(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on March 18, 2010.)
There is a reason why there has not been a food blog in over two weeks. All I can eat is applesauce, won ton soup, and jello. Here's why.
I want a do-over. This all started with a toothache. Then it became a toothache in a tooth that developed a hole. And pain. Like my tooth was in labour or something.
Looking back, I should have gone with the extraction and spacer option. But nooooo... I let Dr. Frank, super dentist of the Northside, talked me into saving what is now, officially, the most valuable tooth in history. Way back in the day, Frank had to re-build the front part of this tooth because it randomly snapped off. Back then, I had to promise to name my first born Francis and sell an ovary to cover the bill. Apparently Mrs. Dr. Frank likes pretty things and likes going to fancy places and Big Frank has to find a way to pay for it all. This time around, Mrs. Dr. Frank will have to accept my uterus as payment. Feel free to make a lampshade crazy lady.
Personally, I think Frank set me up years ago when this whole tooth falling apart fiasco began. His assistant had a look around in my mouth and when he entered the room, he was pulling a cart that had "ROOT CANAL" written on it. Ya, I'm thinking Frank had a plan. Others tell me he has a very observant assistant who should actually be a dentist because she's so good at what she does but I live in my head, not theirs, and I think Frank has been biding his time, figuring out how much money he owes on the golf condo and now its my turn to make the next mortgage payment.
Speaking of money, in two visits Big Frank has maxed out the yearly allowance on my new dental insurance plan, which, by the way only started on March 01.
Of this year.
What started out as a root canal on a molar turned into three root canals on one molar and a cracked lingual something or other. I'm sure when Frank stepped out of the room, it was to call his banker to tell him he's got the balance of the outstanding mortgage on his condo in Phoenix sitting in his chair.
At the one hour mark, Big Frank was kind enough to give me a bit of a break. I was a hawt mess. By this time he had given me four huge horse needles full of freezing, my right eye and ear were frozen, I was sweating like a pig being prepared for a luau, and I had to pee. Badly. I think he sensed it. Maybe that saying about back teeth floating is true. Or maybe it was because I started waving my hands about and pointing *down there*. I’m not proud of that but what the hell else was I going to do? I could not talk, I had drills and other dental apparati (it’s a new word, learn it, use it, never abuse it) hanging out of my mouth. Pissing myself in public while completely sober and having dental work done is not an option for me. Sometimes we have to choke on our princess pride and point at our lady bits to get what we want.
I was enjoying the break from rubber dam induced lock jaw until I looked in the mirror over the sink while doing the obligatory post pee hand wash. At first I thought I looked like a stroke victim. Then I looked inside my mouth. I almost passed out. I would tell you why but it is too icky for even me to repeat. Google a root canal video, you’ll see.
It wasn’t all diabolically shitty. The good news is, I found out that there is a part of me that is genuinely skinny. Yeaaaah!!!! *Jumpy claps* Bad news is it’s the roots on this pain in my everywhere molar.
I have been patched and temporarily filled. Again. On March 29th there’s gonna be a rumble in the jungle ya’ll and my crack is gonna get drilled and filled. Again. It will be part three of this nightmare. Rumor has it there is a crown in my future too. And not the diamond studded type a princess wears on her head.
I think Frank wants to bank rupt me.
Oh, did I happen to mention Francis just got back from the jungles of Peru? Uh huh. I rather suspect that the Visa I will be using to pay for my next visit to Frank’s Root Canal and Weight Loss Clinic (his name for it, not mine) will be paying for the bills he racked up while away. This is why I don’t feel bad that he got bit on the ass by a bed full of Peruvian ants. I know it makes me a bad Buddhist to derive a large amount of sick pleasure from his suffering, but hey, Karma is a bitch and sometimes I am too.
PS: Darling Frank, bringer of pain and misery, in answer to your question, it is me who is taking all the free mini lip balms. After coming to see you for almost 22 years and promising to come back after this fiasco, it is the least you can do for me and my hole and crack. Charlotte, your office goddess, said I need it. And we both know she's the really the one running the show.
At least she doesn't charge me when she's lubing up my lips and sending me on my way. Oh yes, she’s hot like that.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Armageddon Is On The Way And She's Wearing A Pencil Skirt
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on June 06, 2010. Reposting this particular blog was inspired by the lovely Brittany and her amazing and honest sense of self. Good or bad. And that's where I'm at too. I struggle daily but this is who I am and if you can't accept that, go hang with that bitch Maura.)
Clearly, I have lost my mind.
I'm not a tomboy but I'm not particularly girly either and I have lived in a skirt free world for 99% of my life.
The last time I wore a skirt was in high school, circa 1985, complete with black leggings. A friend gave the skirt to me but another girl accused me of stealing it from her and the drama that lasted for about three months scarred me for life. Or most of it. Prior to that, the last time may have been elementary school graduation.
Skirts are not my friend. They are not cankle friendly and when you have legs on you like tree trunks that are being shaped into legs for a piano, skirts are the enemy. Especially mini skirts, which have ruled the world for most of my life. Couple that with my fear of falling flat on my arse, legs up in the air, and skirt around my hips and you have my skirt free world. I’m a total klutz and shit happens all the time, including this weekend when I stubbed/broke my baby toe on my right foot, bending over to pick up a water bottle. Ya, it's like that.
