3/4 cup plain light soy milk
1/4 cup melted dark chocolate
3 scoops Soy Delicious Vanilla Ice Cream
1. Melt the chocolate on warm in a fondue pot. Cool, but make sure it is not too warm that when combined with ice cream with ball up.
2. In a blender, place milk and chocolate. Cover and blend on high speed 2 seconds.
3. Add the ice cream, cover and blend on low speed about 5 seconds. Serve immediately.
Yeah...that's right. Chocolate. Ice Cream. Shake. Are you all going to judge me now. As I write this blog, stomach throbbing, lips coated in dried Chocolate, I can only harken back to what just transpired.
The cook presented the Betty recipe for chocolate shakes a couple of weeks ago. Needless to say, the idea excited me greatly. The shake got within my grasp when the cook came home from grocery shopping and unveiled all the individual ingredients necessary to concoct the liquid dessert. Dark chocolate morsels ( what an interesting variation), fresh milk, and vanilla ice cream. Heaven in a glass.
Tonight was the night the dream became a reality. About an hour after an early dinner, the cook went to the kitchen, took out the chocolate, milk and the blender. She then took another appliance out. What could it possibly be? All she has to do is melt the chocolate over stove top, and blend the acoutrama together.
I walked to the kitchen to accompany my beauty, and I uncovered the mystery: A fondue pot.
Crap. Fondue. This will not end well. If there is any melted goodness left at the bottom of the pot, a simple glass of milkshake will not suffice. I have seen this sketch before...numerous times. And every ending is the same, a bloated, sore stomach and the unison shaking of our heads while asking, "how did we let this happen again."
As some may know already, we have created a name for the ulterior personality that is extracted from the cook upon our melted chocolate encounters: "Fondue" Ashley.
She is more vicious than a tornado tearing through a trailer park...she has a more one-tract mind than an adolescent boy...she is more focused than a feline in heat. She watches over the chocolate as it melts, she smells it as it's richness is released, and she sees the flowing lava confectionery caking the bottom of the pan.
And then she heads straight for the fruit tray, and proceeds to dip every available piece of fruit. Next she jets to the refrigerator to pillage anything in it's gorge that could be good dipped. And finally, the pantry, oh the humanity. Pretzels, chips, dehydrated fruit, blue corn tortillas, and nuts. Almonds, pistachios, cashews, walnuts...nuts from all over the world end up in the same place...the bottom of a warm vat of pure decadent sugar.
Tonight was no exception. The shake was amazing, and it lasted all of a minute. Soon after, as the cook was still working on her drink, I started for the bananas.
I barely took the time to peel until it was thrown in the bath and extracted in excitement. Soooo good. I took a piece over to the cook, and she ate it without hesitation. Fondue Ashley was suddenly aroused.
She finished her shake soon after, and reached for some grapes. Delicious. Next, ranier cherries. Obviously outstanding. Finally, watermelon? Sounded funky, and tasted funkier.
The pantry was raided. Fondue Ashley ripped open a bag of dried mangos. Too much sweetness. Needs some salty counterbalance. Blue corn tortillas, a revelation. No pretzels, our loss...we actually wished we had a chocolate-dipped nut or fruit item so that we could double dip it in the fresh batch of chocolate...that is when you know you have a problem.
Finally, it was time to put a stop to the madness. I washed out the pot and the blender, and threw the morsels as deep as I could in the pantry. The only way we will not be motivated to duplicate our actions is if we cannot see our addiction staring us in the face everytime we pick through the pantry.
So here we are, laying somberly on our backs, prodding our protruding bellies. Chocolate on our faces, chocolate on the counters, chocolate in the sink, and chocolate fresh on our minds.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
Carrot Cake
Cake:
1/4 cup cinnamon applesauce (unsweetened)
1 tsp. vanilla extract (buy PURE...the imitations have corn syrup)
1/2 cup Earth Balance margarine, softened
1 tsp Salt
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp cinamon
1 1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup plain light soy milk
1 cup finely grated carrots
1 cup walnuts, chopped
Frosting:
1 8oz container Tofutti cream cheese or Fat Free Cream cheese
1/4 cup Earth Balance margarine, softened
3 teaspoons soy milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 cups powdered sugar
For the cake:
1. Preheat oven to 325
2. Greese and flour two 8 inch cake pans. Combine the first 9 ingredients, mixing well.
3. Add the carrots and the walnuts. Pour the batter into the pan, spreading evenly.
4. Bake for about 40-45 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool before frosting.
5. Frost top and sides of first layer. Place second layer on top, then frost top and sides. Keep refrigerated.
For the frosting:
1. In a medium bowl, beat cream cheese, margarine, milk and vanilla with electric mixer on low speed until smooth.
2. Gradually beat in powdered sugar, 1 cup at a time, on low speed until smooth and spreadable.
1/4 cup cinnamon applesauce (unsweetened)
1 tsp. vanilla extract (buy PURE...the imitations have corn syrup)
1/2 cup Earth Balance margarine, softened
1 tsp Salt
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
2 tsp cinamon
1 1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup plain light soy milk
1 cup finely grated carrots
1 cup walnuts, chopped
Frosting:
1 8oz container Tofutti cream cheese or Fat Free Cream cheese
1/4 cup Earth Balance margarine, softened
3 teaspoons soy milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 cups powdered sugar
For the cake:
1. Preheat oven to 325
2. Greese and flour two 8 inch cake pans. Combine the first 9 ingredients, mixing well.
3. Add the carrots and the walnuts. Pour the batter into the pan, spreading evenly.
4. Bake for about 40-45 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool before frosting.
5. Frost top and sides of first layer. Place second layer on top, then frost top and sides. Keep refrigerated.
For the frosting:
1. In a medium bowl, beat cream cheese, margarine, milk and vanilla with electric mixer on low speed until smooth.
2. Gradually beat in powdered sugar, 1 cup at a time, on low speed until smooth and spreadable.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Spinach and Artichoke Quiche
1 Wholly Wholesome Whole Wheat pie crust
1/3 cup onion, chopped
1/4 bag frozen artichoke hearts, thawed
1 package Lite Silken tofu, blended
1 1/4 cup egg whites
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup shredded swiss cheese (you can choose your cheese, but it should be a strong cheese)
1/2 cup fresh spinach
1. Preheat over to 350.
2. Sprinkle onion, artichoke hearts, spinach, and cheese in pie crust.
3. In a large bowl whisk tofu, egg whites, salt, pepper, and cayenne. Pour into pie crust.
4. Bake 45 to 50 minutes or until knife inserted in center comes out clean. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.
Makes 6 servings. 385 calories each.
As the writer and the cook were eating the quiche, we stopped to appreciate a very momentous occasion...
What is that noise...silence. A buzzing, wonderful silence.
Why was silence a golden token on this evening? What circumstance or being could make nothingness so fulfilling?
