Po'Boys

Dear Reader,

I’ve received some sad and frankly, terrifying news from a reader in Queens. Tammy Stamivovich writes:

Heather, please help me!!! I feel like shit. I got a fever and runny nose and now I find out it’s the fuckin' swine flu. I can’t even leave the freakin' house and OMG my mom is driving me nuts. She’s sealing up all the windows and she wears this stupid mask all the time. And those yellow rubber gloves are fugly. It’s so annoying. And that's not even the worst part. Swine flu makes me sound fat. Bird flu would be better than being sick like a frickin' pig!!! And really, I’m not fat. I swear!!! My jeans are a size 6X. What can I possibly eat that is gonna make me feel better and not make me puke?

Well Tammy, I hope you feel better soon! And in the meantime do not leave your house, do not open the windows and do not even look toward Manhattan, where I live. And tell your mom to stay put as well. Enjoy this sandwich from the comfort of your own home with an ice cold root beer or cup of tea.

Pork Po’Boys for Po’Swine Flu Shut Ins

You will need:

1 pound ground pork
½ tsp. cayenne pepper
¼ tsp. garlic powder
¼ tsp. onion powder
Oil
Mayonnaise
Pickles
Lettuce
Tamiflu
Face mask
Inhaler
Antibacterial gel
Baguette
Hot sauce

Call Red Cross or, if you are a minor, Save the Children volunteers to bring you necessary ingredients.

In a medium bowl mix together pork and spices. Vigorous mixing may lead to shortness of breath, so have inhaler handy to open bronchioles. Form pork into long patties, the width of the baguette.

Coat bottom of a pan with oil and place over medium-high heat. The last thing you need is a case of salmonella, so be sure to cook patties well. Root around in dirt for a time, roll in the mud to cool off, then apply a thick coat of anti-bacterial gel to hands and hoofs.

While pork is as sizzling as your fever, chop pickles and mix them with the mayonnaise. Thinly shred lettuce like your endlessly running nose has shredded so many tissues. Rub bristly butt on a fence post for a good scratching then smear mayonnaise on bread and top with pork patty. Douse with hot sauce as you are so congested you won’t be able to taste anything anyway. Enjoy with Tamiflu and television, to maintain contact with the outside world.

Smorgasstationboard

Dear Reader,

This past week I was driving my husband and my children crazy, so they suggested I go somewhere, anywhere, for a little get away. I realize I am ever so fortunate to have such a generous husband! I called my sister and we headed north for a weekend of fun in the snow. I love my family, but they are a freaky, moody and temperamental lot. For instance, I have never eaten in a restaurant where at least one member of my family did not end up in the parking lot crying, in the kitchen making out with the busboy or on top of the table hurling corn on the cobs at each other. You know, the usual family meal sort of stuff.

Driving in a car on a long road trip is another matter entirely. First of all, the food is bound to be different as it is mostly acquired from rest areas and service stations. Second, if you are fighting in a car with someone, inevitably the passenger is faced with a choice. While always tempting to shout, “Stop this car, I’m getting out!’ it’s usually a terrible idea, especially when traveling through the back woods of Maine or at an absurdly high rate of speed due to driver’s leaden foot pressing down on the pedal in abject anger. If you do go this route, you back yourself into a corner. No doubt the driver will speed off, leaving you for a moment relieved, and then for a longer moment, terrified and alone on the side of a god forsaken road in Stephen King country. Then when said driver returns, she will roll the window down, and follow along next to you imploring that you “get over it” and get back in the car – which is the last thing on god’s green earth that you want to do, but given that your footwear is inadequate for walking the 700 miles back to civilization, you are obliged to do so, leading to feelings of humiliation, degradation and further hostility. A no-win situation if ever there was one.

So this week I offer you sustenance for such occasions, inspired by my weekend road trip with my sister, whom I love very much.

