Breaded "Pork Chops" and Roasted Rosemary-Onion Potatoes

1/4 cup Bob's Red Mill gluten free biscuit mix
12 Trader Joe's multi grain Savory thins, crushed (1/4 cup)
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1/4 cup Liquid egg whites
1 tablespoon water
2 Quorn naked Chik'n cutlets (sorry they don't have fake pork chops...yet)
1 tablespoon Saflower oil

1. Defrost cutlets in microwave according to package instructions.
2. In shallow bowl, mix biscuit mix, cracker crumbs, seasoned salt and pepper. In another shallow bowl, mix liquid egg whites and water.
3. Dip cutlets into egg mixture, then coat in biscuit mixture.
4. In a medium skillet, heat oil over medium high heat. Cook cutlets 2 minutes each side or until each side is crispy.
Makes 2 servings. 220 calories each.

Roasted Rosemary-Onion Potatoes
2 potatoes
1/2 onion, chopped
1 tablespoon saflower oil
1 teaspoon dried rosemary leaves
1/8 teaspoon ground thyme
1/8 teaspoon sea salt
1/8 teaspooon pepper
1. Heat oven to 450.
2. Cut potatoes into 1-inch chunks. In large ziploc bag (freezer size), mix remaining ingredients. Add potatoes; toss to coat. Spread potatoes in single layer on baking sheet.
3. Roast 25 minutes, turning occasionally, until potatoes are light brown and tender when pierced with a fork.
Makes 2 servings. 192 calories each.

Halleluja...
The food was good, very good, but it wan't prayer worthy. But what was worthy of a higher-power was the finishing of a project that has been weeks in the making.
Finally, a bookcase is adorning the cook and the writer's upstairs loft.
At first blush, it does not seem to be that exciting or like that much of an accomplishment. But much like landing on the moon, there is more to this story than meets the eye.
Upon closing on our palatial pad, the cook and the writer set on a journey to furnish the great expanse of square footage awaiting our arrival. Like most of America's uppercrest, the cook and writer set off straight for Value City Furniture. One of the items purchased on that fateful eve was a contemporary looking leaning bookself destined to hold the many catelogs of literary classics owned during our learned love.
What resulted, was disaster. The last thing the writer needed after running rampant in our first week of owning the deluxe domicile was to tussel for hours with the bookcase, but that is what I got. And so you understand, as the cook will profess porfusely, the writer is someone that when assembling furniture, and when running into resistence during assembly, will crank and crank, for better or worse, until destruction does it's part. And with that mantra, descruction will definitely rear it's inconvinient head. And this was no exception...
After a lot of sweat and some choice words for the inadement fragments strewn across the loft's floor, the writer made the decison to return the bookshelf, piece by piece, to Value City.
The writer was determined that the furniture was defficient, and negotiated with Value City. They agreed to build the self for me (good luck) and that they would call upon completion. Deal.
The shelf was returned on a Saturday, and what at first blush was promised to be a one day assembly turned in to a four day hiatus. Finally, on Thursday, Value City called to report the bookshelf was ready to be picked up.
Since the cook drives the ozone harassing SUV, she made the treck to pick of the goods. Only problem was, it was not even taken out of the cardboard. They simply gave us a new, unassembled box of crap.
Infuriated, the cook called the writer because she knows who takes care of the dirty, can I speak to your manager, business. Well, at least that is how it works in the writer's mind. In reality, the cook kicks butt like Chuck Norris's character in "Walker Texas Ranger," and the writer files the police reports like his unassuming partner. A decision was made for full refund, hasta la vista, Value City.
A week later, the cook and writer quested to World Market, the home of worldwide ingredients, really cool beers and heavy furniture. After a little browsing, a purchase was made for a new bookshelf from, IMHO, a more reputed business.
It all seemed so final as the writer rushed the shelves and backings and hardware up the stairs. "I will put this together myself, prove to my cook that I could be stranded on a desolate island for one week and build the next hot realestate market, or at least a cool bookshelf."
The directions...check...items A,B,C,D(a)(b)(c)(d)(a1)...check...hardware organized by size and shape...check...tool audit...check. It was all there...but so was my love of forcing the issue. After an hour, some splintered wood, twisted metal, and a blistered thumb, it was time to call papa writer.
So papa responded to the call like an aged Batman. Not quite of prime dexerity, he makes up for looking poor in spandex by being the head-smart, wiley veteran that is still middle-reliever in his mid-forties (or in his case, early fiffties...but who is counting).
With his eagle eye for detail, and steady patience, we quickly tackled all three steps to complete the bookshelf.
Yes, blue-collar builder the writer is not...
But the loft has a new companion, and what was at first thought to be catalog of fine literature turned out to be a calloge of enough books to fill one-and-a-half of a four-shelf bookcase.