Tyler.
My little nephew. My baby - first time ever, beautiful and noisy - nephew.
He was sucking his binky, staring to outer space, while gently being swung to-and-fro by my carefully rocking foot.
It was the cook and writer's first solo babysitting mission, and after a couple of hours we had come to enjoy what I am sure my sister and the hubby had come to cherish over the five weeks of Ty's existence: silence!
For such a little thing, for such a delicate rose, Tyler can make a whole lot of noise. And as I also found out, when walking him around the downstairs, trying to calm him after he awoke from our stroll around the neighborhood, he is in the words on John Mayer, "stronger than his body." What started as an innocuous "baby resting in your arms like a loaf of bread" position became a "hold on to the little thing for dear life as he pushes and squirms out of your arms" struggle.
The cook seemed to execute the "shoosh" technique better than me, as my "shoosh" was a more of a suggestion than a command, and the lack of authority made the little guy feel more confident about raising his cry to a scream.
But there we were, consuming my beautiful cook's quiche without even a whimper. Before this delightful epilogue was Tyler's dinner.
Nothing gets me hungry for a meal like holding a baby bottle stocked with my sister's breast milk. I laid Ty on my arm, and shoved the nipple into his narrow mouth. After a few seconds, he latched on and started sucking away...this is easy enough.
Not so fast. After a little while, but with plenty of sister left in the bottle, Ty stopped sucking. In a way only babies can achieve, he puckered his lips and squinted his eyes to portray the most uncomfortable look I have ever seen.
"What is this," I asked the cook. "He looks like he is playing scrabble with George Bush."
"He needs to be burped," the cook replied.
Hmmm. My first burping. There was a little apprehension, but also some excitement. Another milestone about to be surpassed. I slowly lifted Ty's head, and placed his body against my shoulder, and started to gently tap his back. Nothing.
The cook observed this nonsense, stormed over to my tender caress, pulled my hand away, and briskly thumped Tyler's back until he burped loudly.
"That is how you do it," she confirmed.
I put Ty back down in feeding position, and shoved the nipple back into his awaiting mouth. As he ate faster, some of the milk started to discard from his mouth and run down his cheek. Seeing as though I had one hand supporting his head and the other holding the bottle, there was NO WAY I could change his position and pat the excess off his face without some help.
I asked the cook to come hither. As she leaned over to wipe the milk off his little cheek, she got just close enough that I could sneak in for a kiss. Just as a snake awaits ever patiently for his prey to enter striking distance, I knew I would only get one thrust. Got her!
I think Tyler caught on to my game, because he kept drooling, I kept calling, the cook kept helping, and I kept kissing. Our first conquest together!
The next partnership came via the continuous burping. Ty would eat, stop, look constipated, and wait to be burped. I did the burping until the cook came in and whisked Ty away.
"I've got this," she assured.
The cook picked him up, walked him to the kitchen while patting his back, until splash! Ty vomited more spit-up than the possessed character in "The Exorcist." The cook's neckline and shoulder were painted with mommy's regurgitated breast milk.
All I could think was, "he must have waited to do that on her intentionally." Yes, a true bond was certainly in the making.
Previous to the spit-up and feeding was a great dance session. I don't know if any of you faithful readers remember the Youtube video of the baby dancing his butt-off to Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies," but it was hilarious, and if you have not yet watched, please do. Ty was trying his best to match the virile dancer move-for-move.
"So I was afraid, I was petrified, living here without you by my side..."started blaring from the radio. The cook and writer thought it might be entertaining to groove for the little guy, so we busted out our best awkward arm pumps and leg kicks. Instead of thinking we were epileptic, Ty seemed to enjoy the suddenness of our movements, and started to mimic them in his baby ways.
A little arm punch here, and leg twitch there...eyes wide open, glowing like the sun. He could not have been more curious. He will one day learn that there is nothing wondrous about bad dancing, but I did not want to spoil his youthful enthusiasm.
So there we were, a night full of memories, a kitchen with three instead of two, and a wonderful silence. Just two lovers, their beautiful nephew, quietly sucking on his binky, surely spoiling us through the transcendence of the moment.
Soon he would lose his mouth toy, and shout and cry, and we would pick him up, and carry him and cradle him and shush him and love him the way he requires. And despite the toil, we would be happy for every second we could spend with Ty.
1/3 cup onion, chopped
1/4 bag frozen artichoke hearts, thawed
1 package Lite Silken tofu, blended
1 1/4 cup egg whites
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup shredded swiss cheese (you can choose your cheese, but it should be a strong cheese)
1/2 cup fresh spinach
1. Preheat over to 350.
2. Sprinkle onion, artichoke hearts, spinach, and cheese in pie crust.
3. In a large bowl whisk tofu, egg whites, salt, pepper, and cayenne. Pour into pie crust.
4. Bake 45 to 50 minutes or until knife inserted in center comes out clean. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.
Makes 6 servings. 385 calories each.
As the writer and the cook were eating the quiche, we stopped to appreciate a very momentous occasion...
What is that noise...silence. A buzzing, wonderful silence.
Why was silence a golden token on this evening? What circumstance or being could make nothingness so fulfilling?
Tyler.
My little nephew. My baby - first time ever, beautiful and noisy - nephew.
He was sucking his binky, staring to outer space, while gently being swung to-and-fro by my carefully rocking foot.
It was the cook and writer's first solo babysitting mission, and after a couple of hours we had come to enjoy what I am sure my sister and the hubby had come to cherish over the five weeks of Ty's existence: silence!
For such a little thing, for such a delicate rose, Tyler can make a whole lot of noise. And as I also found out, when walking him around the downstairs, trying to calm him after he awoke from our stroll around the neighborhood, he is in the words on John Mayer, "stronger than his body." What started as an innocuous "baby resting in your arms like a loaf of bread" position became a "hold on to the little thing for dear life as he pushes and squirms out of your arms" struggle.
The cook seemed to execute the "shoosh" technique better than me, as my "shoosh" was a more of a suggestion than a command, and the lack of authority made the little guy feel more confident about raising his cry to a scream.
But there we were, consuming my beautiful cook's quiche without even a whimper. Before this delightful epilogue was Tyler's dinner.
Nothing gets me hungry for a meal like holding a baby bottle stocked with my sister's breast milk. I laid Ty on my arm, and shoved the nipple into his narrow mouth. After a few seconds, he latched on and started sucking away...this is easy enough.
Not so fast. After a little while, but with plenty of sister left in the bottle, Ty stopped sucking. In a way only babies can achieve, he puckered his lips and squinted his eyes to portray the most uncomfortable look I have ever seen.
"What is this," I asked the cook. "He looks like he is playing scrabble with George Bush."
"He needs to be burped," the cook replied.
Hmmm. My first burping. There was a little apprehension, but also some excitement. Another milestone about to be surpassed. I slowly lifted Ty's head, and placed his body against my shoulder, and started to gently tap his back. Nothing.
