Fat Breanna's Girls Night Sex Fest Queso Dip

Dear Reader,

Another day, another email.  This one comes from someone who calls herself, "Fat Breanna," which is a big part of her problem in and of itself.

Heather-
About a year ago I was coming home after a night out with the girls.  I had drunk about six tequila shooters, cause it was a girls night, and then had lost my keys. So I climbed in what I thought was my window, but was really the window of my next door neighbor, and I climbed right into his bed and woke him up.  I always thought he was hot, and I wasn't shy on account of all the shooters (it was a Mexican restaurant where we were hanging out) so I had sex with the neighbor.  Now I have sex with him all the time when I'm drunk, or when he's loaded, which is almost as often as I am! LOL! I love to party! Anyways, he won't even ever look at me when he's straight.  Like he don't know me from a hole in the wall, and I really like him. Can you help?
-Fat Breanna



Breanna,

You say he "don't know you from a hole in the wall" which is exactly what you are to him.  A glory hole.  You know, one where he can stick his- you get the idea.  I'm not going to tell you that it is impossible to move your relationship from glory hole to girlfriend, because supposedly a man walked on the actual moon, so clearly a lot is possible in this world that may seem, at first glance, entirely impossible.  So.  How about talking to him?  Next time you see him, just say hello?  Start there.  Because you never know, he might be totally dull and not worth your time anyway.  Lord knows there are many many people that you might enjoy fooling around with, but with whom conversation would be no more desirable than a hot poker in the eye.  And find a place to hide a spare set of keys.  Meanwhile, enjoy some Queso Dip.

Fat Breanna's Girls Night Sex Fest Queso Dip

You will need:

Condoms
1 chipotle chile in adobo sauce
1/4 cup cream
1 scallion, chopped
1/2 tsp salt
1 Tbs. cilantro, chopped
1 cup shredded Monterrey Jack cheese
1/4 cup chorizo

First, have condom at the ready, don't count on him having one, because most people don't have one in their pajamas pocket.  Saute chorizo until reddish and glistening, like your nipples when you peel off the pasties.  Heat cream in a sauce pan, add in the shredded cheese, grabbing great handfuls of cheese like you do his hair while he's sleeping, stirring until melted.  When the cheese is melted, add in the scallion, cilantro, salt and chorizo.  Finely dice the chili, being careful to thoroughly was your hands after or else you will leave him with a burning that will never end.  Mix all together and enjoy with chips.  Serves 2.

SPAMMOGRAM SAMMY

Dear Reader,

I don't think it is accurate to say that most, if not all people experience some sort of mid-life crisis.  Rather we experience three or four in close succession.  I have made no secret that I turned 40 a few months ago, though you'd never know it to look at me.  Just kidding.  Along with turning 40 I ran a half-marathon, lost fifteen pounds and cleaned out my closet in the most major way imaginable.  It is not possible, or at least not reasonable to wear t-shirts with stupid sayings on them after a certain age.  That age should be sixteen, but for me it came a little later.  Nor is there a place in my life for a t-shirt with a rainbow cheetah head on it.  Not anymore.  It's time to take stock and think about what I'm doing with my life.  I would like to contribute something to the world other than snarky recipes, however delicious they might be.  I'm not sure how I might do that, but I do know that I've always wanted to open a sandwich shop.  I know exactly the sandwiches I would serve, and I would offer two salads and one soup each day, I know how the shop would look, and what the kids working behind the counter would wear.  I would call my shop, "Sammy's" or maybe "Sammies."  Perhaps someday I will own that sandwich shop, but today I've got to get a mammogram.

SPAMMOGRAM SAMMY

You will need:

Appointment
Gown
Bread
Spam
Honey mustard
Pineapple juice
Watercress
Mayo
Good magazines

First, shower.  For some reason you can't wear any perfume, deodorant or lotions to the mamogram, and it's gross to try and wipe it off with some depressing paper-wrapped moist towelette.  Open Spam and slice into thin strips.  If the thought of Spam fills you with as much disgust as it does me, opt instead for pork loin.  Fry in skillet until no longer dangerous to eat.  Mid-way through cooking, pour pineapple juice over Spam, letting it reduce to a nice syrup.  Slice bread and rub one side with honey mustard, and the other with mayonnaise.  Place Spam on bread and top with watercress.  Pack into a lunch bag, and grab your magazines.  I recommend Lucky and Allure because they feature stuff normal people can afford.  If I so much as flip through Vogue I am left with a deep feeling of inadequacy and failure, not at all what is needed for a mammogram.  Go to your appointment.  You will, inevitably be forced to wait for at least forty-five minutes.  Enjoy sandwich while trying not to think about your breasts being squeezed until they are as thin as loose leaf paper in a vise that was most likely devised by a sadistic seventh grade metal shop student.  Remove top and adorn paper gown.  Even though the nurse won't ask you if you have mayo on your body, know that it is entirely possible, so use moist towelette anyway.