Dresses have done better in my adult world… last year’s corporate Christmas party, weddings, and my college graduation. Prior to that, the last time I had worn a dress when I was seven.
To receive first communion.
Oh ya kids, I used to be Catholic. I know.
I had a wedding to go to in May. A skirt whispered to me in the store when I was shopping for something to wear to the wedding. I took it home with me.
Yes, I paid for it first.
I went shopping the next day at lunch. Three skirts whispered at me but only one was lucky enough to come home with me.
I went shopping last week with Sue... again a skirt was in the mix.
I've been wearing them too. In public. Bare legs, cankles, and all. I know! I figure, to hell with it. This is the body I live in, these are my legs and ankles and if you don't like it, well quite frankly I don't care. No really, I do not care. I'm entirely altogether over what the world thinks of my less than perfect body. Look, don't look, mock, don't mock. Whatev's.
This is me, this is who I am, this is me in a skirt.
Ya, I’m pretty sure that the world is going to cave in on itself.
MENU
Cheese On The Outside Calzone
Broccoli Raisin Salad
Fruit Parfait Two Ways
CHEESE ON THE OUTSIDE CALZONE
Serves four.
(I use a pre-made pizza crust for this recipe to reduce the prep time.)
Ingredients:
1 – Pillsbury pizza crust
¼ c. pizza sauce
4 oz. chicken breast, cooked and diced
¼ c. green pepper, diced
¼ c. onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
12 kalamata olives, pitted and sliced
½ c. fresh mushrooms, stems removed, sliced
1/8 tsp each dried oregano, basil, and thyme
1 c. shredded cheese of your choice (try Kraft’s Four Cheese Italiano Shredded Cheese or Kraft’s Tex Mex blend… or ½ cup of each combined)
1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
Method:
-cook chicken breast and set aside
-when chicken is cool to the touch, dice into cubes
-preheat oven to 400
-on a greased cookie sheet (I use Pam’s olive oil spray), roll out pizza crust
-spread pizza sauce over crust leaving about 2 inches around the edges bare
-in a bowl, combine chicken breast, peppers, onion, garlic, olives, mushrooms and spices
-spread mixture onto the middle of the pizza crust like a log, leaving 2 inches between the log and the end of the crust (see the pic below that I totally ripped off the Internet, showing you the basic idea... I was too rushy rush rush to take a pic while I was in the middle of cooking)
Serves four as a side dish.
Clearly, I have lost my mind.
I'm not a tomboy but I'm not particularly girly either and I have lived in a skirt free world for 99% of my life.
The last time I wore a skirt was in high school, circa 1985, complete with black leggings. A friend gave the skirt to me but another girl accused me of stealing it from her and the drama that lasted for about three months scarred me for life. Or most of it. Prior to that, the last time may have been elementary school graduation.
Skirts are not my friend. They are not cankle friendly and when you have legs on you like tree trunks that are being shaped into legs for a piano, skirts are the enemy. Especially mini skirts, which have ruled the world for most of my life. Couple that with my fear of falling flat on my arse, legs up in the air, and skirt around my hips and you have my skirt free world. I’m a total klutz and shit happens all the time, including this weekend when I stubbed/broke my baby toe on my right foot, bending over to pick up a water bottle. Ya, it's like that.
Dresses have done better in my adult world… last year’s corporate Christmas party, weddings, and my college graduation. Prior to that, the last time I had worn a dress when I was seven.
To receive first communion.
Oh ya kids, I used to be Catholic. I know.
I had a wedding to go to in May. A skirt whispered to me in the store when I was shopping for something to wear to the wedding. I took it home with me.
Yes, I paid for it first.
I went shopping the next day at lunch. Three skirts whispered at me but only one was lucky enough to come home with me.
I went shopping last week with Sue... again a skirt was in the mix.
I've been wearing them too. In public. Bare legs, cankles, and all. I know! I figure, to hell with it. This is the body I live in, these are my legs and ankles and if you don't like it, well quite frankly I don't care. No really, I do not care. I'm entirely altogether over what the world thinks of my less than perfect body. Look, don't look, mock, don't mock. Whatev's.
This is me, this is who I am, this is me in a skirt.
Ya, I’m pretty sure that the world is going to cave in on itself.
MENU
Cheese On The Outside Calzone
Broccoli Raisin Salad
Fruit Parfait Two Ways
CHEESE ON THE OUTSIDE CALZONE
Serves four.
(I use a pre-made pizza crust for this recipe to reduce the prep time.)
