Gitmo Gazpacho

Dear Reader,


A lot of people, even the ones that voted for him, are upset with Barack Obama these days.  They say he has not lived up to his campaign promises, and that nothing has changed.  Well, that may be true, and even considering that it takes a lot of time to change the world, people are frustrated.  However, I imagine that few are as frustrated as the denizens of a certain hell hole in Cuba.  In their honor I offer this tasty treat!  Enjoy!

Gitmo Gazpacho

You will need:

Sunscreen

3 beefsteak tomatoes, peeled and chopped

1 cucumber, peeled, seeded and chopped

1 red onion, diced

1/2 green pepper, diced

1/2 yellow pepper, diced

Attorney

2 clove garlic, minced

2 cups tomato juice, chilled

2 cups cold water

3 Tbs. red wine vinegar

1 Tbs. lemon juice

1 Tbs. lime juice

1/4 cup olive oil

2 Tbs. tomato paste

Dog biscuits

Begin by combining all ingredients except olive oil and tomato paste in food processor.  Pulse until mixture is chunky - not a smooth puree.  At least that's what you would do if you weren't chained to a wall in a hole in Cuba, surrounded by barking dogs with a hood over your head.  Remember Gazpacho Night in the eating club when you were a Student at Stanford.  Those were the good old days.  Wish like hell that you had just taken the job with Morgan Stanley and not chosen to do humanitarian work in Afghanistan.  Wish also that you hadn't told the villagers you could help them build an infrastructure in their remote cave.  Idiot!

Try to call out to guard.  "Lisa!  Lisa!"  When Lisa arrives, tell her that you want to make gazpacho.  Explain patiently that it is a soup, a cold soup, and not a chemical weapon.  Tell her to ask Pedro.  He'll know what you mean.  Try not to get angry when Lisa laughs at you and takes your picture to put on her Facebook page.

After you feel that three days have passed, call for the other guard.  "Stephanie!  Stephanie!"  Ask to see a lawyer.  When her laughter dies down, explain to her that you are a lawyer and you know your rights.  When she leaves, try not to be too downhearted.  If Obama ever gets to work, you'll be strolling on a golf course in Bermuda.  But make no mistake, it's going to be a long haul, especially for you, Saddam Mohammed Peterson.

Ham Souffle for a High School Reunion

Dear Reader,

Apologies, but it has taken me some time to process this whole high school reunion thing.  First off, it was completely overwhelming.  The first hour was spent having the same two minute conversation thirty times.  And then one thing became painfully evident - people don't change.  If you were a douchebag in high school, chances are you're still a douchebag.  A fat, balding douchebag.  The one exception to this rule is nerds.  Nerds are great.  If you were a dorky nerd in high school, chances are good that you look better than ever - perhaps due to high earning potential resulting from proficiency in math and computer science, and chances are even better that you've got a winning personality, having honed your wit to prevent being stuffed in a locker.  Whatever stereotype you fit into in high school, I offer you not only something delicious to eat, but also some tips should you attend your own reunion.  Enjoy.

Ham Souffle for a High School Reunion

You will need:

Honesty

Parmesan cheese

1 cup milk

2 1/2 Tbs. butter

3 Tbs. flour

1/2 tsp. salt

4 egg yolks

Facial 

5 egg whites

1 cup shredded Gruyere cheese

1 cup diced Prosciutto

Limo

Photographer

Look yourself in the eye, either by standing in front of a mirror or by staring at a recent photo of yourself, and honestly answer the question, "Have I ever been happier than I was in high school?"  If the answer is, "Are you kidding?  Of course I have!  High school was alright, but kind of a nightmare sometimes."  You'll be fine.  If you answer,  "Of course not.  High school was the absolute most best time of my life.  Everybody loved me.  I ruled the school and all those dorks wished they could be just like me," get ready, because your upcoming reunion is going to be a very BIG NIGHT for  you, and you've got work to do.