Panic Attack Casserole

Dear Reader,

I have a friend, let's just call her Sally, who is going through a period of terrific angst at the moment.  There is angst in her career, anxiety at home, and she's basically tied up in knots of gordian proportion all around.  She was coming for dinner the other night and had specifically requested something cheesy and warming, to calm her frayed nerves.  Problem was, she invited herself, and I didn't have time to go to the store.  But no matter!  I am the MacGyver of comfort foods.  I quickly checked my cupboards and saw that I had rice and broccoli, as well as a pack of Quorn tenders.  It is no secret that I am a fan of the mysterious Quorn.  Anyhow, you could make this same thing with chicken, if you wish.  My mind went instantly to a casserole, but I had no cheese, and only skim milk, which would amount to a pretty weak casserole, not at all what Sally required.  Then I found, tucked behind my thousands of vinegars, exactly what I needed.  Sally wasn't going to get some nasty broccoli mushroom soup casserole.  No ma'am.  For Sally, only the pseudo-French would do.  Thus was born this conciliatory dish.  Enjoy.

Panic Attack Casserole

 Here I sauteed shallots and some of an onion in some butter.

And here's the part where I lightly steamed some broccoli.

 

Did you hear the one about when I threw this bag of something chicken-ish into  the pan with the shallots and onions?  No?  Well, I also added a splash of vegetable stock!

 I boiled 1 3/4 cup water and added 1 cup basmati, lowered heat, covered, and simmered for fifteen minutes which is a pretty standard way to deal with a cup of basmati.

 Voila my secret ingredient!  I made the "Bearnaise" according to the packet directions, and slopped the whole thing together because nobody was looking.  If someone had been present for the event, I would have gingerly mixed all the ingredients, and used a nice wooden spoon to spread out the casserole in the dish, while wearing my adorable apron and listening to Edith Piaf.

 I toasted a couple of slices of whole wheat bread, whizzed them in the processor, mixed with a little parmesan, olive oil, salt, and pepper, and sprinkled on top.  Then I baked at 350 for about 20 minutes.  Actually I don't know how long I baked it for because Sally arrived.  I opened some wine and listened to her rant, cry, and hyperventilate simultaneously, which only made me drink more wine, and I totally lost track of time.  Also I forgot to take a photo of the finished casserole, so the one above, taken after we ate, will have to do.  Let me tell you one thing.  That mofo was delicious.  Sally left in good spirits, which may have been due to the wine, but I like to think my casserole helped.

Eggplant Extravaganza

Dear Reader,

Living in New York City provides myriad opportunities for someone who likes to cook.  Specialty grocers, farmers markets, exotic spice bazaars, and whole buildings devoted to nothing but cheese abound.  I tend to decide what I'm going to make for dinner sometime just after lunch, and then go pick up whatever I will need for that night's meal.  I don't need to tell you how expensive this can be.  In effort to be more thrifty, and clean out some of my cupboards which are in danger of falling off the wall, my husband and I decided to try something.  In one afternoon we would pick up all the produce we would need for the entire week's worth of meals.  I know that a lot of people do this as a matter of course, but we're a bit new at it, and as a result, one of us thought that we would definitely need at least six eggplants.  We never eat eggplant, although I like it very much, and found myself at the end of the week having to make a meal for my family that used six eggplants.

EGGPLANT EXTRAVAGANZA

 I was inspired by Jaime Oliver's Eggplant Parmigiana, so began with his sauce which you see in the picture above.  Doesn't it look delish?  It was.  Olive oil, onion, garlic, oregano, tomatoes, wine vinegar.  I didn't use the suggested basil, as I didn't have any, and this was a strictly use-what-I-have kind of affair.

 I sliced and grilled the eggplant in my grill pan.  I should have cut the eggplant more thinly to minimize the slime factor.

Lovely parmesan made soft and fluffy with my microplane grater.

 I made breadcrumbs with the ends of whole wheat sandwich bread, toasted and tossed with a bit of olive oil.

 I layered the sauce, the eggplant...

 ...and the cheese, until it reached the top of this lovely dish which was a wedding present ten years ago.  I can't recall who gave it to me.  If it was you, I thank you again, and you'll be happy to know that I use it frequently.