Ingredients:
1 – Pillsbury pizza crust
¼ c. pizza sauce
4 oz. chicken breast, cooked and diced
¼ c. green pepper, diced
¼ c. onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
12 kalamata olives, pitted and sliced
½ c. fresh mushrooms, stems removed, sliced
1/8 tsp each dried oregano, basil, and thyme
1 c. shredded cheese of your choice (try Kraft’s Four Cheese Italiano Shredded Cheese or Kraft’s Tex Mex blend… or ½ cup of each combined)
1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
Method:
-cook chicken breast and set aside
-when chicken is cool to the touch, dice into cubes
-preheat oven to 400
-on a greased cookie sheet (I use Pam’s olive oil spray), roll out pizza crust
-spread pizza sauce over crust leaving about 2 inches around the edges bare
-in a bowl, combine chicken breast, peppers, onion, garlic, olives, mushrooms and spices
-spread mixture onto the middle of the pizza crust like a log, leaving 2 inches between the log and the end of the crust (see the pic below that I totally ripped off the Internet, showing you the basic idea... I was too rushy rush rush to take a pic while I was in the middle of cooking)
-if you prefer the cheese inside the calzone, sprinkle it on top of the mixture now
-flip bottom part of crust over the filling until the bottom edge is even with the top edge of the crust
-pinch edges forming a half moon shape (again, another pic that I stole from the net to show you what I'm blathering away about)
-using a knife cut four small slits in the top of the calzone
-brush with olive oil
-put in the oven for 15minutes
-remove from oven and sprinkle with cheese if you have not already
-return to oven until cheese is browned and bubbling
-remove from oven and slice into four sections; serve while hot
BROCCOLI RAISIN SALAD
Salad Ingredients:
1 ½ c. broccoli florets
¾ c. sunflower seeds, shelled
1 c. golden raisins
½ medium red onion, diced
1 c. shredded marbled cheese
Dressing Ingredients:
1 c. Kraft Fat Free Miracle Whip
3 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
¼ c. sugar
Method:
-mix together broccoli, sunflower seeds, raisins, and red onion and set aside
-prepare dressing and pour on salad to coat as desired
-sprinkle with shredded cheese and serve
Click here for printable recipe.
FRUIT PARFAIT TWO WAYS
Banana Cream Parfait (Serves Two):
Ingredients:
1 package Jello Cook and Serve banana cream pudding mix
3 c. milk
1 c. strawberries, sliced
1 c.blackberries
Method:
-prepare pudding as per manufacturer’s directions
-set aside in fridge for one hour to cool
-when pudding is cooled, put in a parfait glass layering strawberries then pudding and then blackberries
-alternate until glass is almost full and top with fresh fruit
Pistachio Parfait (Serves Two):
Ingredients:
1 package Jello pistachio instant pudding mix
2 c. milk
1 c. strawberries, sliced
1 c. blackberries
Method:
-prepare pudding as per manufacturer’s directions
-set aside in fridge for one hour to cool
-when pudding is cooled, put in a parfait glass layering strawberries then blackberries then pudding
-alternate until glass is almost full and top with fresh fruit
Click here for printable recipe.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Why I'm My Age And Not Married
I get it so you can stop spewing the drivel now.
You think I am broken.
I am. In a lot of ways. But not in the ways you were talking about.
I understand that you think that, by no later than the age of 33, a woman should be married, have at least two kids, be a card carrying member of the minivan majority, have a mortgage, and a cabin at a local lake. Because that's how they did it in 1910, as you so eloquently put it.
I understand that you think I fucked up.
In my defense, what do you really know about me? Never, not once, not ever have you asked me why I'm not married. No. You just froth at the mouth and wax poetic about your kids and what they have accomplished. We will get back to them in a bit.
What I really want to know is when was I suddenly required to live by and up to your socially conditioned pompous ideals of what a woman should be and do? Perhaps I didn't get the email/memo/smoke signals or whatever it was they were using back in your day.
Well here is my memo to you...
I want to be married and have a family. You can keep your minivan and cabin by the lake as, while those things may be desirable for some, I have no desire to live like a stepfordized soccer mom who has been fully lobotomized and is currently living a life that can only be described as vanilla. Or beige. This means I will not be settling for the first man who puts his hand between my legs and pretends to get me off, and it certainly means I will not be settling for whatever it is you believe is an "ideal choice."
I am well aware of the fact that I wasted a fair amount of my prime on a man who I was not meant to be with. I loved him even though he was deeply troubled and stood by him, like a wife stands by a husband, hoping we could both find a way for him to get himself together. That is what you do when you are already married in your hearts -- stick it out through good times and bad. No one wanted that relationship to work more than I did. But it did not work out and when it ended it was like being divorced, or widowed if you want to really know how it felt. Not all of us get the fairytale ending.
I understand that you think I need to "find a man" and "settle down" and "stop being so goddamn fussy." You know what? Fuck. You. Being fussy has prevented me from ending up as a statistic; divorced, beaten, raped, single mother -- pick your poison. And after you are done fucking right off, tell me how many years were you truly happy after you "settled"? The way you tell it, the way we all hear it, the shine was well worn off before you were even married. Yes, I totally want that kind of misery in my life. Because my life has not been difficult enough or painful enough. Personally, I would rather be on my own than be with a cheating jackass. You know, like the one you "settled down with."
You should know the biggest reason why I am not married is because I take the whole idea of marriage and being married seriously. Divorces and pre-nups are not an option in my world. I take those vows, those promises, seriously. It is my opinion that most people getting married today do not take the marriage they are about to enter into seriously enough and those people really should not be getting married if they have some kind of exit strategy in place before they even make it to the altar.
I know that because I never had that piece of paper you think I have no idea what it is like to be married, but in my own way I do. And I know what it feels like to be a widow, just like you. I will not be making the same mistake again and I certainly will not be taking your advise and "settling." I want it to be for the right reasons and I'm willing to wait.
I have too much respect for myself to simply settle.
