Mother of a Meatball for Marathon Moms

Dear Reader,

The leaves are just beginning to appear on the trees, I am woken early each morning by the cacophony of birds newly returned to town, and my blood is already 22% rosé, which can mean only one thing - it's time for everyone to start running marathons. You think I'm joking? 

Each spring, mommies emerge from their winter hibernation, shed their yoga pants, squeeze themselves into running tights and hit the road. I never understood this phenomenon, indeed I used to boast that I never ran unless being chased, but then I had kids. Running long distances requires dedication, perseverance, decent shoes, and a great deal of time - time ALONE. You see where I'm going? 

Making the commitment to train for even a half-marathon enables you to strap on your sneakers, pop in your headphones, and blast Cher for an hour or two - or three if you are really really slow - and nobody is going to complain! Personally I have run a full marathon, three half-marathons, and this Sunday I'm running another half. Judging from the pain in my glutes (I can call them that because, as I said, I'm a marathon runner) this might be my last. So I'm going to go out with a bang, and am serving up the perfect post-race repast.

Enjoy.

Mother of a Meatball for Marathon Moms

You will need:

Meatballs
Tomato sauce
Olive Oil
Garlic, thinly sliced
Fennel Seed
Oregano
Crushed Red Pepper
Sugar
Beer
Parmesan
Ciabatta Roll


First of all, get yourself some meatballs the day before your race. You can make them yourself, buy them ready made, who gives a shit, you're running a marathon. You're going to be really tired tomorrow, and you're not going to want to be cooking, so in addition to packing your race gear, you're making one hell of a sandwich, whose image and aroma you can think about on those long miles instead of thinking about how much your feet hurt from kicking so much ass. 

Prepare the meatballs. I like to get vegetarian meatballs and brown them in some olive oil. You are a big girl, you can decide what kind of balls you like. Into a sauce pan, pour a few glugs of olive oil. When it's heated, add the garlic. I like to add four cloves because I'm like that. Don't cook it for too long, and add a half teaspoon of fennel seed which you've used your massive muscles to grind in your mortar and pestle. Also add a teaspoon of oregano, a pinch of crushed red pepper, and a pinch of salt. Then pour in a can of tomato sauce. Let this all simmer for about thirty minutes, then add a pinch of sugar. Pour this on top of the meatballs. In the morning, slice up your ciabatta, drizzle on some olive oil, and put the meatballs and sauce in the slow cooker to warm. 

After the race, don't even stop to shower, unless you've soiled yourself, in which case by all means, shower, but leave on your medal so that everyone can see what a champion you are. Dump as many meatballs as you can fit into the ciabatta roll, top with a fistful of Parmesan, and enjoy with a cold beer, before registering for your next race. You deserve it.

Mind Blowing Eggs for Smarty Pants Teenagers

Dear Reader,

Last week as I was polishing off the last of the chocolate eggs, I was wondering aloud why the Easter holiday even features eggs. It's really kind of creepy when you think about a giant rabbit sneaking around and hiding eggs all over your house. I mean, if a person were doing that, they'd likely get shot. Well lucky me, I have a smarty pants in the family, in the person of one teenage son, who told me that eggs are featured in Easter celebrations because the holiday is derivative of pagan fertility rituals, and eggs are, duh, all about fertility. Then he went on to tell me about gender fluidity, and that our universe began as a singularity and is expanding in all directions at the same time, and therefore has no center. I tried really hard, but I can't get my mind around that, and did you guys even know about gender fluidity? I needed a drink.

All of a sudden it was time to make dinner, and I wasn't in the mood to go to the grocery store to buy food stuffs for cookery, because like I said, I had been drinking. I opened my cupboards and did a quick inventory, and found the perfect solution in the form of the almighty egg.  I present to you, the ultimate food for any meal. Seriously - breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, late night snack, second dinner, it's perfect

Enjoy.

Mind Blowing Eggs for Smarty Pants Teenagers

You will need:
Olive oil
Onion, chopped fine
Garlic, minced
Paprika
White wine
1 can crushed tomatoes
Eggs
Cheeses
Chives
Baguette

First up, preheat the oven to 425. Pour some olive oil into a sauce pan, and when it gets glossy, add in the onion. Saute for five minutes or so, then add the garlic. Give it a stir, then add a half teaspoon of paprika. If you like, you can also add a pinch of crushed red pepper. I skipped this because I was making this for my family, and if I make something that is at all spicy, I have to sit across the table from people who are gasping, clutching their throats, gulping down water, and sometimes trying to wipe off their tongues with a napkin. So I left it out. If you like it, toss it in. Next up, mommy's little helper, aka white wine. Pour in a glug and stir everything around. My buzz was starting to wear off, so I also poured a few glugs into a glass for my enjoyment. Then I added the tomatoes and some salt and pepper. I let it simmer for about twenty minutes, you can let it simmer for longer, but I was hungry.