The cook observed this nonsense, stormed over to my tender caress, pulled my hand away, and briskly thumped Tyler's back until he burped loudly.
"That is how you do it," she confirmed.
I put Ty back down in feeding position, and shoved the nipple back into his awaiting mouth. As he ate faster, some of the milk started to discard from his mouth and run down his cheek. Seeing as though I had one hand supporting his head and the other holding the bottle, there was NO WAY I could change his position and pat the excess off his face without some help.
I asked the cook to come hither. As she leaned over to wipe the milk off his little cheek, she got just close enough that I could sneak in for a kiss. Just as a snake awaits ever patiently for his prey to enter striking distance, I knew I would only get one thrust. Got her!
I think Tyler caught on to my game, because he kept drooling, I kept calling, the cook kept helping, and I kept kissing. Our first conquest together!
The next partnership came via the continuous burping. Ty would eat, stop, look constipated, and wait to be burped. I did the burping until the cook came in and whisked Ty away.
"I've got this," she assured.
The cook picked him up, walked him to the kitchen while patting his back, until splash! Ty vomited more spit-up than the possessed character in "The Exorcist." The cook's neckline and shoulder were painted with mommy's regurgitated breast milk.
All I could think was, "he must have waited to do that on her intentionally." Yes, a true bond was certainly in the making.
Previous to the spit-up and feeding was a great dance session. I don't know if any of you faithful readers remember the Youtube video of the baby dancing his butt-off to Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies," but it was hilarious, and if you have not yet watched, please do. Ty was trying his best to match the virile dancer move-for-move.
"So I was afraid, I was petrified, living here without you by my side..."started blaring from the radio. The cook and writer thought it might be entertaining to groove for the little guy, so we busted out our best awkward arm pumps and leg kicks. Instead of thinking we were epileptic, Ty seemed to enjoy the suddenness of our movements, and started to mimic them in his baby ways.
A little arm punch here, and leg twitch there...eyes wide open, glowing like the sun. He could not have been more curious. He will one day learn that there is nothing wondrous about bad dancing, but I did not want to spoil his youthful enthusiasm.
So there we were, a night full of memories, a kitchen with three instead of two, and a wonderful silence. Just two lovers, their beautiful nephew, quietly sucking on his binky, surely spoiling us through the transcendence of the moment.
Soon he would lose his mouth toy, and shout and cry, and we would pick him up, and carry him and cradle him and shush him and love him the way he requires. And despite the toil, we would be happy for every second we could spend with Ty.
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
Berry Smoothie
1 package Ligh Silken Tofu
2 cups straberries, cleaned with stems removed
1/4 cup blueberries
1 mango, sliced
1 cup plain light soy milk (can do Vanilla if you prefer)
1. Place all ingredients in a blender and blend until the consistency is smoothe. Pour in a glass to serve.
Makes 2 smoothies. 183 calories each.
*Mornings are busy, so make this the night before and keep refrigerated in blender pitcher.
2 cups straberries, cleaned with stems removed
1/4 cup blueberries
1 mango, sliced
1 cup plain light soy milk (can do Vanilla if you prefer)
1. Place all ingredients in a blender and blend until the consistency is smoothe. Pour in a glass to serve.
Makes 2 smoothies. 183 calories each.
*Mornings are busy, so make this the night before and keep refrigerated in blender pitcher.
Monday, 12 July 2010
Breadsticks
2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon organic cane sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/4 teaspoons dry yeast
1 cup very warm water
1/4 cup grated parmesean cheese
1. In large bowl, mix 1 cup of the flour, rosemary, sugar, salt and yeast. Add very warm water. Beat with electric mixer on medium speed for 3 minutes, scraping bowl frequently. Stir in enough of the remaining flour until dough is soft and leaves sides of bowl.
2. Place dough on lightly floured surface. Knead 5-8 minutes or until dough is smooth and springy. Spray large bowl with cooking spray (pump). Place dough in bowl, turning to grease all sides. Cover bowl loosely with plastic wrap and let rise in warm place about 30 minutes or until dough has almost doubled in size. Dough is ready if indentation remains when touched.
3. Spray 2 cookie with cooking spray (pump); sprinkle with cornmeal. Divide dough into 12 equal parts. Roll and shape each part into a 12 inch rope. Place 1/2 inch apart on cookie sheet. Sprinkle with grated parmesan cheese.
4. Cover losely with plastic wrap and let rise in warm place about 20 minutes or until they have doubled in size. Heat oven to 425.
5. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown.
Makes 12 breadsticks. 80 calories each.
I served the breadsticks with Shiratake Tofu noodles covered in marinera sauce, fresh chopped parsly, and a tablespoon of grated parmesan cheese.
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon organic cane sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/4 teaspoons dry yeast
1 cup very warm water
1/4 cup grated parmesean cheese
1. In large bowl, mix 1 cup of the flour, rosemary, sugar, salt and yeast. Add very warm water. Beat with electric mixer on medium speed for 3 minutes, scraping bowl frequently. Stir in enough of the remaining flour until dough is soft and leaves sides of bowl.
2. Place dough on lightly floured surface. Knead 5-8 minutes or until dough is smooth and springy. Spray large bowl with cooking spray (pump). Place dough in bowl, turning to grease all sides. Cover bowl loosely with plastic wrap and let rise in warm place about 30 minutes or until dough has almost doubled in size. Dough is ready if indentation remains when touched.
3. Spray 2 cookie with cooking spray (pump); sprinkle with cornmeal. Divide dough into 12 equal parts. Roll and shape each part into a 12 inch rope. Place 1/2 inch apart on cookie sheet. Sprinkle with grated parmesan cheese.
4. Cover losely with plastic wrap and let rise in warm place about 20 minutes or until they have doubled in size. Heat oven to 425.
5. Bake 10 to 12 minutes or until golden brown.
Makes 12 breadsticks. 80 calories each.
I served the breadsticks with Shiratake Tofu noodles covered in marinera sauce, fresh chopped parsly, and a tablespoon of grated parmesan cheese.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Spicy "Chick'n" in Peanut Sauce
4 Quorn Naked Chik'n cutlets
1 large onion, chopped
1 14.5 oz can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 14.5 oz cam crushed tomatoes, undrained
1 can green chiles
1 tablespoon honey
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 creamy non processed unsalted peanut butter
1. In slow cooker, combine all ingredients other than cutlets and mix with a large spoon. Fully submerge cutlets into the sauce.
2. Cover and cook on low heat for 6 to 8 hours.
3. Serve topped with chopped fresh cilantro on top of Shiratake tofu noodles (only 40 calories for the entire bag) or couscous.
Couple's Retreat is a movie about a married couple looking to reconnect. Through the grind of the every day, they have lost a little of the spark that attracted them to each other in the first place.
