One Giant Leap Toward Adulthood

Life is full of moments that remind us we're getting older.

Like that moment when you realize that you suddenly don't care if a man is going bald...you like him anyway.
Or that moment when it's midnight and you wonder how you ever ever ever pulled an all-nighter while trying to coherently write a term paper at the same time.
Or that moment when you responsibly say "I can't have caffeine. It keeps me up."
Or that moment when you find yourself giving a younger person the speech about how sometimes in life we all have to do things we don't want to do.

Or...that moment when you intentionally, knowingly and of your own volition, buy a box of cereal with dried fruit in it.

My whole life, I've hated cereal with fruit. Sliced bananas and bran? Gross. Diced strawberries and flakes? Nasty. But dried fruit. That was even worse, because there was no escaping it. There was no choice. You couldn't wake up and go "I think I'm going to skip the fruit today" because it was already in the box. And in Raisin Bran's case, there were TWO SCOOPS of it (I seem to remember when they added that extra scoop. I dry heaved when I heard the news).

But then the other day at the grocery store after a workout (which is the WORST time to be surrounded by purchasable food, by the way), I wanted something sweet. And I couldn't get a donut or anything like that, because I would hate myself after.

No, I needed cereal. A healthy-ish cereal that also had some sweetness to it.

So there I am, going up and down the aisle--eying the Reese's Puffs like a nerd eyes special boxed editions of Star Wars Trek Craft--when I settle on the Great Grains section. Instinctively, I reach for the Banana Nut flavor, because HELLO it tastes like banana bread without the bananas!!

But the calorie count! The calorie count makes me pull away. And then something very curious happens. My taste buds tell me they want something fruity in their cereal. And not something fake fruity, like fake banana flavoring. Something real fruity. Something chewy.

And before I knew what was happening, I had a box of Great Grains Cranberry Almond Crunch in my hands and was proceeding to the checkout.



Me: what are you doing?!
Myself: what does it seem like? I want this cereal.
Me: But are we actually going to eat the whole box? I mean one bowl, sure, but what if this craving is a tease? What if we go back to hating dried berries in our cereal after the first bite?
Myself: you worry too much.
Me: you don't worry enough!

The box was purchased. I drove home in silence, refusing to talk to myself.

And later, I poured a bowl, added skim milk (because I hate the taste of milk...another thing I'll probably grow out of, though I certainly hope not) and ate the whole thing.

and I liked it.

And today I had another bowl.

And as I stood there, eating this gross adult cereal and enjoying it, I felt very proud of myself and grown-up-ish.

And then I rinsed out my bowl and proceeded to work the rest of the day in my pajamas.

teavana

Enough about my ailments. And freakishness. And mutations. I could totally keep going and share about how my eye has a dry spot in it now. Right smack dab in the middle of the cornea. So saith the eye guy. Or I could discuss my growing astigmatism. Or the fact that I have to use Sensodyne. Or the reality that my ears aren’t perfectly parallel.

But I’ll spare you. Because I care. And because I’d like to have some friends as I go through this change into nerd-hood. Hah, that’s a thought! Instead of aging at a normal rate, I’m staying perpetually young as I slowly morph into the form of a complete and unsightly nerd.

Sigh.

So instead, let’s talk about tea!

My tea obsession started a month or so ago whilst on a business trip. We all went shopping together (as most do when they’re out of the office and have time to burn), and happened upon this enchanting store called Teavana.

And we’ve been in a figurative Teavana ever since.

They have the craziest teas and all you do is stand there as they waft the scents in your direction. Then, you buy it by the ounce. The ounce! And before you know it, you’re walking out of there with $40 worth of dried leaves.

Which is totally worth it, because it’s supposed to curb appetite and boost health and assist in the growth of wings so that you can fly.

But very soon after purchasing, you become absolutely paranoid of oversteeping or doing something that will prevent the leaves from going through their agony. (Yes, this is real). You freak out and overthink things and measure and test the water on your wrist and the whole nine yards … until you do the math and realize each cup is like .50.

So then begins the phase of steeping and resteeping and re-resteeping the leaves.

And in the back of your mind you think about spreading the grounds out on the sidewalk so they can dry and be reused.

And you tell yourself you’re done. That you’re just going to go back to Celestial Seasonings. But then your coworkers announce they’re putting in another order and you cannot help yourself. You order more. Different flavors. Flavors that you probably won’t even like.

But you don’t pay for it. Because you haven’t yet paid for your previous order.

And suddenly you understand what crack addicts go through.

Can I get an amen?