PS: While you prattle on about how amazing your children are, please don't forget that neither one of them are legally married. In domestic type relationships, yes, but not married. And if we were still back in 1910 like you and your ideologies are, being shacked up is much worse than being an old maid. Just saying.
You think I am broken.
I am. In a lot of ways. But not in the ways you were talking about.
I understand that you think that, by no later than the age of 33, a woman should be married, have at least two kids, be a card carrying member of the minivan majority, have a mortgage, and a cabin at a local lake. Because that's how they did it in 1910, as you so eloquently put it.
I understand that you think I fucked up.
In my defense, what do you really know about me? Never, not once, not ever have you asked me why I'm not married. No. You just froth at the mouth and wax poetic about your kids and what they have accomplished. We will get back to them in a bit.
What I really want to know is when was I suddenly required to live by and up to your socially conditioned pompous ideals of what a woman should be and do? Perhaps I didn't get the email/memo/smoke signals or whatever it was they were using back in your day.
Well here is my memo to you...
I want to be married and have a family. You can keep your minivan and cabin by the lake as, while those things may be desirable for some, I have no desire to live like a stepfordized soccer mom who has been fully lobotomized and is currently living a life that can only be described as vanilla. Or beige. This means I will not be settling for the first man who puts his hand between my legs and pretends to get me off, and it certainly means I will not be settling for whatever it is you believe is an "ideal choice."
I am well aware of the fact that I wasted a fair amount of my prime on a man who I was not meant to be with. I loved him even though he was deeply troubled and stood by him, like a wife stands by a husband, hoping we could both find a way for him to get himself together. That is what you do when you are already married in your hearts -- stick it out through good times and bad. No one wanted that relationship to work more than I did. But it did not work out and when it ended it was like being divorced, or widowed if you want to really know how it felt. Not all of us get the fairytale ending.
I understand that you think I need to "find a man" and "settle down" and "stop being so goddamn fussy." You know what? Fuck. You. Being fussy has prevented me from ending up as a statistic; divorced, beaten, raped, single mother -- pick your poison. And after you are done fucking right off, tell me how many years were you truly happy after you "settled"? The way you tell it, the way we all hear it, the shine was well worn off before you were even married. Yes, I totally want that kind of misery in my life. Because my life has not been difficult enough or painful enough. Personally, I would rather be on my own than be with a cheating jackass. You know, like the one you "settled down with."
You should know the biggest reason why I am not married is because I take the whole idea of marriage and being married seriously. Divorces and pre-nups are not an option in my world. I take those vows, those promises, seriously. It is my opinion that most people getting married today do not take the marriage they are about to enter into seriously enough and those people really should not be getting married if they have some kind of exit strategy in place before they even make it to the altar.
I know that because I never had that piece of paper you think I have no idea what it is like to be married, but in my own way I do. And I know what it feels like to be a widow, just like you. I will not be making the same mistake again and I certainly will not be taking your advise and "settling." I want it to be for the right reasons and I'm willing to wait.
I have too much respect for myself to simply settle.
PS: While you prattle on about how amazing your children are, please don't forget that neither one of them are legally married. In domestic type relationships, yes, but not married. And if we were still back in 1910 like you and your ideologies are, being shacked up is much worse than being an old maid. Just saying.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wordless Wednesday: An Introduction
There are a few blogs that I follow that do this thing called "Wordless Wednesday" where they post images that leave them either without words or require no words.
I'm totally hijacking this idea and replacing it for The Weekly Whaaaaa.
Just as soon as Blogger allows me to add images. Because I, in my infinite wisdom, chose the day and time that they are doing maintenance to make this addition to my blog.
Mensa Institute, riiiiight here.
And yes, I'm aware I used words on Wordless Wednesday.
I'm totally hijacking this idea and replacing it for The Weekly Whaaaaa.
Just as soon as Blogger allows me to add images. Because I, in my infinite wisdom, chose the day and time that they are doing maintenance to make this addition to my blog.
Mensa Institute, riiiiight here.
And yes, I'm aware I used words on Wordless Wednesday.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
You Have Hate Mail
I have arrived in the blog sphere. I finally received my first bit of hate mail.
FINALLY!
Oh ya, jumpy claps everyone!
99.9999% of you have been kind and gracious in the emails you have sent. OK, a few of you have criticized the grammar but here's the thing about that... this isn't Shakespeare nor have I ever claimed it is. Its a one-sided conversation (unless you email me) and certainly not the syntax or grammar I use in the other two projects I'm working on.
That other fraction of a percentage, the haterade percentage, solely belongs to "Julia Taylor" of Digeus, Inc. fame. I'm pretty sure Julia is actually a Julius. A sweaty, bearded Julius who's fingers are orange from eating Cheetos. I'll bet Julius' breath smells of Dr. Pepper and cigars. But not the cool Cuban cigars. No, no. Nay, nay. I'm talking those girly raspberry flavoured cigarillos.
I could be wrong. It happens.
The following is what transgressed between "Julia Taylor" and I. "She" still hasn't got back to me on arranging a play date. Am. Crushed. (Click to enlarge. When the picture appears, click again to enlarge, read, giggle, enjoy!)
By the way, the sketchy handwriting is mine. I couldn't help being a smart ass. It is my nature.