The only obvious solution is to jet-set to the Caribbean for a couple's therapy vacation. The writer would love to expound more on the movie, but cannot because I never actually seen it. The cook watched it on the way to a sales conference and said it sucked. Usually I try to avoid watching movies that have been characterized by the word used to describe the action given to a loli-pop. Thus, I think that is what it was about.
Regardless, the cook and the writer embarked on an activity much more suited for couple's therapy, canoeing.
And we did not escape the boundaries of the country for our quest. We traveled to Grove City, or as most 614's would call it, "Grovetucky." Not quite the setting of endless white beaches and swaying palm trees. And the river we navigated was called "Big Darby," or as it should have been called, "The Big Dirty," with water the color of Nesquick, and "Deliverance" style homes lining the banks on either side. We especially liked the creativeness of a planter made from a tub of kitty litter. Not quite the scene of aqua blue water extending to the sun kissed horizon.
See we did it right. Any communication breakdown or lost pilot light could be sparked by the beauty of paradise. We were in the middle of a smelly, overly pH filled river, and surrounded by people living much farther away than the 30 mile drive would leave you to believe.
The first thing that made this a therapy session was the new push for a "family friendly" experience. The writer, cook, and our sister's and their husband's filled up three coolers worth of beer and liquor. We were going on a 6 mile path, and wanted to make sure to have a drink for every mile. Well before we could get a boat, we were audited by a real buzz kill of a man. After a thorough analysis, it was decided that we could only bring about 2/3 of the alcohol we has originally allocated.
The first lesson: sacrifice. Give up a drink or two so that everyone could enjoy the trek equally.
After we got past killjoy, we entered our canoes in couples and began to row. Two paddles left, two paddles right, or one person would paddle left and the other right, at the same time, using the same force to guide the boat straight.
Well, the writer is not known for my finesse, and I tried to muscle us down the river. At times it worked ok, but every time we hit a tricky turn or a tiny rapid, we ended up spinning backward.
The cook is beautiful and talented and great company, but patient she is not! And communicative I am not. It was the cause of tense moments and a lot of backpedaling. I was exerting more effort fixing my mistakes than I was propelling us forward to our goal. At one point as we were going down a trickily rapid and towards a leaning tree, I steered us in the wrong direction and the cook had to "matrix" her way under the tree while keeping the boat afloat. That is when I knew we needed another learning.
Lesson two: communication.
This has always been hard for me, but I knew the only way to make this trip enjoyable and to make us feel accomplished was to communicate each row. Left, left, right, right, being in the back I learned when to take control and also when to give up control and let the cook take the reigns.
I would tell her exactly my plan for navigating a tight path, and she would do the same for me. It gave us the opportunity to adjust our individual strategy to meet our team goal.
But we still had trouble keeping in control during the more challenging segments of the tour. That is, until we encountered our third subject.
Lesson three: anticipation.
When running into a "current", we were going hard with the current, controlling through the rush but always spinning out soon after. It was not until we started to anticipate what would happen if we kept rowing the same direction, and instead of taking one more stroke on that side, switching over to the other for a counter stoke that would keep our momentum balanced forward.
It felt good to charge ahead, knowing we were working as a team and strengthening the belief in our relationship. It was also nice to be able to share our final session.
Lesson four: appreciation.
The writer and cook realized our appreciation for being upright when we looked back after hearing some commotion and seeing my sister and the husband submerged in the chocolate river.
Somehow they lost control...they did not communicate, anticipate, and I especially do not think they could appreciate the muddy dip. They did sacrifice however, as they both took a Big Darby bath. (Serves the sister right for relieving herself in the river before the crash site. You know, your pee travels downstream too!)
Well, after three hours of rowing and roasting in the sun, we finished our learned venture down the might Darby.
On the bus trip back to our starting point, the writer started thinking about the lesson's of the trip and and how they relate to relationships.
We sacrificed some of our beer for the trip, and in some ways, sacrifice in a relationship can be just as hard, but also just as important as staying sober while traveling down a body of water. You do not always get your way, but you always do get to keep your lover by your side.
We communicated to keep our boat forward during our river obstacles, much like it is important to always be open and honest to keep your relationship moving forward under tenuous circumstances.
We anticipated how the boat would react to our movements before it happened, and there is nothing more important than anticipating the needs of a lover. Wink!
And finally, we appreciated being able to work through problems to find solutions together. And there is nothing better than appreciating the love, sacrifice, and communication of a good relationship.
It made me happy to be my cook's writer, and to be surrounded by people I can truly love.
1 large onion, chopped
1 14.5 oz can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 14.5 oz cam crushed tomatoes, undrained
1 can green chiles
1 tablespoon honey
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 creamy non processed unsalted peanut butter
1. In slow cooker, combine all ingredients other than cutlets and mix with a large spoon. Fully submerge cutlets into the sauce.
2. Cover and cook on low heat for 6 to 8 hours.
3. Serve topped with chopped fresh cilantro on top of Shiratake tofu noodles (only 40 calories for the entire bag) or couscous.
Couple's Retreat is a movie about a married couple looking to reconnect. Through the grind of the every day, they have lost a little of the spark that attracted them to each other in the first place.
The only obvious solution is to jet-set to the Caribbean for a couple's therapy vacation. The writer would love to expound more on the movie, but cannot because I never actually seen it. The cook watched it on the way to a sales conference and said it sucked. Usually I try to avoid watching movies that have been characterized by the word used to describe the action given to a loli-pop. Thus, I think that is what it was about.
Regardless, the cook and the writer embarked on an activity much more suited for couple's therapy, canoeing.
And we did not escape the boundaries of the country for our quest. We traveled to Grove City, or as most 614's would call it, "Grovetucky." Not quite the setting of endless white beaches and swaying palm trees. And the river we navigated was called "Big Darby," or as it should have been called, "The Big Dirty," with water the color of Nesquick, and "Deliverance" style homes lining the banks on either side. We especially liked the creativeness of a planter made from a tub of kitty litter. Not quite the scene of aqua blue water extending to the sun kissed horizon.
See we did it right. Any communication breakdown or lost pilot light could be sparked by the beauty of paradise. We were in the middle of a smelly, overly pH filled river, and surrounded by people living much farther away than the 30 mile drive would leave you to believe.
The first thing that made this a therapy session was the new push for a "family friendly" experience. The writer, cook, and our sister's and their husband's filled up three coolers worth of beer and liquor. We were going on a 6 mile path, and wanted to make sure to have a drink for every mile. Well before we could get a boat, we were audited by a real buzz kill of a man. After a thorough analysis, it was decided that we could only bring about 2/3 of the alcohol we has originally allocated.
The first lesson: sacrifice. Give up a drink or two so that everyone could enjoy the trek equally.
After we got past killjoy, we entered our canoes in couples and began to row. Two paddles left, two paddles right, or one person would paddle left and the other right, at the same time, using the same force to guide the boat straight.
