on TV)

#1: (incredulous) Movie event of a lifetime?!?

#2: Yeah. His.

All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter Here

2009-10-25T15:48:00.000-07:00

The sudden influx of foodstuffs into my kitchen is threatening to encroach upon the space designated for the liquor cabinet. I am NOT ready to devote the largest cabinet in my kitchen to food just yet. Somehow, that step- more than marriage, a mortgage, a four-door sedan, and jewelry worth insuring- feels like it will cement me solidly in adulthood.

Also threatening my youth/liquor cabinet is the arrival of kitchen tools and appliances. Example: I went to a Pampered Chef party Friday night and bought a cake decorating thingy that, if one can believe the marketing materials, meets the IAEA definition of a dual-use technology. I'm really looking forward to futzing with it.

Last night, because I was home alone and missing my old "home cooking," dinner consisted of half a container of Ginger Cats cookies chased by a Snickers bar.

Later, I microwaved some brown rice then added soy sauce, which is one appliance and one ingredient more than I would have used a month ago.

If this cooking trend is not reversible, do you think I can offset the damage with a liquor room?

Recipe: Wine Tasting Hors d'oeuvres

2009-10-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

Based upon what I already had in my kitchen and what I thought might taste good, I'm serving these up as spreads with a fresh loaf of french bread tonight:

SPREAD #1:

3.5oz-ish container of crumbled feta (I bought this at the deli, so this is a guess-timate)

3oz-ish sliced calamata olives (about 3 quarters of a 4.5oz jar)

2 tsp extra virgin olive oil

1 clove minced garlic

1 T finely chopped fresh greek oregano

fresh ground pepper to taste

I made this 2 hours ahead so the flavors could marinate (or whatever gourmet term is used for this).

SPREAD #2:

6oz Montrachet-style chèvre (softened)

1.5oz dried cherries (chopped)*

fresh ground cinnamon to taste

The dried cherries seem like they might overpower the more subtle flavor of the chèvre. Fate may cause me to use a lesser quantity since I'm munching on the dried cherries as I type this... Door County cherries, of course! I'll let you know.*

I thought the Montrachet-style chèvre might also taste good with crumbled bacon, but that seemed like a little too much work for a rainy afternoon.

*I used about 3oz of dried cherries and added approx. 1/2 tsp sugar. The cherries weren't as overpowering as I thought they'd be.

Dream Kitchen

2009-10-22T06:58:00.000-07:00

This is the kitchen I currently have (that's a stunt butt, mine is much smaller):

The kitchen I would prefer to have:

Who wouldn't @#$% want Gordon Ramsey in their kitchen?

We ate at Gordon Ramsey in London while on our Honeymoon and my husband started looking at Chelsea real estate! Then again, he also cheers for CFC and we did have to stop at Stamford Bridge.

I have a crush on (Molto) Mario Batali so, for the sake of both our marriages, let's leave him out of this.

I would really like a Wolf 30" double wall oven with a warming tray (had I said this one month ago, my husband would still be laughing).

Do you have a dream kitchen ...or would you like to replace that with a dream chef?

Recipe: Cheese Placement Protocol & Cheeseburger Cheese

2009-10-21T18:39:00.000-07:00

As a Wisconsinite, my beverage and food choices have been considered exotic in other states and on other continents. Hey, I've even been considered exotic.

I introduced authentic Northwoods chili to Germany, started a trend by ordering a pitcher of beer at an ultra-hip Main Line bar, and explained a Black Eye to a San Diego barista who thought I was about to deck him*.

*I was, but that's another story... what coffee shop's hours start at 11am? ...and then opens 20 freaking minutes late? If I hadn't been so jet-lagged and decaffeinated, all 5'4" of me would have been over that counter!

Allow me to share my scientifically-tested cheeseburger Cheese Placement Protocol™!

That sounds better if you imagine Billy Mays saying it.

on the burger: place the cheese on the burger while it's on the grill to get a little melt (DO NOT flip the burger once the cheese is placed, trust me)

on the bun: place the cheese on the bun, melting the cheese with the heat of the burger (on the burger will result in either cheese slippage or a gooey, burned mess)

Once you know the appropriate technique, you can enjoy any tasty cheese on your burger with confidence.