FINALLY!
Oh ya, jumpy claps everyone!
99.9999% of you have been kind and gracious in the emails you have sent. OK, a few of you have criticized the grammar but here's the thing about that... this isn't Shakespeare nor have I ever claimed it is. Its a one-sided conversation (unless you email me) and certainly not the syntax or grammar I use in the other two projects I'm working on.
That other fraction of a percentage, the haterade percentage, solely belongs to "Julia Taylor" of Digeus, Inc. fame. I'm pretty sure Julia is actually a Julius. A sweaty, bearded Julius who's fingers are orange from eating Cheetos. I'll bet Julius' breath smells of Dr. Pepper and cigars. But not the cool Cuban cigars. No, no. Nay, nay. I'm talking those girly raspberry flavoured cigarillos.
I could be wrong. It happens.
The following is what transgressed between "Julia Taylor" and I. "She" still hasn't got back to me on arranging a play date. Am. Crushed. (Click to enlarge. When the picture appears, click again to enlarge, read, giggle, enjoy!)
By the way, the sketchy handwriting is mine. I couldn't help being a smart ass. It is my nature.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
I've Got Sunshine On A Cloudy Day
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on May 30, 2010)
Lately, there have been a lot of cloudy days. Cloudy health days, cloudy family days, cloudy friend days, cloudy job that I can barely muster up the energy to go to days, and cloudy shitty boy days. What's more troubling are the cloudy I don't want to read or write or do anything remotely creative days.
This does not compute.
What the hell is this block about? What is this indecision and reluctance stuff?
What would Tom Jones do?
What's new pussycat? Whoooooaaaaaaaa-ooooo-ooo...
... brown hair that might be a big ol' bag of nooooooooo....
... pretty red shoes that make all the kids jealous (Note the Denver Hayes tags. I really really did get them from Mark's)....
... after seventeen years, these two finally did the paperwork...
... and these two got all princessy for the special day....
... le sigh...
... this weekend, it snowed....
May 30th and it is snowing.
At this point, I do not even know where to direct my complaints. It is at least our second snow "event" (when did weather become an event??) this month and quite frankly speaking, I was over it before it began. Snow, people. Mutha effin' snow.
The tropics aren't even an option anymore. No. They have become all earthquakey and typhoonie and other weather that wants to make you dead.
You have to know its bad out there when my nieces look out the window with a degree of disgust reserved for when they have to scrape dog poo off their sandals.
"Auntie, this is what you mean when you say something sucks a big bag of bo-bo, right"
Actually, Auntie thinks it sucks a bag of dicks.
"That's right sweetie, a big bag of bo-bo. Want some breakfast?"
SUNNY BREAKFAST FOR THREE
Coffee (for Auntie's only)
Mango Papaya Smoothie
Sun Drop Bagels
COFFEE
Brew it. Mainline it. Purrrrrrrrr.
Disclaimer: I do not receive money or gifts from whateverittakes.org and this picture in no way a promotion. I just really dig the architecture of the cup and what is in it. However, should you be interested in an artwork campaign by public figures from the likes of Ronnie Wood (who designed this particular coffee mug) to Georgio Armani to Desmond Tutu to Renzo Piano, that raises money and awareness for charities all over the world, go here. Click on "Artwork & Product Gallery" to see some really interesting original pieces of art created to raise cash money for causes that help out those who can't always help themselves.
MANGO PAPAYA SMOOTHIE
Serves three.
(You will need a Magic Bullet with a blender attachment for this recipe. A food processor will work as well.)
Ingredients:
1 c. milk (I've used Dairyland Plus 1% Lactose Free Milk cos I like the smoothies but the milk doesn't like me)
1/2 c. Activia vanilla yogurt
1/2 c. frozen mango
1 c. frozen papaya
Method:
-pour the milk and yogurt in the blender and give it a quick blend on the bullet
-add frozen fruit one cube at a time as this will make it easier for the bullet to blend your smoothie
-blend to desired consistency
-pour in cups, add a straw or spoon, get lost in the yummy goodness
SUN DROP BAGELS
(Serves 3)
Ingredients:
3 - 100% whole wheat or whole grain bagels (I've used Dempster's Body Wise 100% Whole Grain bagels... half the calories, all the yum yum)
3 tsp. Philadelphia Low Fat Cream Cheese (95% fat free, we likey)
3 oz. marbled cheddar cheese
Method:
-slice the bagels and toast lightly
-spread one teaspoon (very thinly) on each bagel
-tear the marbled cheddar into bits
-top each bagel with an ounce of the cheddar cheese
-put the bagels on a plate and place in the microwave to melt the cheese
-set your timer for 20 seconds and turn on your microwave
-depending on the strength of your microwave, you may wish to continue melting the cheese; melt in 10 second intervals so you don't scorch the cheese and turn the bagel into a whole wheat piece of rubber
Lately, there have been a lot of cloudy days. Cloudy health days, cloudy family days, cloudy friend days, cloudy job that I can barely muster up the energy to go to days, and cloudy shitty boy days. What's more troubling are the cloudy I don't want to read or write or do anything remotely creative days.
This does not compute.
What the hell is this block about? What is this indecision and reluctance stuff?
What would Tom Jones do?