Well, the writer is not known for my finesse, and I tried to muscle us down the river. At times it worked ok, but every time we hit a tricky turn or a tiny rapid, we ended up spinning backward.
The cook is beautiful and talented and great company, but patient she is not! And communicative I am not. It was the cause of tense moments and a lot of backpedaling. I was exerting more effort fixing my mistakes than I was propelling us forward to our goal. At one point as we were going down a trickily rapid and towards a leaning tree, I steered us in the wrong direction and the cook had to "matrix" her way under the tree while keeping the boat afloat. That is when I knew we needed another learning.
Lesson two: communication.
This has always been hard for me, but I knew the only way to make this trip enjoyable and to make us feel accomplished was to communicate each row. Left, left, right, right, being in the back I learned when to take control and also when to give up control and let the cook take the reigns.
I would tell her exactly my plan for navigating a tight path, and she would do the same for me. It gave us the opportunity to adjust our individual strategy to meet our team goal.
But we still had trouble keeping in control during the more challenging segments of the tour. That is, until we encountered our third subject.
Lesson three: anticipation.
When running into a "current", we were going hard with the current, controlling through the rush but always spinning out soon after. It was not until we started to anticipate what would happen if we kept rowing the same direction, and instead of taking one more stroke on that side, switching over to the other for a counter stoke that would keep our momentum balanced forward.
It felt good to charge ahead, knowing we were working as a team and strengthening the belief in our relationship. It was also nice to be able to share our final session.
Lesson four: appreciation.
The writer and cook realized our appreciation for being upright when we looked back after hearing some commotion and seeing my sister and the husband submerged in the chocolate river.
Somehow they lost control...they did not communicate, anticipate, and I especially do not think they could appreciate the muddy dip. They did sacrifice however, as they both took a Big Darby bath. (Serves the sister right for relieving herself in the river before the crash site. You know, your pee travels downstream too!)
Well, after three hours of rowing and roasting in the sun, we finished our learned venture down the might Darby.
On the bus trip back to our starting point, the writer started thinking about the lesson's of the trip and and how they relate to relationships.
We sacrificed some of our beer for the trip, and in some ways, sacrifice in a relationship can be just as hard, but also just as important as staying sober while traveling down a body of water. You do not always get your way, but you always do get to keep your lover by your side.
We communicated to keep our boat forward during our river obstacles, much like it is important to always be open and honest to keep your relationship moving forward under tenuous circumstances.
We anticipated how the boat would react to our movements before it happened, and there is nothing more important than anticipating the needs of a lover. Wink!
And finally, we appreciated being able to work through problems to find solutions together. And there is nothing better than appreciating the love, sacrifice, and communication of a good relationship.
It made me happy to be my cook's writer, and to be surrounded by people I can truly love.
Friday, 9 July 2010
Vegetables with Peanut Sauce
1 bag brocoli and cauliflower mix
1 small head read cabbage, chopped into 1 inch pieces
1 package Teriyaki smoked tofu, cubed
1/2 cup creamy organic unsalted Trader Joe's peanut butter
1 1/2 cup hot water
2 cloves garlic, finely miced
1 tablespoon low sodium soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon curry powder
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1. In a food processor, blend peanut butter, hot water, garlic, soy sauce, cumin, cayenne, curry powder, and melon juice together to form a smooth paste. Cover and set aside for seveal hours.
2. Place brocoli and cauliflower mix in electric steamer with red cabbage. Steam for 10 minutes or until cooked through, but still firm.
3. In a non stick skillet, over medium heat, cook the tofu turning to crisp all sides of cubes.
4. Place vegetables and tofu in a bowl. Top with 2 tablespoons of peanut sauce. Serve with chopsticks.
455 calories each serving.
1 small head read cabbage, chopped into 1 inch pieces
1 package Teriyaki smoked tofu, cubed
1/2 cup creamy organic unsalted Trader Joe's peanut butter
1 1/2 cup hot water
2 cloves garlic, finely miced
1 tablespoon low sodium soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon curry powder
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1. In a food processor, blend peanut butter, hot water, garlic, soy sauce, cumin, cayenne, curry powder, and melon juice together to form a smooth paste. Cover and set aside for seveal hours.
2. Place brocoli and cauliflower mix in electric steamer with red cabbage. Steam for 10 minutes or until cooked through, but still firm.
3. In a non stick skillet, over medium heat, cook the tofu turning to crisp all sides of cubes.
4. Place vegetables and tofu in a bowl. Top with 2 tablespoons of peanut sauce. Serve with chopsticks.
455 calories each serving.
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Three-Bean Casserole
1/2 package Trader Joe's Soy Chorizo, taken out of casing
1 stalk celery, chopped (1/2 cup)
1/2 medium onion, chopped (1/4 cup)
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 can vegetarian baked beans (check for corn syrup!)
1 can butter beans or kidney beans, drained
4 oz organic tomato sauce
1/2 tablespoon ground mustard
1/2 tablespoon white/cider vinegar
1/4 teaspoon red pepper sauce
1. Heat oven to 400.
2. In medium skillet, cook chorizo, celery, onion, and garlic over medium heat 5 to 7 minutes, stirring occasionaly, until vegetables are cooked.
3. Mix chorizo mixture and remaining ingredients in ungreased caserole dish. Bake uncovered about 20-25 minutes, until hot and bubbly.
Makes 4 servings. 298 calories each.
I served with the writer's favorite cornbread recipe...I'll leave it up to him to tell you the "cornbread" story.
1 stalk celery, chopped (1/2 cup)
1/2 medium onion, chopped (1/4 cup)
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 can vegetarian baked beans (check for corn syrup!)
1 can butter beans or kidney beans, drained
4 oz organic tomato sauce
1/2 tablespoon ground mustard
1/2 tablespoon white/cider vinegar
1/4 teaspoon red pepper sauce
1. Heat oven to 400.
2. In medium skillet, cook chorizo, celery, onion, and garlic over medium heat 5 to 7 minutes, stirring occasionaly, until vegetables are cooked.
3. Mix chorizo mixture and remaining ingredients in ungreased caserole dish. Bake uncovered about 20-25 minutes, until hot and bubbly.
Makes 4 servings. 298 calories each.
I served with the writer's favorite cornbread recipe...I'll leave it up to him to tell you the "cornbread" story.
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
By Now You Should Know What Tuesday is...
It's PIZZA NIGHT!!!!
Tonight I made a Fresh Mozzarella and Tomato Pizza. I won't go into great detail about this recipe because it is very basic. However, the combination of fresh mozzarella, sliced Roma tomatoes, and freshly picked basil from the patio never gets old. Usually on pizza night I serve a salad as well. Tonight, I have to admit that I had a craving for seaweed salad from Whole Foods, so I mixed Italian cuisine with Japanese cuisine. As for the writer, well, he doesn't enjoy the salads on pizza night anyway. I think he eats them just to keep me and my nagging tendencies at bay. So, his salad bowl consisted of spinach, the remaining Roma tomato slices, shredded mozzarella cheese, and almond slivers (yea you caught me...cleaning out the pantry as usual).