 Ok, here's where I went a little crazy.  I wanted something filling, but still easy on the old Weight Watchers points, so I topped the whole thing with a pint of fat free Ricotta, mixed with an egg.  I added some salt and pepper, then topped with more sauce, the breadcrumbs and more cheese, then baked it in the oven for longer than I was expecting it to take.

I was a little excited when the dish was finally done, and forgot to take a picture before we ate it.  It was delicious, and my kids enjoyed it, too - even if they said they didn't.  The best part was all the room I had in the fridge after getting rid of those eggplants.  I wonder what he'll bring home this week.  Truckloads of turnips?  Mountains of mustard greens?  Or better yet, a bushel of beets.  I like beets.

Now here is something to entertain you on this Monday.   I forgot how weird this video is.  That's probably because at the time it was made I thought it was the decade's greatest artistic achievement.

Gingrich Spinach

Dear Reader,

Can you imagine folding the laundry, putting away your husband's socks and finding a whole bunch of girlie magazines in his drawer?  Yes?  Well how about finding a whole bunch of Newt Gingrich paraphernalia?  Horror!  That is exactly what happened to Steffi in Jacksonville, Florida this week.  Here you go, Steffi.  I wish you luck.

Gingrich Spinach

You will need:

3 pounds spinach
1 cloves garlic
1/4 cup flour
1 cup cream
1 1/4 cups milk
One small onion, diced
1/4 cup butter
1/8 tsp grated nutmeg
handful breadcrumbs
gruyere

Steam or boil the spinach until just cooked (or unfrozen as the case may be), then drain and squeeze all the water out, like you'd like to squeeze the brains of your husband if he thinks he's going to have some sort of new fangled "open" relationship.  Give. Me. A. Break.  Heat the milk and cream in a saucepan while you saute the onion and garlic in the butter.  Whisk in flour and cook for a few minutes to create a roux.  Add the warmed milk in a thin stream, like the thin stream of consciousness that must exsist somewhere in the head of the man you married.  Whisk constantly so that you don't get any lumps, you've already got one of those, no need to add more.  Stir in spinach, nutmeg, salt, and pepper.  Top with breadcrumbs and enough grated gruyere to make you feel better, and bake at 350 until golden brown and bubbly.  Go to www.newt.org and make sure your husband's name is first on the list to visit the moon base in 2019.


Now here is some music to help get you through these last six weeks of winter.

The I Love America Diet

Dear Reader,

It should be obvious that there is little I love more than a weird cookbook.  After all, I wrote one myself.  I have one that I have been meaning to share with you.  I bought it at a bookstore in Ithaca, New York, and it is from the mind of the one and only Phyllis Diller.  No just kidding.  That would be really awesome.  This one is from Phyllis George.  It's called the I <3 America Diet.  The premise behind this patriotic cookbook is that if you really love America you won't be a lardass.  America needs skinny citizens, not only to look good, but fatties cost too much

Here is what Phyllis recommends a woman eat in an average day, in effort to "reduce."

BREAKFAST:

1 medium orange

1 medium egg, scrambled

1 small bagel, with

1 tsp. margarine, soft

1 cup skim milk, fortified

     coffee, tea or water

LUNCH:

(You can brown-paper-bag this one)

1 cup tomato juice, preferably with no salt added

1 salmon salad, consisting of:

     2 ounces canned salmon, packed in water, served on a platter, with

     1 1/2 cups combined Romaine lettuce, watercress and sliced radishes, and

     2 teaspoons Italian dressing

2 slices whole-wheat bread

1/4 medium cantaloupe

     coffee, tea or water

DINNER:

1 cup fresh fruit cup (suggested ingredients: slices of banana and apple, grapes and orange sections)

3 oz. roast chicken, preferably white meat

1/2 cup lima beans, fresh

1/2 cup spaghetti, enriched, with tomato sauce

1 1-inch cube natural Swiss cheese

     coffee, tea or water

SNACKS:

1/2 cup broccoli, cooked or raw

1/2 cup cauliflower, cooked or raw

First, that's one mighty big brown paper bag she brings her lunch in.  Ms. George may have servants to rinse off her platters, but the rest of us have to make do on our own.  Second, if I ate like that I would be as big as a house.

There was one nugget in this book that I found extremely enlightening.  You know how people are always saying we should eat slowly?  I've always taken that to mean chewing slowly, which is kind of disgusting.  Phyllis advises, "Bring your food to your mouth slowly.  Count 1-2-3 from plate to mouth.  You'll soon forget you ever shoveled it in at high speed.  Your dining partners will appreciate the change to a more graceful you."  I'm absolutely sure my dining partners would appreciate a more graceful me.  I'll try this one at home!