What's new pussycat? Whoooooaaaaaaaa-ooooo-ooo...
... brown hair that might be a big ol' bag of nooooooooo....
... pretty red shoes that make all the kids jealous (Note the Denver Hayes tags. I really really did get them from Mark's)....
... after seventeen years, these two finally did the paperwork...
... and these two got all princessy for the special day....
... le sigh...
... this weekend, it snowed....
May 30th and it is snowing.
At this point, I do not even know where to direct my complaints. It is at least our second snow "event" (when did weather become an event??) this month and quite frankly speaking, I was over it before it began. Snow, people. Mutha effin' snow.
The tropics aren't even an option anymore. No. They have become all earthquakey and typhoonie and other weather that wants to make you dead.
You have to know its bad out there when my nieces look out the window with a degree of disgust reserved for when they have to scrape dog poo off their sandals.
"Auntie, this is what you mean when you say something sucks a big bag of bo-bo, right"
Actually, Auntie thinks it sucks a bag of dicks.
"That's right sweetie, a big bag of bo-bo. Want some breakfast?"
SUNNY BREAKFAST FOR THREE
Coffee (for Auntie's only)
Mango Papaya Smoothie
Sun Drop Bagels
COFFEE
Disclaimer: I do not receive money or gifts from whateverittakes.org and this picture in no way a promotion. I just really dig the architecture of the cup and what is in it. However, should you be interested in an artwork campaign by public figures from the likes of Ronnie Wood (who designed this particular coffee mug) to Georgio Armani to Desmond Tutu to Renzo Piano, that raises money and awareness for charities all over the world, go here. Click on "Artwork & Product Gallery" to see some really interesting original pieces of art created to raise cash money for causes that help out those who can't always help themselves.
MANGO PAPAYA SMOOTHIE
(You will need a Magic Bullet with a blender attachment for this recipe. A food processor will work as well.)
Ingredients:
1 c. milk (I've used Dairyland Plus 1% Lactose Free Milk cos I like the smoothies but the milk doesn't like me)
1/2 c. Activia vanilla yogurt
1/2 c. frozen mango
1 c. frozen papaya
Method:
-pour the milk and yogurt in the blender and give it a quick blend on the bullet
-add frozen fruit one cube at a time as this will make it easier for the bullet to blend your smoothie
-blend to desired consistency
-pour in cups, add a straw or spoon, get lost in the yummy goodness
SUN DROP BAGELS
(Serves 3)
Ingredients:
3 - 100% whole wheat or whole grain bagels (I've used Dempster's Body Wise 100% Whole Grain bagels... half the calories, all the yum yum)
3 tsp. Philadelphia Low Fat Cream Cheese (95% fat free, we likey)
3 oz. marbled cheddar cheese
Method:
-slice the bagels and toast lightly
-spread one teaspoon (very thinly) on each bagel
-tear the marbled cheddar into bits
-top each bagel with an ounce of the cheddar cheese
-put the bagels on a plate and place in the microwave to melt the cheese
-set your timer for 20 seconds and turn on your microwave
-depending on the strength of your microwave, you may wish to continue melting the cheese; melt in 10 second intervals so you don't scorch the cheese and turn the bagel into a whole wheat piece of rubber
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Portabello Mushroom Pizzas
I am a huge fan of the portabello mushroom. Huge. I would eat them with every meal if I could and never get bored of them. Sliced and sauteed in a bit of lemon juice, oyster sauce, and soy sauce... you now have a side for just about any protein you serve.
Later today I'm going to gorge myself on Thanksgiving turkey dinner, so a light lunch is in order. Portabello pizzas are perfect for such an occasion.
For all of you who live in Canada, Happy Thanksgiving! Gobble Gobble!
PORTABELLO MUSHROOM PIZZAS
Makes two pizzas.
Ingredients:
2 medium to large sized portabello mushroom caps, stem removed
1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1/4 c. pizza sauce
2 spring onions, diced
1/4 cheese of choice, grated (I use either skim mozzarella or Kraft's Four Cheese Italiano), divided in half
Method:
-preheat oven to 350 degrees
-wash mushroom caps and pat dry; leave to dry gills side down for about 10 minutes
-after the mushrooms have dried, lightly brush the cap side of the mushroom with olive oil and put cap side down in a baking dish
-bake for 15 minutes
-remove the mushroom caps from the oven and pat dry with paper towel if there is excess moisture in the gills (super important or your pizza with be soupy)
-put two teaspoons of pizza sauce in each cap
-top with onions (and any other toppings you desire)
-top each mushroom with cheese
-return to the oven for five minutes
-after five minutes, turn the oven temperature to broil and broil until the cheese has melted to your liking
Later today I'm going to gorge myself on Thanksgiving turkey dinner, so a light lunch is in order. Portabello pizzas are perfect for such an occasion.
For all of you who live in Canada, Happy Thanksgiving! Gobble Gobble!
PORTABELLO MUSHROOM PIZZAS
Makes two pizzas.