The cook is right...
The writer appreciaties everything I get from my beautiful woman, but as I have made perfectly clear, the salad is always an afterthought.
The pizza, however, was another raging success.
The topper, besides the salty cheese, crispy crust, and fresh tomatos, was the hand- picked Basil.
If you know the cook, you will know that her talents for culinary creation to not apply to her experiences with growing plants, flowers, or for this purpose, herbs.
She has claimed more lives than Charles Manson, and at times, I had the feeling she should be sentenced to the same barred fate.
The cook receives a plant for her birthday...dead before a week into her new year. A flower for a romantic occasion, I hope you like your rose petals crispier than your pizza crust! And then there was the basil.
After completing the heavy lifting of our move to our first home, and buyoed by the excitement and adventure of first-time homeownership, the cook went shopping and felt like tackling a difficult project. She picked a tiny Cleveland Browns-orange pot that already had Basil seeds planted deep in it's soil, and decided she would parent the infant herb.
At first, going through the collection of horror stories and crime scene photos from earlier experiences, I was cynical as she gently watered the soil and placed it on the window sill in our kitchen.
If you have ever been to our house, you would know that during the day the kitchen gets really bright. There are two windows side-by-side, nine foot white ceilings, and earthy yellow walls that reflect the retrieved sunlight like a room of mirrors.
It is the equivilent of our poor new plant being held under the spotlight of a coroner's investigation room, being prodded for clues during it's unenviable autopsy.
But what seemed to be a sure fate on the last page of the classifieds, started tunring out to be a lively, sprouting herb.
And the longer she watered, the more powerful it's presence. And the more sun it consumed, the stronger it grew and greened. Soon, it had outgrown it's tiny pot, and needed to be replanted into a full-sized vessel.
She even adapted to our varmin circumstances. New Albany was build out of farm land, and if you travel about five miles South, East, or North, you will hit corn and soy with some woods. It has become obvious that the rabbits in this area hump as their name would imply, and the little guys and gals are not shy about creeping to your backyard for a bite.
Hearing stories of neighborhood friend's struggles with the humpers, and seeing one persistent fellow in our yard every night, the cook knew she had to out smart the critter. Every night, before bed, the cook or writer go out and protect her investment by placing the Basil on top of our two-chair bistro. It might not sound like a big deal, but hey, this is our first shot at this home stuff, and every ant hill is a mountain, and every ant hill must be destroyed!
Anyways, the Basil is beautiful, and tonight, it was time to cash in a small part of the cook's profit. Buy low, sell high in investment lingo, or in gardening theory, buy seeds, and clip when they grow into leaves. (That is mine, don't steal it...my mom used to say, "Don't piss on my boots and tell me it's raining," and I thought it was rediculous. But this afternoon I was listening to the radio, and the host said the phrase verbatim. I was furious, he clearly took that from my mom. How does my know my mom? Well, I just don't want to be listening to the radio and hearing my saying, got it?)
There really is nothing like fresh herb. It tasted outstanding and the cook's maternal love from seed to leaf shined though. Much like the sun reflecting from every angle into our kitchen like the inside of a diamond, the flavors burst into every taste bud.
Tonight I made a Fresh Mozzarella and Tomato Pizza. I won't go into great detail about this recipe because it is very basic. However, the combination of fresh mozzarella, sliced Roma tomatoes, and freshly picked basil from the patio never gets old. Usually on pizza night I serve a salad as well. Tonight, I have to admit that I had a craving for seaweed salad from Whole Foods, so I mixed Italian cuisine with Japanese cuisine. As for the writer, well, he doesn't enjoy the salads on pizza night anyway. I think he eats them just to keep me and my nagging tendencies at bay. So, his salad bowl consisted of spinach, the remaining Roma tomato slices, shredded mozzarella cheese, and almond slivers (yea you caught me...cleaning out the pantry as usual).
The cook is right...
The writer appreciaties everything I get from my beautiful woman, but as I have made perfectly clear, the salad is always an afterthought.
The pizza, however, was another raging success.
The topper, besides the salty cheese, crispy crust, and fresh tomatos, was the hand- picked Basil.
If you know the cook, you will know that her talents for culinary creation to not apply to her experiences with growing plants, flowers, or for this purpose, herbs.
She has claimed more lives than Charles Manson, and at times, I had the feeling she should be sentenced to the same barred fate.
The cook receives a plant for her birthday...dead before a week into her new year. A flower for a romantic occasion, I hope you like your rose petals crispier than your pizza crust! And then there was the basil.
After completing the heavy lifting of our move to our first home, and buyoed by the excitement and adventure of first-time homeownership, the cook went shopping and felt like tackling a difficult project. She picked a tiny Cleveland Browns-orange pot that already had Basil seeds planted deep in it's soil, and decided she would parent the infant herb.
At first, going through the collection of horror stories and crime scene photos from earlier experiences, I was cynical as she gently watered the soil and placed it on the window sill in our kitchen.
If you have ever been to our house, you would know that during the day the kitchen gets really bright. There are two windows side-by-side, nine foot white ceilings, and earthy yellow walls that reflect the retrieved sunlight like a room of mirrors.
It is the equivilent of our poor new plant being held under the spotlight of a coroner's investigation room, being prodded for clues during it's unenviable autopsy.
But what seemed to be a sure fate on the last page of the classifieds, started tunring out to be a lively, sprouting herb.
And the longer she watered, the more powerful it's presence. And the more sun it consumed, the stronger it grew and greened. Soon, it had outgrown it's tiny pot, and needed to be replanted into a full-sized vessel.
She even adapted to our varmin circumstances. New Albany was build out of farm land, and if you travel about five miles South, East, or North, you will hit corn and soy with some woods. It has become obvious that the rabbits in this area hump as their name would imply, and the little guys and gals are not shy about creeping to your backyard for a bite.
Hearing stories of neighborhood friend's struggles with the humpers, and seeing one persistent fellow in our yard every night, the cook knew she had to out smart the critter. Every night, before bed, the cook or writer go out and protect her investment by placing the Basil on top of our two-chair bistro. It might not sound like a big deal, but hey, this is our first shot at this home stuff, and every ant hill is a mountain, and every ant hill must be destroyed!
Anyways, the Basil is beautiful, and tonight, it was time to cash in a small part of the cook's profit. Buy low, sell high in investment lingo, or in gardening theory, buy seeds, and clip when they grow into leaves. (That is mine, don't steal it...my mom used to say, "Don't piss on my boots and tell me it's raining," and I thought it was rediculous. But this afternoon I was listening to the radio, and the host said the phrase verbatim. I was furious, he clearly took that from my mom. How does my know my mom? Well, I just don't want to be listening to the radio and hearing my saying, got it?)