Grapefruit Confessions

You’re sitting at your desk, eating a perfectly delicious red grapefruit. You don’t normally eat grapefruit. Especially not at work. But 2011 is the year you’ll finally get fit and stay fit, and so all your snacks of CheezIts and chocolate are replaced by apples and green peppers. And grapefruit.

You’ve sliced it in half and set the halves before you. Carefully-placed slits free each fruit section from the rind. Generously-sprinkled Splenda sweetens their tartness. And yet, you laugh to yourself as the red fruit puckers your lips and squints your eyes.

First one half, then other. Piece by piece, you polish it off, knowing full well that co-workers may find you strange for choosing such an odd snack. They eye you from across the open room or walk past your desk, and you can almost hear their inner dialog about you and your grapefruit.

Or maybe, you’re just being paranoid.

Once empty of their ruby fruit, the grapefruit halves sit before you, full of juice. Wonderful, tangy, healthy juice that would be drunk within the minute if you were in the privacy of your own home.

But you aren’t home. You’re at work, in a room with no barriers or blockades or cubicles. And your coworkers might see you.

What do you do? Do you drink the juice or throw it away?

Do you remain true to your quirky self or do you follow social convention?

After a moment of deliberation and a glance over your shoulder, you drink. And it tastes lovely. Once you’ve wiped your mouth, you sit back and think about how excited you are that you have another grapefruit for tomorrow.

And how lucky your coworkers are that you had the office sense to squeeze the juice into a cup instead of sucking it straight out of the fruit’s shell like some kind of crazy person.

Starch

I usually get pretty jazzed about church potlucks. Mostly because I’m a big fan of casserole and pie and crock pots and stretchy nylon tablecloths and metal folding chairs.

I don’t get to attend many of these sorts of events. The last one I went to was more of a potluck-bomb on my part, if that’s possible. I wasn’t invited and no one knew who I was (and I didn’t know who they were) but my roommate said that it would be ok if we went (even though they weren’t expecting her to show up either) and so we did.

And it was good. But it was also strange. Very strange.

I have found when you venture out into the Indiana countryside, things get weird.

In their defense, it wasn’t really a potluck. It was more of a monthly church dinner. But still. I got up to where the food was being served and saw that they were topping huge servings of mashed potatoes with chicken noodles and then placing a hamburger bun on the side.

As in starch on starch with a side of starch.

When I asked for them to hold off on the delicious store-bought hamburger bun and to put my noodles on the side, separate from my potatoes, they looked at me like I was crazy.

Me. The crazy one.

So I’m not really sure what I was expecting when Tad and I attended a potluck yesterday at our church (which also happens to reside in the Indiana countryside). All I remember was looking down the long line of crock pots and seeing that at least four of them held that noodle chicken concoction, while a large platter held a pyramid of hamburger buns.

There weren’t any mashed potatoes, though. I’ll give them that.

*Jokes aside, I had a good time and was able to avoid the chicken noodle stuff. There was this Buffalo Chicken Macaroni and Cheese dish that was to die for.

And I suppose I can’t really complain about the food when I was the one who brought an expired apple pie that I had picked up from the sales rack at Wal-Mart.

Oh yeah, I’m bad.

Swedish Pancakes by Swedish Pankakes

For those of you wondering whether Swedish Pankakes are real, you're not very smart.

There is no such thing as Swedish Pankakes. There isn't even a such thing as a pankake.

But there are such things as Swedish pancakes.

And here they are:

Swedish pancakes are quite special to me. All of my family on my dad's side is up in Minnesota. Whenever we would go there to visit, we'd all get together and my Nana would invite everyone over and make Swedish pancakes. Enough for her six children and bazillion grandchildren and my Aunti Ellen* and some of her family.

We fold them in half and stack them up on a plate that we cover with towels. Which is very weird, I know. But it's how Leif Ericson did it, so it's how we do it now.


They're floppy and thin and delicious and would technically be more authentic if we ate them with lingonberries, but we don't. Because strawberries are better. It's our American twist, I guess. Just like our American twist on lutefisk is anything BUT lutefisk. (My dad would totally disagree because he loves the stuff, but you'll just have to trust me on this one).

I would go into the technique we use to transfer the pancakes from the giant stack to our individual plates, but that's top-secret information. If I told you, I'd have to pillage you.


*For some reason I remember her being "Anti Ellen" instead of "Aunti Ellen" or even "Auntie Ellen". But I didn't want you to think that I had a family member who we referred to as the exact opposite of Ellen Degeneres, so I changed it. For your sake. Not mine.

a few of my favorite things

Things I'm loving right now:

Battlestar Galactica -


Killer Bunnies -
Striped sweaters -

Amy's Kitchen -


Brown boots -

Non Tiq -

Recipe: Sweet Basil Turkey Burgers

Introducing my first ever mostly my own recipe!