Ingredients:
2 medium to large sized portabello mushroom caps, stem removed
1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1/4 c. pizza sauce
2 spring onions, diced
1/4 cheese of choice, grated (I use either skim mozzarella or Kraft's Four Cheese Italiano), divided in half
Method:
-preheat oven to 350 degrees
-wash mushroom caps and pat dry; leave to dry gills side down for about 10 minutes
-after the mushrooms have dried, lightly brush the cap side of the mushroom with olive oil and put cap side down in a baking dish
-bake for 15 minutes
-remove the mushroom caps from the oven and pat dry with paper towel if there is excess moisture in the gills (super important or your pizza with be soupy)
-put two teaspoons of pizza sauce in each cap
-top with onions (and any other toppings you desire)
-top each mushroom with cheese
-return to the oven for five minutes
-after five minutes, turn the oven temperature to broil and broil until the cheese has melted to your liking
Friday, October 8, 2010
I Always Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me
I know you're watching from afar. I suspected you might be. Or that you would at least pop in for a look. Or eight. Don't ask how I know, just understand that I do.
It's cool with me.
The way you left things isn't.
After all that happened, I really do deserve some kind of explanation. Don't forget, above all things, we were best friends. I was there for you even when you believed no one was.
I know you have your reasons. I understand I may never fully understand those reasons. Why not give me the benefit of the doubt and at least try to explain?
This silence, it smacks of cowardice. I don't want to think that about you. You're so much better than that.
I'll be honest -- it sucks that you would rather cause me misery, would rather have me believe you are dead, than tell me the truth. I can handle the truth. On many occasions it has been served up to me in large doses that would destroy most people.
I can handle the truth.
Question is, do you have the fortitude to say it?
I dare you to prove me wrong.
Oh ya, I went there.
It's cool with me.
The way you left things isn't.
After all that happened, I really do deserve some kind of explanation. Don't forget, above all things, we were best friends. I was there for you even when you believed no one was.
I know you have your reasons. I understand I may never fully understand those reasons. Why not give me the benefit of the doubt and at least try to explain?
This silence, it smacks of cowardice. I don't want to think that about you. You're so much better than that.
I'll be honest -- it sucks that you would rather cause me misery, would rather have me believe you are dead, than tell me the truth. I can handle the truth. On many occasions it has been served up to me in large doses that would destroy most people.
I can handle the truth.
Question is, do you have the fortitude to say it?
I dare you to prove me wrong.
Oh ya, I went there.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Head Meets Desk Multiple Times Moment #1287503
Soooo let me get this straight, this dood in Florida gets pulled over, the cops find coke stuffed in his ass and he has the audacity to say it wasn't his?
Really really.
I understand that at some point he admits the powder is his but what plane of reality do you have to be on to say (and seriously expect people to believe) that bags of coke currently residing in your poop shoot don't belong to you? How high do you have to be to get to that plane of reality? Clearly this dood is actively engaged in quality control and his shit is goooood. Or magic Colombian faeries had their way with his anus.
No, it could totally happen. We would all have to be high on LSD and having a *mushroom* burger for lunch, chasing it with heroin vitamin water, but it could totally happen.
Back in The Day, I may have had a problem or two with the cops. Allegedly. At least that story Kells and I told the cops was vaguely believable. Our Oscars haven't arrived yet, but we were so on that night.
Allegedly.
Here is the truth, all of which can be substantiated by at least two other people. It was my last night in town. I had been drinkingall the vodka in two bars a few cocktails. We were on the way to drop my drunk ass off at my uncle's. The driver of the vehicle did realize, in a rare moment of clarity, that when you finally admit you suck ass at driving a standard and want to switch drivers, you cannot pull into the outside lane of the road without signaling and stop a car in the middle of an intersection, especially when the light is green and a police car is part of on coming traffic. The driver also realized she would have been better suited to make a quick right hand turn, pull the car over and turn on the hazard lights so the switch could be made. And finally, yes, we all realized we were incredibly lucky to have left the particular bar we had been at, narrowly missing a biker stabbing a dope fiend to death.
Its Prince George on a Saturday night... that's how they roll.
What may or may not have been true was that the driver of the car was test driving the car. At 3:30 am on a Saturday/Sunday. Because it may or may not have been for sale. At 3:30 am. And that the driver was sober enough to do so. No, I'm not proud of that so eff off. I know its bad to drive with drunks. If its any consolation, I was already shitting myself before the cops pulled us over.
What also may or may not have been true is that Kells was sober enough to drive the rest of the way. And was asking 6K for a car she wants to be buried in. Allegedly. You can also chose to believe or discount that I was sitting in the back of a sports car, with my head stuck out the driver's window, chatting away, telling the cop (did I mention the cop was female? And RCMP? I know. Hiiiissssssssssss) how drunk I was (lots of heavy vodka breaths as to distract and distort... allegedly), and sad it was my last night in town but how super stoked I was that I didn't get dead in the parking lot cos it would suck ass if I got dead by a biker. Or a dope fiend. Or something like that. Its a bit fuzzy around the edges.
The truest part of the whole story is that Kells got a phone call from the lady cop on Monday, wondering if the car was still for sale because she was interested in taking it for a test drive but was a bit concerned that it was a standard and she, the lady cop, was pretty rusty driving a standard. And would Kells be willing to negotiate the price. Uh huh. For really.
So now, I really do understand that desperate people do desperate things. That being said, if you have something like coke stuffed up the crack of your ass, its possession honey. Actually, if you have anything stuffed up your ass, you're possessing it.
Nothing alleged can get you out of that.