With deepest sympathy,

Heather

SmorGasStationboard for Car Trips With Family Members

You will need:

Credit cards
Cell phone
Cash

Begin with sister driving car. Tell her, pointedly that she is following too closely to the car in front of her, knowing full well that this will send fumes out of her ears. When she tells you that you don’t know how to drive as you took Driver’s Ed fifty years ago, calmly reach into her bag of candy and eat all of the Sour Cherries, leaving only the stale Swedish fish and a quarter inch of sugar at the bottom.

Ride in strained silence for the next five minutes then try to break tension by beginning dialog about that man’s weird finger that looked like it was two fingers inside one finger skin. When she snaps, “What if that were your child?!” smile smugly and ask her what is her point. When she replies, “He’s somebody’s child and you are being obnoxious,” remind her of the time at Orso in LA when she said the face on a woman at a nearby table was going to make her throw up, then hang on tight because she’s going to careen off the highway.

Pull out Sweet Chili Doritos procured at last rest stop and stuff them inside the rest of your Veggie Delite Subway sandwich from earlier in the day. Use caution when biting down as pointy Doritos can cause painful lacerations on the roof of your mouth.

When sister screeches into Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot and storms off, go to back seat where you have your stash of magazines and take the People, the US Weekly, In Touch and any other magazines you know she wants to read and quickly throw them in the garbage before sister sees you.

Walk into Dunkin’ Donuts and stand behind your sister, too close, making sure that she can feel your breath on the side of her face to further enrage her. Order yourself an egg and cheese croissant, twenty munchkins and a large coffee, as it’s going to be a long ride.

Back in car, use cell phone to find nearest rental car facility, just in case. When sister extends “olive branch” point out that the act of extending an olive branch does not begin with the phrase, “Here’s why you’re such a jerk.” Turn conversation to other, more pleasant subjects such as other family members, former boyfriends and what to eat next.

Crock Pot Meatloaf

Dear Reader,

I can’t tell you what an overwhelming response I have had to this blog. So many of you have written expressing your emotions in very powerful language! Some have raved about the delicious chicken with mushrooms. Some have confessed their most secret (and disgusting) fantasies. Others have more practical concerns:

Debbie from Twin Falls writes:

Dear Heather,

…This shit box where I live doesn’t even have a real kitchen. Just one lousy cupboard stuck on the stinkin’ wall near the front door, over where I keep my crock pot. How the hell am I supposed to make food and stuff if I can’t even fit all those goddamn pots and pans and things in my cupboard? What am I supposed to do? Just keep ‘em on the floor with my shoes and underwear?

Ah, Debbie, I feel your pain. A small kitchen is most certainly frustrating. But I have an idea for you! Duct tape is useful for more than sealing up your windows and doors in the event of a bio-terror attack! See the photo below for instructions on how to make the most of one tiny cupboard.

With a little duct tape, your cupboard will fit all you need for your culinary creations. Be sure to check out this week’s recipe inspired by Debbie. Enjoy!

With deepest sympathy,

Heather

My House Is A Shitbox Crock Pot Meatloaf

You will need:

1 pound ground beef
1 pound ground pork
3 small onions, diced
½ cup chopped parsley
Ketchup
1 cup breadcrumbs
1 egg
Bullhorn
Vacuum

Begin by using vacuum to pick up left over food and cigarettes strewn about the floor. Then in a large bowl, left over shoebox or bathroom sink, mix together beef, pork, onions and parsley. Crack in an egg, trying not to drip the whites onto the carpeting, but if you do, just rub it in with your shoe. Next mix in the breadcrumbs. Take note of the neighbors arguing again, clearly audible through the thin, crumbling walls. As their yelling gets louder, use bullhorn to tell them to keep it down.

Squeeze in some ketchup – or use packets stolen from employee cafeteria. Form the whole thing into a round shape and dump it into your crock pot. Cook on high for three hours as you listen to the neighbors taking a bath while listening to the Thompson Twins and practicing their routine.

Drain out the fat – either outside, or into the toilet. Nobody will notice a greasy ring in that bowl. Ask crack heads hanging around outside if they would like some meatloaf - chances are they won't, but it's nice to ask, and will make them less likely to rob you in the future. Enjoy meatloaf with a nice Zinfandel or Colt 45.