I’m a wimp, relying on tried and true concoctions and Betty Crocker-backed guarantees for my baking and cooking inspiration. But not today! Today, I present my very own recipe:

Sweet Basil Turkey Burgers

Sounds so menu-worthy, does it not?

Serving: makes 2 burgers

INGREDIENTS
Half pound of lean ground turkey
Six shakes of salt
Five shakes of pepper
A penny’s worth of dried basil, plus two shakes
A quarter’s worth of olive oil
Three cloves of garlic
3 T of diced onion (more, if you’re an onion fan)
Blue cheese dressing

DIRECTIONS
In a small bowl, shake in the salt and pepper. In your hand, pour about a penny’s worth of dried basil. Crush with your fingers as you allow it to fall into the bowl. Feel free to add a shake or two more of basil, if you feel up to the challenge. Pour about a quarter’s worth of olive oil into the bowl and swirl it around so that it eats up the salt, pepper and basil.

On a small cutting board, shell three garlic cloves, smack them with the side of your gigantic knife, and mince. Once the garlic is in pieces that you think you can deal with, add it to the bowl of oil and seasonings.

Crumble the meat into the bowl. This probably isn’t necessary. You could probably just dump in the slab as a whole, but I like to think that crumbling it helps it to more easily mix the seasonings into the innermost parts of the meat.


With your BARE HANDS, squish and squash the meat (without gagging) until you either can’t take it anymore or feel as though the mixture is mixed enough (keep in mind you want to have garlic pieces INSIDE the patties and not just outside them).

(Here is a picture to show you what this looks like, though I warn you it is not for pregnant women, small children, or the faint of heart):


Dice a chunk of onion. Feel free to use the same knife and board that you used for the garlic. Set aside (doesn’t that sound SO recipe-ish?).

Divide the meat equally and form into patties. Remember, flatness and thinness is key to avoiding the common patty plump syndrome (a condition in which your patties swell when cooked and turn into balls of meat instead of patties).

In a medium sized skillet (also very official sounding!), on medium heat, place the patties. And, because I am gross and don’t care about safety, I toss the onion in the pan as well, being very careful to keep it away from the juicing meat. (If this is going to kill me, please let me know so that I can have my parents take out a life insurance policy on me. Thank you.)

After about five minutes, flip the patties. And stir around the onions a little (you should poke at the onions every once in awhile as the meat cooks).



After another five or so minutes, flip them again. Once they are done juicing (i.e. juice is no longer pouring from the and the pan has pretty much dried up and turned the juices into crusties), they are done.

Place the patties on hamburger buns.

Turn off the heat and swish around the onions in the crusties at the bottom of the pan. Sounds gross, but you must keep in mind that gravy is really no different.

Top the turkey burgers with a good dose of onion, depending on the consumer’s preference. Drizzle a bit of bottled, store-bought blue cheese over the onions and the burger, keeping in mind that as it heats, it may become runny. So, it’s best to drizzle near the middle of the burger and don’t go overboard with the drizzling.

Put the top of the bun on top of the burger and voila!

The Thanksgiving Cake Post

I now present the Triple-Layer Lemon Thanksgiving Cake that sucked three hours from my life (and it wasn't even a vampire).



Three hours. I kid you not. I began at 10pm (thanks to the silly Biggest Loser Where are they now? episode) and wrapped things up at 1am. I have no excuse for my lack of speed aside from my meticulous and perfectionist nature.

(not super pretty, is it?)

Ah, you say, But Amanda isn't the least bit concerned with precision. She could care less about baking times and exact measurements and following recipes.

And to that, I say, Did this Amanda you speak so highly of ever bake a cake?

Why yes, you say, Once or twice maybe. I can't remember; it wasn't very good.

And there, my friends, is the secret ingredient. If Amanda wants her cakes and cookies and pies to be edible, she has to pay VERY CLOSE ATTENTION. No giving in to the A.D.D. that Tad is now agreeing may plague her.

Back to the cake . . .


The majority of the three hours was spent measuring. I'm an obsessive measurer. I've mistaken Baking soda for baking powder before. I know what it's like to add a cup extra of flour. I don't want to make these mistakes ever ever ever again.

The next chunk of the three hours was spent trying to pry two of the cakes from their pans. (No one should EVER be flippant when they tell you to grease and flour a pan. No. They should hold your face between their hands, their eyes as wide as a person who's just seen the devil, and speak the words slowly and intentionally, throwing in words like "tons" and "lots" and "a glob as big as your head" when describing the amount of crisco to use).