Here are some more of Phyllis' pearls of wisdom:

*  When you dine with thin people, observe how much faster you finish your meal than they do.
       This is especially true if your thin companion is going to the bathroom to vomit between courses.
*  Bring a mirror to the table and watch yourself eat.
       If you want to look like a total idiot, this is a great idea.
*  If you have a motion-picture camera or a video recorder, take pictures of yourself eating.  You may not smile when you see yourself on candid camera.
      Andy Warhol did this.  He ate very slowly.

*  Eat with your knife, fork and spoon - never with your hands.  That applies when you eat anything - a sandwich, a slice of bread, a roll or a piece of fruit.
     Again, a good idea if what you're really after is to look like an idiot, carving up your strawberry with a knife and fork.  Paging George Costanza.
*  Put only one kind of food in your mouth at a time.  Not steak, potatoes and onions in one mouthful.  But one mouthful of steak.  One mouthful of potatoes.  One mouthful of onions.  That's three mouthfuls instead of one, and that takes three times longer to consume.
      Does she suggest you deconstruct your sandwich before eating?  I'm highly opposed to that idea.  Especially if you then have to eat it with a spoon.

I want to leave you with a recipe from Phyllis George, and as it is Monday I will advocate for Meatless Mondays and pass on her "Frank Kebabs" (yes, hot dog kebabs are good for America) and "Oriental Beef."  Enjoy.

PHYLLIS GEORGE'S VEGETABLE NUT LOAF

You will need:

Wheat germ, unsweetened
1 cup chopped carrots
1 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1/4 cup flour
1 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. thyme
1 1/2 cups milk
1 cup natural cheddar cheese, shredded
1 cup walnuts
3/4 cup wheat germ, unsweetened
3 eggs, slightly beaten

1.  Preheat oven to 350.

2.  Grease 8x8x2-inch baking pan.  Coat with wheat germ.

3.  Cook vegetables in fat until onion is tender.

4.  Stir in flour, salt, pepper and thyme.  Stir in milk.  Cook and stir over moderate heat until thick.

5.  Stir in cheese, nuts and 3/4 cup wheat germ.  Add eggs.

6.  Pour into baking pan.

7.  Bake about 40 minutes or until well browned and firm.

8.  Let stand a few minutes; cut into serving-size pieces.

Egged in the Head Chocolate Chiffon Pie

Dear Reader,

You know how sometimes you're standing outside your house, talking to the fishmonger, and some neighborhood yahoos drive by and hurl a bunch of eggs and one orange at you?  No?  Well my friend Sophia does.  This chocolate chiffon pie is for her.  She needs it.   So much for "jolly old England."

Egged in the Head Chocolate Chiffon Pie

You will need:

Eggs
Graham crackers
Sugar
Butter
Gelatin
Unsweetened chocolate
Vanilla
Salt
Cream of tartar
Heavy Cream
Sugar
Dark Chocolate

The first thing to do is help up the poor fishmonger, then place a really large order for fish just to get him out of there. Then scoop up whatever eggs you can find and bring them in the house. From your ear remove one egg yolk and reserve. In a food processor, whiz up graham crackers to make 1 1/2 cups crumbs. Mix these with 2 Tbs. sugar and 5 Tbs. melted butter, which you can easily melt right in your hand because you're boiling mad. Press mixture into a 9 inch tart pan and bake for 10 minutes at 375. Look out the window to see if the kids are back. Place at the ready four eggs, so that the minute you see them you can retaliate. Fashion an egg slingshot from a heavy rubber band and salad servers to maximize both velocity and trajectory.

Pour gelatin over 1/4 cup water, and let stand for 5 minutes while you go look for that orange. Heat 2/3 cup heavy cream in a sauce pot until simmering, then take off the heat and add 2 oz. unsweetened chocolate and 1/4 tsp. vanilla, stirring till the chocolate is nicely melted like the egg running down your back. Whisk in the gelatin.

Scoop up two more yolks and beat these with the one from your ear and 1/2 cup sugar and a pinch of salt. Slowly add in the chocolate mixture, beating as you would like to beat those egg thugs. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for fifteen minutes while you take a shower.

Beat the egg whites and 1/4 tsp. cream of tartar until you have formed soft peaks. Add 1/4 cup sugar. Beat the chocolate mixture for a minute just to feel better, and then fold the egg whites into it. Pour the whole thing into the pie crust. Beat one cup heavy cream with 2 1/2 Tbs. confectioners sugar slather over the top of the pie. Grate dark chocolate over the top and sprinkle on some zest from that orange.

Chill for two hours. Place remaining eggs from carton in pockets of jackets, should you see hooligans whilst out and about.   If they are with their mother, make sure you have an egg to toss at her as well.