Really really.
I understand that at some point he admits the powder is his but what plane of reality do you have to be on to say (and seriously expect people to believe) that bags of coke currently residing in your poop shoot don't belong to you? How high do you have to be to get to that plane of reality? Clearly this dood is actively engaged in quality control and his shit is goooood. Or magic Colombian faeries had their way with his anus.
No, it could totally happen. We would all have to be high on LSD and having a *mushroom* burger for lunch, chasing it with heroin vitamin water, but it could totally happen.
Back in The Day, I may have had a problem or two with the cops. Allegedly. At least that story Kells and I told the cops was vaguely believable. Our Oscars haven't arrived yet, but we were so on that night.
Allegedly.
Here is the truth, all of which can be substantiated by at least two other people. It was my last night in town. I had been drinking
Its Prince George on a Saturday night... that's how they roll.
What may or may not have been true was that the driver of the car was test driving the car. At 3:30 am on a Saturday/Sunday. Because it may or may not have been for sale. At 3:30 am. And that the driver was sober enough to do so. No, I'm not proud of that so eff off. I know its bad to drive with drunks. If its any consolation, I was already shitting myself before the cops pulled us over.
What also may or may not have been true is that Kells was sober enough to drive the rest of the way. And was asking 6K for a car she wants to be buried in. Allegedly. You can also chose to believe or discount that I was sitting in the back of a sports car, with my head stuck out the driver's window, chatting away, telling the cop (did I mention the cop was female? And RCMP? I know. Hiiiissssssssssss) how drunk I was (lots of heavy vodka breaths as to distract and distort... allegedly), and sad it was my last night in town but how super stoked I was that I didn't get dead in the parking lot cos it would suck ass if I got dead by a biker. Or a dope fiend. Or something like that. Its a bit fuzzy around the edges.
The truest part of the whole story is that Kells got a phone call from the lady cop on Monday, wondering if the car was still for sale because she was interested in taking it for a test drive but was a bit concerned that it was a standard and she, the lady cop, was pretty rusty driving a standard. And would Kells be willing to negotiate the price. Uh huh. For really.
So now, I really do understand that desperate people do desperate things. That being said, if you have something like coke stuffed up the crack of your ass, its possession honey. Actually, if you have anything stuffed up your ass, you're possessing it.
Nothing alleged can get you out of that.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
You've Got To Be Happy About Your Mutha Fecking Life
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on June 13, 2010)
"If you are not the shit to you, you are not the shit to anyfuckingbody else." -- Katt Williams
NSFW
Amen.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Pecan Thumbprint Cookies
I love pecan pie. The kind of love that makes you want to have the whole pie to yourself and bite the hand off any person who tries to take your pie kind of love. If you are in Edmonton, Fife and Dekel makes an ahmayzing pecan pie.
And it's pih-caan, not pee-can. As Emeril Lagasse so eloquently put it, "Pee cans are what truck drivers use."
PECAN THUMBPRINT COOKIES
-in a medium sized bowl, combine all the filling ingredients and mix well
-using a teaspoon, fill the hollows in the cookie until they are full but so that the filling slightly rounds out the cookie
-bake the cookies for 8 to 10 minutes or until lightly browned
-let the cookies cool for at least one minute before removing from the cookie sheet; the cookies are very soft when you first take them out of the oven and they need time to firm up
-if you are going to store these cookies, use an air tight container and line with wax paper between layers
Nutritional Information (click to enlarge):
OK, maybe not but it looks like a face and I'm not about to start claiming its Jesus!
And it's pih-caan, not pee-can. As Emeril Lagasse so eloquently put it, "Pee cans are what truck drivers use."
PECAN THUMBPRINT COOKIES
Makes three dozen cookies.
Cookie Ingredients:
1 c. firmly packed brown sugar (you can use Splenda's brown sugar)
3/4 c. margarine
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp. vanilla
2 c. all purpose flour
Filling Ingredients:
1 c. pecans, chopped
1/2 c. firmly packed brown sugar (again, you can use Splenda's brown sugar)
1/4 c. whipping cream (do not use milk as a substitute)
1 tsp. vanilla
Method:
-preheat the oven to 350 degrees C
-from the cookie ingredients, combine the sugar, margarine, egg, and vanilla in a bowl with high sides
-using a hand mixer, blend these ingredients until they are creamy
-on a low speed, slowly add the flour and baking powder and beat until well mixed
-shape the dough into balls that are about one inch in diameter and place at least two inches apart onto an ungreased cookie sheet
-using your thumb, make an indentation in the centre of the cookie dough, rotating thumb slightly to create a deep hollow for the filling; be careful not to press all the way down to the cookie sheet
-in a medium sized bowl, combine all the filling ingredients and mix well
-using a teaspoon, fill the hollows in the cookie until they are full but so that the filling slightly rounds out the cookie
-bake the cookies for 8 to 10 minutes or until lightly browned
-let the cookies cool for at least one minute before removing from the cookie sheet; the cookies are very soft when you first take them out of the oven and they need time to firm up
-if you are going to store these cookies, use an air tight container and line with wax paper between layers
Nutritional Information (click to enlarge):
We think we saw the face of Buddha:
OK, maybe not but it looks like a face and I'm not about to start claiming its Jesus!
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