But thankfully, despite my A.D.D., I am a very patient person. (please disregard how this phrase makes me sound like I'm mentally insane).



And the last chunk of the three hours was spend frosting the thing so precisely that I swear I only had like ten crumbs the entire time.

Pretty proud of that fact.

Lemmies and other Lemon Deliciousness

(Aha! Those be not eggs! Those be Lemmies!!)

Life has been busy, and though I wish I had something really impressive to show for it all I have are these desserts. Because when life hands you lemons, don't you dare write blog posts or do the laundry or work on selling your car. Why, you should make lemon pie instead! Or lemon cookies! Or lemon cake!

Last week I made simple Lemon Poppy Seed Pie and tonight I made Lemon Dimples. Or, as I like to call them, Lemmies. The first was a recipe I got out of a cookbook. The second was a recipe I stumbled upon here.


On Wednesday, for Thanksgiving, I plan to make a Triple-Layer Lemon Cake. No box mixes. No shortcuts. Everything real from the lemon zest to the lemon juice to the lemon curd. Well, maybe not the lemon curd. I plan to cheat on that. If all goes well, I'll make it again for Tad's birthday in January.

Yes, I realize I'm stuck in a lemon rut. But this is how it goes and there's no getting around it; there's only eating through it. So, that's what we'll do.

(This was the recipe that called for condensed milk--my arch nemesis)

And eventually, I'll get around to some blog posts of substance.

Here's an Idea!

I am convinced that there should be warning labels on certain food items. Imagine how helpful it would be to know:

WARNING (ACHTUNG!): SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK IS NOT RUNNY. IT IS GLOOPY. GLOOPY, GLOOPY, GLOOPY. ALL PRECONCEIVED NOTIONS THAT THE SUBSTANCE WILL PERFORM AS MILK DOES SHOULD BE DISREGARDED.
POSSIBLE SIDE EFFECTS FROM SMELLING SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK INCLUDE BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO A LOSS OF APPETITE, CONSTANT GAGGING, THOUGHTS OF PROJECT ABORTION, A FEAR OF DIRECT CONTACT WITH THE SUBSTANCE, AND A COMPLETE INABILITY TO ENJOY THE FINAL PRODUCT.

Knowing these things would have helped immensely. We can only hope to stomach the Lemon Poppyseed Pie.

Snack, Cracker, Pop!

What is a delicious snack that is neither too healthy nor too fattening?

Applesauce on Ritz crackers.

I kid you not. It reminds me of apple butter, tastes sweet but substantive, and who doesn't like the buttery freshness of Ritz crackers?!

Ah, buttery fresh. I am reminded of a few weeks ago when I picked up a box of Ritz Toppers to have with my tuna salad at work. After a few days, when I had run out of the topping, I brought the crackers home at Tad's request. I'd surmise the box was about half full. Probably more.

They were polished of within a day.

"Tad! Those were my snacks!"

"I couldn't stop! They were so buttery fresh!!"

If he only were brave enough to try them with applesauce...

Chicken Pizza

Here's what we had for dinner:

Homemade chicken pizza

Chicken, green pepper, onion, mozzarella cheese--what more could you ask for? For sauce, we used some spaghetti sauce we had lying around. For crust, we used Jiffy's boxed crust. It's like 84 cents.

According to Tad, he's the Cheese Master and I'm the Crust Master. He's really good at shredding cheese and I'm really good at making the dough a perfect circle.


The best thing about homemade pizza is you can pile on as much of your toppings as you want. The worst thing is the dough is really really sticky which makes kneading it not as fun as it should be. Lots of flour is required--and it will most likely get on your shirt.

One of these days I'll make my own crust from scratch. But you just can't beat 84 cents.

Desperate Housewife - Part 1 (of infinite)

Confession 1:

I clip coupons--I am a coupon clipper. I keep my stash in my coin purse and use it to guide my shopping. And . . . I am aggressive.

If the coupon says buy one, get one and I happen to have two of the same, I'll end up with four items when I only needed one.

If the coupon says "expries 09/20/09" and the date is 09/21/09, I'll slip it to the cashier anyway just in case they aren't paying attention.

If the coupon says "offer only valid at 4am on a Saturday morning when the wind is blowing westerly at 15mph and two red cars are parked side by side in the center lane of the parking lot", then you'd better believe I'll be the first in line as soon as that second car turns off his engine.

And, if I happen to have a coupon that will save me $1 on the purchase of two items, but I failed to put it in my coin purse and have thence found myself at the grocery store (wal-mart) without it . . . well, then I'll simply pass up those items.