There really is nothing like fresh herb. It tasted outstanding and the cook's maternal love from seed to leaf shined though. Much like the sun reflecting from every angle into our kitchen like the inside of a diamond, the flavors burst into every taste bud.
Easy Grilled Fish and Grilled Artichokes
1 lb Halibut
Kosher salt to taste
freshly ground pepper to taste
2 tablespoons olive oil
1. Brush grill rack with vegetable oil. Heat grill for medium heat.
2. Sprinkle both sides of fish with salt and pepper. Brush oil on both sides.
3. Grill for 10 minutes on medium heat. Serve with a slice of lemon, if desired.
2 medium artichokes
1 tablespoon olive oil
Kosher salt to taste
Freshly ground pepper to taste
1. Trim prickly parts of leaves off using kitchen shearers. Place artichokes in an electric steamer for 35 minutes (if you don't have an electric steamer, I HIGHLY suggest getting one. They make cooking veggies easy!!).
2. Once artichokes have cooled, slice down the middle. Remove the chokes (hairy looking stuff) from the artichokes. Drizzle oil on inside and outside of artichoke halves. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
3. Place artichokes on grill over medium heat for 3-4 minutes a side.
I served these with Sun dried tomato Aioli which consisted of Sun dried tomato dip mix (read packages!!) and Nayonaise. The leftover Aioli also serves as a great sandwich spread (or so I am told by the writer).
Kosher salt to taste
freshly ground pepper to taste
2 tablespoons olive oil
1. Brush grill rack with vegetable oil. Heat grill for medium heat.
2. Sprinkle both sides of fish with salt and pepper. Brush oil on both sides.
3. Grill for 10 minutes on medium heat. Serve with a slice of lemon, if desired.
2 medium artichokes
1 tablespoon olive oil
Kosher salt to taste
Freshly ground pepper to taste
1. Trim prickly parts of leaves off using kitchen shearers. Place artichokes in an electric steamer for 35 minutes (if you don't have an electric steamer, I HIGHLY suggest getting one. They make cooking veggies easy!!).
2. Once artichokes have cooled, slice down the middle. Remove the chokes (hairy looking stuff) from the artichokes. Drizzle oil on inside and outside of artichoke halves. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
3. Place artichokes on grill over medium heat for 3-4 minutes a side.
I served these with Sun dried tomato Aioli which consisted of Sun dried tomato dip mix (read packages!!) and Nayonaise. The leftover Aioli also serves as a great sandwich spread (or so I am told by the writer).
Monday, 5 July 2010
Peanut Butter Cookies
3/4 cup organic cane sugar
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup unsalted Trader Joe's creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup soy margarine
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup soy milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1. Heat oven to 350.
2. In a medium bowl, mix flour, baking soda, salt, and baking powder.
3. In a large bowl, cream margarine and peanut butter with an electric mixer. Add sugars, blend. Add soy milk and vanilla extract, blend.
4. Gradually add in flour mixture keeping the electric mixer on medium.
5. Roll dough into 1 inch balls and place on an ungreased baking sheet evenly spaced out. Press each ball down with fork and repeat in the other direction to give crisscross pattern.
6. Bake 10-12 minutes.
Makes 32 cookies. 120 calories per cookie.
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup unsalted Trader Joe's creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup soy margarine
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup soy milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1. Heat oven to 350.
2. In a medium bowl, mix flour, baking soda, salt, and baking powder.
3. In a large bowl, cream margarine and peanut butter with an electric mixer. Add sugars, blend. Add soy milk and vanilla extract, blend.
4. Gradually add in flour mixture keeping the electric mixer on medium.
5. Roll dough into 1 inch balls and place on an ungreased baking sheet evenly spaced out. Press each ball down with fork and repeat in the other direction to give crisscross pattern.
6. Bake 10-12 minutes.
Makes 32 cookies. 120 calories per cookie.
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Tempeh Stir-Fry with Yogurt Peanut Sauce
For this one you will have to view a Betty book (p.509) as it was already vegetarian and I only made minor adjustments. For the peanut butter I used Trader Joe's organic unsalted, which is not processed like the "stuff" (I'll be polite) that is found in a jar of Jiffy. Also, where it calls for Vanilla yogurt I used O'Soy Vanilla. These two adjustments took the calorie count from 345 per serving to 253 per serving, but most importantly no processed "stuff."
As the writer stares at my sterile computer screen, I grab for the closet bottle of hard liquor: Glenlivet 12. That will do the trick.
Much like George Costanza's father in "Seinfeld," only a good bottle of scotch could help erase the post-traumatic stress from last night.
For those of you that are not "Seinfeld" fans, in an episode of the hit sitcom, it was revealed that Mr. Costanza used to cook for the troops during the Korean War. He was a good cook, a revered cook, and unfortunately, an overconfident cook. (Unlike my modest cook).
As the story goes, one day he received a shipment of meat that was past it's prime. Confident that he could make lemons into lemonade, he decided to keep the inferior product and to mask it's funk with a liberal dose of herbs and spices.
Thinking he found a cure, he proudly fed the stank to all his rank. But one by one, the men keeled over, sick to their stomach's, vomiting profusely, food exiting from every orifice. Over and over they fell, screaming his name in horror.
It was clearly a memory he had to that modern day not forgotten, and the only way to drown his guilt was to drown some scotch in the process.
It was post-traumatic stress reinvented, and not far from our experience last night with the little one. Tyler.
The cook, much like Mr. Costanza, confidently strided into my parent's house last night with a dutch oven (hehe) filled with Black Bean Soup and hand-made rolls.
The writer's parents were happy to receive her gift, but were preoccupied with the little lover. For all of my past angst, Tyler is actually a very well behaved baby.
Eat...poop...eat...burp...eat...sleep...poop...sleep...
It was pretty consistent and pretty controlled, but last night was our Korean War, and the opposition was Ty.
I could tell from the moment we walked in that something was different. A baby that from my experiences was very peaceful, seemed to be a little more fussy than past visitations.
After being fed a majority of his bottle, the cook, writer and parents sat for our feast, positioning Ty right next to me so he could feel inclusive and I could reach over and sway him at any sign of discomfort. Well, discomfort seemed more plentiful than the beans in our hearty soup.
After a difficult dinner, I decided to try to feed him the rest of his bottle. I awkwardly held the squirmy wormy in my hands, and pleasantly displayed the nipple to tip of his mouth, implying, "here Tyler, please decide if you would like this or not."
"No," my mom yelled. "Shove it in!"
The writer believed this game of shoving was not for him, but that timidness quickly faded.
No eating, but still crying, even after the reliable pick up, walk and a gentle sway. The only possibility left was a dirty diaper.
The cook carried her maternal instinct's toward Ty and checked for evidence.