Begin with your body.  It's true that nobody looks the same as they did in high school, but trust me, some of these stay-at-home moms have been doing non-stop Pilates instead of rooting around in the fridge like you have.  Spare no expense and put yourself on a juice fast starting right after you eat the delicious souffle that is as full of ham as your campaign for Student Council President.  Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Call old high school friends to see who is planning on attending, and most important - what they will be wearing!  Grease a souffle dish with butter, dabbing a little bit around the eyes to soften your crow's feet.  Pour Parmesan cheese into the dish and tilt to coat all over.  Speaking of coats, do an assessment of your marriage.  If it is falling apart before your eyes, purchase a gigantic jewel or great big fur coat to distract from your evident loneliness.  Warm the milk in a pot.

In a large saucepan, melt the butter over low heat and stir in the flour.  Whisk vigorously for two or three minutes to tighten and tone your wobbly triceps, then pour in the milk and keep whisking until as thick as your high school boyfriend's skull.  Season with salt and add the yolks one at a time as you remember all your greatest moments - when three boys on the lacrosse team asked you to the prom; the talent show where you received a standing ovation for your hilarious send up of Principal Foster; the graduation party your parents threw - 4 kegs!  Set saucepan aside to cool.

Whip the egg whites until stiff, then fold into the yolk mixture alternately with Gruyere and Prosciutto.  Pour into the prepared dish and decide what to wear.  Obviously this will be determined by your household income and your sense of self-worth.  If you are fortunate to have come from a wealthy family, make a list of all that your wealth has allowed you to accomplish for yourself and the world.  If you spend part of the year, say, handing out mosquito nets in Uganda, then it really won't matter to you.  However, if you spend part of the year in St. Barths and the other part hanging around the house and shopping, what you wear makes a big difference!  Keep it understated, to minimize your selfishness.

Pop souffle into oven and turn the heat down to 375.  Bake until golden brown and puffed up like your high school boyfriend is now.  Eat entirety while reading old yearbooks and crying.  Do not forget the old adage: The less you have to offer, the more you have to prove!  Depending on how sloppy drunk and slutty you acted the last time you saw these people, the more time you are going to want to spend with your hot rollers.  Book daily sessions with a personal trainer, a facial and hire a limo to take you to the prom, I mean reunion.  Also book a professional photographer, because this is going to be the last great night of your life.  Well, for the next ten years anyway.

National Bookstore Day at last!

I know! I know, HURRAY!  You have been waiting for months and it is finally here - National Bookstore Day is TODAY!!!  I can't think of a more perfect way to celebrate than to run down to your local independent bookstore and buy a copy of Eat Your Feelings: Recipes for Self-Loathing!  If you already have a copy, then buy one for your friend!  

On another note, check back tomorrow for Ham Souffle for a High School Reunion as I will be attending my own this evening.

Poached Eggs Brulee to Avoid a Terrible Mistake

Dear Reader,

I have had another letter that demands my attention!  See for yourself:

Dear Heather,


Last summer I got engaged to my boyfriend Josh.  We've been together for about three years and I really wanted to get married.  All my friends are married already, so I kind of put the pressure on, leaving pictures of engagement rings lying around and all that.  Problem is, he is driving me NUTS.  I can't stand being around him.  When he eats, he chews and breathes really heavy through his nose at the same time.  Gross!  And he reads comic books, which I used to think was cute and alternative, but now I just see it as another factor in the long list of what makes him a dork.  And the worst part is his throat hair!  It's like his chest hair keeps right on going up to his ears.  What do I do? My mother would kill me if I break up with him.  She's paying for the wedding.


Please help,
Denise
Morristown, NJ

Oh, Denise.  These feelings, the impatience with your boyfriend; your disgust at the way he eats; the utter disdain for his lack of intelligence and fascination with boyhood culture, are all completely normal.  Unfortunately this knowledge usualy comes to a lady after five or six years of marriage.   Your eyes have been opened too soon!  Never fear, I can help.  By the time your wedding date rolls around, Josh will have headed for the hills with his Sasquatch brethren.  For you I offer:

Poached Eggs Brulee to Avoid a Terrible Mistake

You Will Need:

Eggs
Grapefruit Juice
Turmeric
Sugar
Coca-Cola
Ipecac
Blowtorch
Beets

When fiance goes to bed at night, eat beets.  Eat at least one pound of beets, some of them boiled and some raw, like an apple.  If you start to feel sick, picture dressing your future children for their school pictures and combing their throat hair.  Choke down those beets!  In morning, when you begin to feel effects of beets in the form of visible gas rising in your abdomen, stand very near finace and let loose. When he wakes with a start in a cold sweat, terrified, wink at him and head to kitchen.