Because a good coupon should never go to waste.


I am ashamed of this.

Vote for Your Favorite Do!

First things first, it's endless shrimp time at Red Lobster! I literally wait in salivated anticipation for this event and it's finally here! Now, to save up the cash and train my stomach...

P.s. it seems as though they've removed the shrimp pasta as an endless shrimp selection...boo. Also, it appears they've done away with your choice of side...also boo.

Now, for what you've all been waiting for. . .

I'm going to get a haircut! Yay! I'm thinking of something like this (mostly because the lady's hair reminds me of my own puffball):




Or maybe something like this:



I'm leaning toward the second one for obvious reasons, but what do you all think? Suggestions? Ideas? I'm too poor to get it colored, so any highlighting/lowlighting ideas area no-go, and I'd like for it to brush my shoulders (as my one experience with jawline short hair was so bad even the Mexicans at Logan's stopped whistling at me).

So these are my ideas....anyone got ideas? Input?

Crisp Apples Should Not Have To Mean Apple Crisp

Can someone please let me in on the secret of choosing non-mushy apples? Anyone?

My latest apple-purchase found me with 2 crispers and 3 mushers. I'm choking the last one down as we speak.

Please, your assistance will be greatly appreciated.

Raspberry-Pretzel-Jello-Delight

I've been craving this for years. Possibly even a decade. Someone brought it to a Bible study that I attended when I was about 15 or 16. It was simply divine. I've been thinking about it ever since. Longing for it.

Finally, we were reunited.




The raspberries are a bit tart, but that's because I was stupid and settled for frozen ones. But the pretzel crust...to die for.

Recipe

The Ultimate Tummy Ache

Today, Tad sent me this, with the email's subject line being:

The Ultimate Tummy Ache

Staying Above the Yellow Line

Here is an unflattering photo of me in a shirt I haven't worn in public since circa 2007. This is because I became too skinny for the shirt. Now, as the picture clearly shows, the shirt has shrunk.

Or, I have grown.

In a conversation with my sister, we joked that I was the perfect candidate for a commercial:

"After getting married, I just lost motivation. I gained weight and got to the point where no matter what I did, I wasn't capable of summoning the strength to work it off."

The REAL joke, however, was that I've only been married 3.5 months. 3.5 months and I'm already a walking, talking infomercial. Apparently, I fall off the wagon hard and fast.

But there's good news! I once again have a reason to loose weight. But it's top secret.

(More info coming later . . .)

Pine-Sol Magic

Household tip #1

Has food been sitting in your fridge for so long that you fear your Tupperware has been compromised?

Come on, we all know how it goes. Soups, casseroles, gravies--when they're forgotten the plastic-ware used to house them takes on its own aroma, reminding you of that tortilla soup you had six weeks ago and didn't get around to cleaning up until last Thursday.

But fear not, desperate housewives! Pine-Sol works wonders, eliminating signs of plastic-smell-absorption within minutes. Simply have your husband dump the old soup in the alley. Pour a bit of Pine-Sol directly into the smelly Tupperware. Fill with warm water. Let sit. Rinse out, and presto! Your plastic-ware smells good as new!

But don't take my word for it. Go on, dig out those neglected side dishes and give it a go!

The Pie Maker: Strawberry Pie

Ladies and gentleman . . .

I have mastered the pie crust


It started with two wives and a dream--a dream to craft pies that would rival those found at county fairs and on 1950's kitchen windowsills.

Some said it could not be done. They feared The Crust, knowing it has left many pie-making aspirations in its wake. Death and destruction surround it, and thus far, the only solution has been to go to Wal-Mart and pick up a store-made pie for approximately $5.

That is until the Pie Makers, armed with their Magic Touch, swept past the aisle of pre-made baked goods and went straight for the Crisco, corn starch, and fresh fruit.

The Crust would not stand a chance.

After seeking counsel from Pamela, daughter of Evelyn, they stirred, mixed, cut, folded, rolled, and pressed. They agonized over each accomplishment, knowing it only brought yet another step in the process--another challenge. Another possible loss.

Yet, when the last pie was pulled from the oven and the husbands gathered to partake in the spoils, there was nothing to be had but the sweet taste of victory. The Crust had admitted defeat without a fight. Its flakiness and perfection an unheard of accomplishment for two amateur Pie Makers.


And so goes the story of how The Crust was defeated by the Pie Makers and their Magic Touch.

(Left: Amanda's Strawberry Pie - Right: Cassie's Apple Pie)
Thanks for the crust recipe, Mom!