"Yep, he pooped," she confirmed.
(Though after this night I am convinced if you utter, "he pooped" about a baby you would be right every other time. Nostradamus she is not.)
After a quick cleaning and changing, and many piercing cries and vicious haymakers, we decided to take Ty for a walk.
Once he was placed in his stroller, he stopped crying, and once he was pushed forward, and a cool breeze caressed his face, he was sleeping...like a baby.
After half-way through the walk, and after passing loud kids and curious dogs, Ty woke up and started to fuss.
"Waaaaaaaaa!" He screamed.
Pacifier was the only possible pacifier (hmm, such an appropriate name.)
Shove, not subtlety, and he was again quieted.
Suck, suck, suck, happy, happy, happy, and then he pulled it out of his mouth and continued his onslaught. Shove...suck...pull...cry. Not quite the eat...sleep...poop...sleep we had become accustomed.
Finally, after a final chorus of cries I could only imagine as impassioned as the finale to the Buble concert my sister was attending, we arrived back at his grandparents home.
And after another changing, and more prodding, the cook and the writer called it a night. Back to our home with our bookshelf, our Betty book, and our stocked liquor cabinet.
Which takes the writer to tonight. Sipping scotch, writing about my experiences, just as my therapist recommend. But I am hoping, unlike Mr. Constanza, who conquered his fear of cooking to only be traumatized again, that I will be able to take on Ty, and handle his quirks like the good uncle I am determined to be.
As the writer stares at my sterile computer screen, I grab for the closet bottle of hard liquor: Glenlivet 12. That will do the trick.
Much like George Costanza's father in "Seinfeld," only a good bottle of scotch could help erase the post-traumatic stress from last night.
For those of you that are not "Seinfeld" fans, in an episode of the hit sitcom, it was revealed that Mr. Costanza used to cook for the troops during the Korean War. He was a good cook, a revered cook, and unfortunately, an overconfident cook. (Unlike my modest cook).
As the story goes, one day he received a shipment of meat that was past it's prime. Confident that he could make lemons into lemonade, he decided to keep the inferior product and to mask it's funk with a liberal dose of herbs and spices.
Thinking he found a cure, he proudly fed the stank to all his rank. But one by one, the men keeled over, sick to their stomach's, vomiting profusely, food exiting from every orifice. Over and over they fell, screaming his name in horror.
It was clearly a memory he had to that modern day not forgotten, and the only way to drown his guilt was to drown some scotch in the process.
It was post-traumatic stress reinvented, and not far from our experience last night with the little one. Tyler.
The cook, much like Mr. Costanza, confidently strided into my parent's house last night with a dutch oven (hehe) filled with Black Bean Soup and hand-made rolls.
The writer's parents were happy to receive her gift, but were preoccupied with the little lover. For all of my past angst, Tyler is actually a very well behaved baby.
Eat...poop...eat...burp...eat...sleep...poop...sleep...
It was pretty consistent and pretty controlled, but last night was our Korean War, and the opposition was Ty.
I could tell from the moment we walked in that something was different. A baby that from my experiences was very peaceful, seemed to be a little more fussy than past visitations.
After being fed a majority of his bottle, the cook, writer and parents sat for our feast, positioning Ty right next to me so he could feel inclusive and I could reach over and sway him at any sign of discomfort. Well, discomfort seemed more plentiful than the beans in our hearty soup.
After a difficult dinner, I decided to try to feed him the rest of his bottle. I awkwardly held the squirmy wormy in my hands, and pleasantly displayed the nipple to tip of his mouth, implying, "here Tyler, please decide if you would like this or not."
"No," my mom yelled. "Shove it in!"
The writer believed this game of shoving was not for him, but that timidness quickly faded.
No eating, but still crying, even after the reliable pick up, walk and a gentle sway. The only possibility left was a dirty diaper.
The cook carried her maternal instinct's toward Ty and checked for evidence.
"Yep, he pooped," she confirmed.
(Though after this night I am convinced if you utter, "he pooped" about a baby you would be right every other time. Nostradamus she is not.)
After a quick cleaning and changing, and many piercing cries and vicious haymakers, we decided to take Ty for a walk.
Once he was placed in his stroller, he stopped crying, and once he was pushed forward, and a cool breeze caressed his face, he was sleeping...like a baby.
After half-way through the walk, and after passing loud kids and curious dogs, Ty woke up and started to fuss.
"Waaaaaaaaa!" He screamed.
Pacifier was the only possible pacifier (hmm, such an appropriate name.)
Shove, not subtlety, and he was again quieted.
Suck, suck, suck, happy, happy, happy, and then he pulled it out of his mouth and continued his onslaught. Shove...suck...pull...cry. Not quite the eat...sleep...poop...sleep we had become accustomed.
Finally, after a final chorus of cries I could only imagine as impassioned as the finale to the Buble concert my sister was attending, we arrived back at his grandparents home.
And after another changing, and more prodding, the cook and the writer called it a night. Back to our home with our bookshelf, our Betty book, and our stocked liquor cabinet.
Which takes the writer to tonight. Sipping scotch, writing about my experiences, just as my therapist recommend. But I am hoping, unlike Mr. Constanza, who conquered his fear of cooking to only be traumatized again, that I will be able to take on Ty, and handle his quirks like the good uncle I am determined to be.
Cuban Black Bean Soup
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 lb dried black beans, rinsed
4 strips Morningstar bacon, cooked and chopped in small pieces
1/2 cup chopped Lightlife Deli Slices Ham
3 cups low sodium vegetable broth
3 cups water
1/4 cup dark rum
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano leaves
1 medium green bell pepper, chopped
1 large tomato, chopped
Chopped cilantro to top
1. In a 4 qt Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat. Cook 1 cup chopped onion and garlic in oil about 4 minutes or until onion is tender.
2. Stir in remaining ingredients except the cilantro; heat to boiling. Boil about 2 minutes; reduce heat. Cover and simmer about 2 hours or until beans are tender.
3. Serve soup topped with cilantro.
8 servings. 193 calories per serving.
*served with whole wheat rolls made in previous Blog
1 large onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 lb dried black beans, rinsed
4 strips Morningstar bacon, cooked and chopped in small pieces
1/2 cup chopped Lightlife Deli Slices Ham
3 cups low sodium vegetable broth
3 cups water
1/4 cup dark rum
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano leaves
1 medium green bell pepper, chopped
1 large tomato, chopped
Chopped cilantro to top
1. In a 4 qt Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat. Cook 1 cup chopped onion and garlic in oil about 4 minutes or until onion is tender.
2. Stir in remaining ingredients except the cilantro; heat to boiling. Boil about 2 minutes; reduce heat. Cover and simmer about 2 hours or until beans are tender.
3. Serve soup topped with cilantro.
8 servings. 193 calories per serving.
*served with whole wheat rolls made in previous Blog
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