Manicotti

Dear Reader,

I would like to congratulate the producers of The Real Housewives of New York City. They have amassed the most horrifically idiotic and self-centered women in not only my great city, but in the world. Not since Sex and the City have I had to endure this caliber of monotonous droning from such materialistic morons. The worst offender is obviously Kelly Bensimon. Note to Kelly: “sophomoric” does not mean you are a sophomore in high school. And sorry sweetheart, there isn’t really anything funny or cute about arthritis. Also honey, you may be too old for high school games, but you’re also too old to be wearing those teeny-tiny little skirts, you cow.

You may be asking yourself, if I have such a negative opinion of these ladies, why do I watch the show. The answer my friends is simple, I can’t NOT watch. For me, it is a great opportunity to get my aggression out. A sort of Bravo-inspired primal scream therapy, if you will. To watch me watching The Real Housewives of New York City is akin to watching old Joe Six Pack watch the Superbowl. I pull my chair right up to the television to better feel like Alex can hear me screaming at her through the plasma screen. “Hey Skeletor! Your husband looks like a sexual predator and your children are never going to read the complete works of Dickens, even if you go to the Strand and buy all the books at once, you pretentious creep!”

Naturally this excitement works up a bit of an appetite. So this week I treated myself to Your Fixation on Bravo Housewives is Bordering on Masochism Manicotti with Three Cheeses. Enjoy!

With deepest sympathy,

Heather

Your Fixation on Bravo Housewives is Bordering on Masochism Manicotti with Three Cheeses

You will need:

1 cup flour
2 eggs
Pinch of salt
1 cup water
Oil
16 oz. ricotta cheese
1 cup grated mozzarella
½ cup grated Parmesan
1 egg
2 T. chopped parsley
Jar pasta sauce
Throat lozenges

Make crepes while speaking in bad French the way that Alex and Simon speak to their children, such as, “Now I will whisk zee flour, zee oeufs and zee water with zee salt into a little bowl. Please Francois, stop all zis screaming and running around, okay bebe? Ah voila! Zee crepe batter is finished! Oh Francois, why did you dump it on zee floor?”

Next heat up a small pan with a some oil – more oil than is on Kelly’s face, but less than is in Bobby, Jill’s husband’s hair. Put a small ladleful of batter into the ban and swish it around to coat the bottom. Cook one minute then flip and cook 5 more minutes. Repeat until all batter is used up just like Luann’s fifteen minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350° then make filling. But first call Jill to see if she needs a tennis partner. When she asks how you got her phone number, tell her that Zang Toi gave it to you. Mix ricotta with ½ cup mozzarella, Parmesan, egg and parsley in a medium-sized bowl. Advise Jill that she needs a better gay best friend; perhaps one that knows better than to wear over-sized yellow suits. Do not congratulate her for almost fitting into a size zero! Not while you’re elbow deep in three kinds of cheese, anyway. Season with salt and pepper.

Dump a few glugs of pasta sauce into the bottom of a baking dish. Spoon some of the filling into the crepes, taking note that the crepes are the same color as Alex’s skin. Roll up crepes, making one of them really skinny to represent Bethany. Stand that one on end and make a few wisecracks before laying it in the pan, fully aware that Bethany needs to get laid more than the Manicotti. Repeat with remaining crepes.

Send Ramona a quick email to her Blackberry asking for her expert fashion advice – after all she went to FIT and used to work at Macy’s! Plead with her to do something about those crazy bug eyes. Every time she makes a point it is terrifying – she looks like a skittish bushbaby on a rainy night. Pour a few more glugs of sauce on top of crepes and bake 30 minutes, while you yell at Kelly through television. Suggestions for what to yell are:

Who are you?
You are old!
Wear a brar!

Enjoy Manicotti with a full-bodied red wine such as a Cabernet or Beaujolais while screaming more at television, being careful not to choke. Follow with lozenges to prevent hoarseness.