Heat a pan of water and get ready to boil his eggs.  Add in a hefty glug of grapefruit juice and a generous pinch of turmeric.  When the water is boiling, crack in his eggs.  Don't try any chef tricks to keep them together in the pot - the messier the better!  While his eggs boil you have a little time, so make yourself look as much like your mother as possible.  For me this involves donning a blue suit with a matching blue pump on one foot and black loafer on the other, and always Loreal A La Mauve on the lips.

Down a Coca-Cola before he sits down to breakfast.  Use phrases like, "Sooo glad I can just let it all hang out now that we're getting married," and, "It's such a relief to just be me!" and if you should have sex, "Sooo much better than masturbating," punctuated by belches from Coke.

Take his eggs out while the whites are still nauseatingly translucent.  Place them on a plate and top with a good amount of sugar.  If the turmeric hasn't make them yellow enough, drip a bit of green food coloring in the center of each.  Turn on the blowtorch and stomp around the kitchen with it while you point out all of the projects he has started and not finished, with increasing anger, farting beets for added emphasis.

Go to bathroom and chug Ipecac.  Vomit in center of kitchen.  Burn the sugar on top of eggs to make a nice crust.  Serve him this dish explaining that it is not part of a "diet plan" but a "lifestyle change."  Wait.

Eat Your Feelings Party

Dear Reader,

I recently returned from a fun-filled week in Los Angeles. The highlights of my trip included a reading at Book Soup, which is a totally awesome bookstore, even if you're not a nerd; sleeping as much as I want (kids were home with Daddy); and an unforgettable night spent with friends enjoying the first ever Eat Your Feelings Party.

My good friend Ben Mandelker writes the very funny B-Side Blog and he posted about the party here.  You really must check it out as it was a great night, and like I said, he's very funny and not bad looking either.

If you host your own Eat Your Feelings Party be sure to tell me about it!  Customize the menu to suit your woes, or to make you feel better by laughing at woes you don't have (yet)!  Send me your pictures and I just might put them up on this here blog.

With warm regards,

Heather

Hey guys, it's Danny DeVito!

Breakfast of Wannabe Champions

Dear Reader,

As most of you know, the NYC Marathon was today and it was won by a man from the good ole’ US of A for the first time in 27 years. Still in my pajamas, drinking coffee and nibbling on bacon dipped in syrup, I sat on the couch and listened to the commentators as Meb Keflezighi ran his last 2.6 miles to the finish line. They passionately described his struggle, how his family fled war ravaged Eritrea and his parents raised their eleven children in the US, all of whom graduated from college. With tears in my eyes, I watched him cross the finish line as the commentator said, “A great champion and a wonderful person.”

I would like someone to call me a great champion and wonderful person. But that’s not going to happen unless I get out of these pajamas. I have never had any desire to run a marathon, fearful of course that that I would be one of the runners to lose control of their bowels. But perhaps, with a little precaution and some proper training, I, and you too, may one day be great champions. So today I offer a little training advice and some sustenance in case you are thinking about running in next year’s marathon. And as I watched the women runners, noting that they have glutes where I have a booty, the idea has some appeal.