American: either

Cheddar: on the burger; EXCEPTION: aged cheddar will separate and slide off

Colby Jack: on the bun; EXCEPTION: on the burger if fresh

Pepper Jack: either (particularly good with smoked bacon and avocado, but I digress)

Laughing Cow Speadable Light: on the bun (two wedges is the correct cheese-to-meat ratio) Note: the regular doesn't taste as good*

*really, and no, I have no idea why

Laughing Cow Mini Babybell Light: on the burger (cut discs in half the long way to create two circles)

Cream Cheese*: on the bun

*my personal Phavorite

Bleu Cheese: opinions vary; I haven't applied the scientific method to this, but I can empirically state it smells nasty

Halloween Costume Dilemma

2009-10-20T08:25:00.000-07:00

I've been experiencing my ghosts of costumes past. Some have been pretty awesome, and all but two have allowed for long underwear so I could handle being relegated to the patio whenever I wanted to smoke (ah, the halcyon days of college).

COSTUMES DESIGNED FOR WARMTH:

Cleopatra: still ranks as my sexiest costume according to Trev (official arbiter on these things); proof positive that it is better to conceal than reveal, I guess.

A sleeping ?: I found a pair of adult-sized footed pajamas and paired them with a blanket and a bear (it was even colder than usual that year).

Nun*: you wouldn't think guys would find a nun sexy... and you'd be wrong (why is that, Trev?). *This costume later inspired all the girls in my sorority to dress up as nuns (using old graduation gowns) and hit the bars.

White Trash: white garbage bag with holes for my arms and head (it was raining miserably that night).

Caveat: I was lectured on cultural insensitivity until a more offensive costume came along... my self-appointed accuser spent the rest of the night ranting about "innocent until proven guilty" and debating the definition of "is." At this time, I'd like to thank the couple who came as Clinton and Monica, complete with bodily fluids!

Twister Game: a Twister mat worn toga-style (it was raining miserably AGAIN that night).

Caution: Give consideration to the placement of the colored circles... or don't. Your choice.

COSTUMES DESIGNED FOR THE BAR/POST-SMOKER ERA:

Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's: what girl doesn't want to wear a tiara?

The Green Fairy: store-bought Tinker Bell costume with a bottle of absinthe substituted for the wand (you're slapping your forehead and wondering why you didn't think of it first, admit it).

Of course, Jess and I have debated whether to go as Laverne and Shirley or Ginger and MaryAnn* for years. Laverne and Shirley would get us laughs, but Ginger and MaryAnn would get us drinks... I think you see the serious dilemma here.

*And why, in my childhood, did I not realize what a trampy (not to mention WI weather inappropriate) outfit MaryAnn wore? I thought she was supposed to be the good girl?!?

There was also the year my super-Catholic High School decided we couldn't wear costumes to school.* I used stage make-up to give myself a very convincing black eye and spent a few hours in the Principal's office, which at least got me out of class.

*As if that would solve their never-acknowledged problems with underage drinking and drugs.

I'm still not sure what to go as this year. In the past, Housewife would have elicited hysterical laughter...

Recipe: "Homemade" Chicken and Wild Rice Soup

2009-10-19T15:06:00.000-07:00

Since I had the rare chance to spend a whole weekday with my husband, I'm cheating a little today by making a quick dinner in a slow cooker:

26oz of chicken breast meat

26oz of chicken stock

6 cups of water

8oz of pre-cooked wild rice

1 tbsp dried parsley

1/4 tsp minced garlic

1 medium shallot diced

1 large stalk of celery sliced

approx. 3 handfulls of baby carrots sliced

Cook on HIGH for 6-8 hours (until carrots are soft) and turn down to low 30 minutes to an hour before serving.

I added sea salt and dill weed to taste after hour 2. Add the dill weed first- it has a salty flavor, which may reduce the amount of salt you'll want to add.

Sneak-ret: I throw a quarter stick of real butter in about 15 minutes before serving to make up for using white meat chicken (lower in fat). Trust me, margarine doesn't taste as good!

Leave the rest of the stick out to soften before serving with "fresh baked" sourdough. I buy smaller loaves or rolls so that we have plenty of crust for dipping.

The following conversation actually took place...

2009-10-18T22:55:00.000-07:00

at UW-Oshkosh Homecoming yesterday:

Me: You're sober?

Current Student: (shrugs) Yeah.

Me: Why?

Current Student: They're carding for beer.

Me: You didn't get drunk before you came here?!?

College Student: (blank stare)