Breakfast of Wannabe Champions

You will need:

Eggs

Bacon

Running Shoes

iPod (or other mp3 player)

Sweat pants

Bathroom

On the first day of the rest of your life, spring out of bed and immediately put on gym clothes. Gym clothes should be the ratty old variety for reasons to be made clear momentarily. Since you are now a marathon runner you can eat a big breakfast so crack five eggs into a bowl. Heat up the stove and place six strips of bacon in a pan and fry, turning once until nicely crisp. While the bacon fries, load up the iPod with motivational music of your choice. For me this includes Duran Duran, Jai Ho and songs by skinny women like Madonna and the Spice Girls, also some of my kids’ soundtracks like Madagascar (I Like To Move It) and of course the theme from Speed Racer. Put a lot of butter – remember you’re an athlete! into a non-stick skillet and dump in the eggs. Scramble over low heat as you scramble to find the running shoes you bought two years ago on your last fitness kick. When done, plop the eggs onto a plate like you normally plop your fat ass onto the couch about this time of day. Place the bacon next to the eggs and drizzle with syrup (trust me). Eat entirety with coffee or red bull and a Gatorade.

Go to the bathroom! Make sure that you eliminate all contents of bowels lest they do they job themselves while you’re on the treadmill. In case of incontinence, either due to age or vaginal delivery, place some sort of diaper-like device such as a Poise pad or a kitchen sponge into your undies. Then hit the gym!

On treadmill, start at a good pace like a 16-minute mile. Gradually increase by one minute per mile until you reach six miles or vomit. Afterward, don’t forget to stretch! If the pain is unbearable do not fear – tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life, and it’s never too late to take up competitive eating.

Quaffs for Bad Crafters

Dear Reader,

I apologize for not providing you a recipe, but sometimes even food won't help and there is nothing to do but drink. Allow me to explain-

This week found me at my wits end, practically perched on my window ledge with a very heavy and unstable Singer Sewing Machine Quantum 2623.




When my son's teacher sent an email saying that she needed parent volunteers to sew together the pieces of a "Climate Quilt" the children made, I said, sure I can help with that! After all I made a beautiful quilt when I was pregnant with that very same son. That I was still making that quilt long after my daughter had been born, almost three years later, did not occur to me. I had imagined that other parents would help with the quilt also, so was therefore surprised when she handed me all twenty four squares.

Now a word on these squares. They were of varying fabrics, sizes and some were so loaded down with glue and felt and yarn and doo dads they were nearly an inch thick. Some of the glued on hearts and stuff were falling off. The first step was to go to a fabric store and buy some reinforcement in the form of Tacky Glue.

That done, I had my husband go down to the basement and lug up the old sewing machine. Luckily the last person to use that machine was my mother, who won the Singer Sewing Contest at the tender age of fourteen, so the thing was threaded correctly. I sewed together two of the squares in about four seconds. But then a snag. A literal snag. And the thread came out of the needle and lord only knows what was happening with the freaking bobbin and something was making a clunking noise. I called my mom, who was having friends over for dinner and not in the mood to help. Harumph.

I fiddled around with the machine for a while, and then I started to cry. I cried out of frustration, feeling like a failure, knowing that I have been shown how to work the stinking sewing machine about a hundred times and was completely useless at it, because I always volunteer to do stuff and this was exactly the kind of half-assed job I usually did. And I cried for the children of Caitlin's class, whose contribution to the global climate quilt was going to look crappy all because of me, and because it was going to take me three whole days to sew the thing by hand.

So I had a glass of wine and googled "How to thread a sewing machine." I was instantly provided with infuriating videos from smug and crafty ladies, like irritating Rebecca, and this one with totally annoying music that makes it impossible to hear what she's saying, and Natalie who just makes me feel entirely inadequate for myriad reasons. I cried some more and blamed my husband for buying me this impossible machine in the first place. What kind of sick Christmas present was this?

I had another glass of wine along with some deep breaths. I called my friend Heidi who can sew stuff in her sleep. She didn't answer. I polished off that glass of wine and poured myself another. I picked up two more squares and sewed them by hand, pricking my fingers because my vision was so obscured by tears and wine. Then Heidi called. Without even seeing what kind of sewing machine I have, she talked me through the entire threading process from start to finish. When I got it working and sewed some more stuff, I cried again and then had another glass of wine to celebrate.

And now, I actually like my sewing machine. I'm not sure when I will use it again, but thanks to Heidi, the Climate Quilt lives on!