I greased the inside of my ramekins with a little butter, then ladled in some of the tomato sauce. Then I cracked an egg into a small bowl and tipped it into the ramekin. NOTE: I did not simply crack the egg into the ramekin itself, as this might result in shells in the dish, and subsequent micro-inspection of food by fellow diners, nor did I hide the whole egg under the sauce, as that would be disgusting. Once the egg is inside, sprinkle on some salt and pepper.

I placed my ramekins on a baking sheet and also threw on some sliced baguette that I had brushed with olive oil. I kept a close eye on the whole affair once it went into the oven, so I could remove the baguette once nicely toasted. When the egg whites were almost set, I sprinkled grated cheeses over the ramekins. One of us wanted Cheddar, two wanted Parmesan, one wanted Gruyere. No problem for me, as I had all three. If you have to choose, I'd go for the Parmesan. Back into the oven until the whites were set, the cheese melted, and the yolks still runny. Snip, snip, snip, went the chives on top, and are you freaking kidding me?!? This was so delicious I made it again two nights later, and nobody even complained. In fact, they were delighted. Mind blown.

Super Tuesday Souper Supper

Apologies. It was my intention to post something on Monday to ease you gently into the week, but you know how sometimes on Sunday night you open a bottle of wine to share with someone, and then you accidentally drink the whole thing? And then you totally forget you drank the whole bottle, and you open another because your short-term memory has also forgotten that it's a school night?

Needless to say, I woke yesterday with a foggy head and a queasy stomach, so I thought I would just wait till today, but guess what? This morning my head was POUNDING and my stomach was in REVOLT, and no, the glass of Chateau de Flaugergues had nothing to do with it. That's right. It's SUPER TUESDAY.

Like most Americans - hell, like most of the citizens of the entire planet, I've had it with this presidential election. Here's the worst part - it hasn't even really started yet! Even the most die hard political junkies are lining up at the political methadone clinic to get off this roller coaster. And I mean roller coaster literally, because for all the insanity we've witnessed lo these many months, all the highs, and all the lows, we are exactly where we were when we started. At first it seemed fun, but now it's just genuinely depressing. 

So, for this particular Tuesday, I have something nourishing and comforting, which I will eat while browsing real estate listings in Australia, Canada, France, or any other country which limits the amount of time their local blowhards can barrage the people with their political campaigns. Maybe I'll get lucky and be deported back to where my grandparents came from. In that case future posts will be via the UK or Croatia. Either one is fine with me. Enjoy (after you've voted, FFS please vote).

Super Tuesday Souper Supper

You will need:

A book
Crimini mushrooms, 1 lb
Two red peppers
Five carrots
Six shallots
Fresh thyme
Four cloves garlic
Bay leaf
Olive oil
Parsley
Crushed tomatoes
White wine
Butter
Barley

Turn off the television, turn off the radio, put your phone in your sock drawer, and preheat the oven to 425. Don't give in to temptation to put your phone in the oven, undoubtedly you will want it tomorrow. Peel and chop carrots. Do not shove carrots in ears. That could hurt. Chop mushrooms and peppers, and place all on a rimmed baking sheet with unpeeled garlic and shallots. Drizzle olive oil all over until the veggies are as slimy as a politician from (take your pick). 

Toss with a couple of thyme sprigs, some parsley sprigs and a bay leaf or two. Roast until everything is as golden brown as the spray tan on Donald Trump, and your house smells like it's the first Thanksgiving. Think about that day, and wonder where we'd be if the settlers had just gone to live with the indigenous peoples. Decide to build a long hut, you know, when it's warmer out. 

Set half the vegetables aside, peeling set-aside garlic and shallots, and place the rest in a large pot. Over the stove, heat the baking pan with white wine, and scrape up the browned bits of veggies, dump this into the pot along with half a cup of crushed tomatoes and four cups of water. Bring to a boil and simmer for 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, pour another glass of wine and drink that quick, because if you wait till the kids are home from school they will hassle you about day drinking and they just don't understand about Super Tuesday.  Discard bay leaf and thyme, then add barley, and pass everything through a sieve, taking a moment to visualize your mind as a sieve, retaining only the pulpy fiber of what you hear in the media, and letting all the bullshit just pass through. Flush the bullshit away. Mentally, I mean.

Put a healthy dollop of butter into the pot and toss in half a cup of barley, stirring it around till it's coated in fat like I'm going to be when all this is over. Add stock, bring to a boil, and simmer until barley is tender, about one hour. Add vegetables you've set aside. Serve this with some crusty bread, a nice sharp cheese, and something bracing because it's going to be a long nine months. Read a good book to take your mind off things.

EXTRAORDINARY BURRITO FOR ASTONISHING PEOPLES

To be honest, I never thought I'd be back here. Or rather, I never thought I'd be gone for so long. But sometimes life pulls the rug out from under you like my little sister used to do to the family dog, and just like Duncan, you go sprawling. Sometimes you're flat on your face for so long that your cheeks bear the imprint of the hardwood floor, or shag carpeting, whatever the case may be. But life goes on, and at some point you realize you've been lying there for so long that your muscles have atrophied, and you've gotten fat, and you don't recognize yourself. Suddenly instead of creating recipes for you lot, people are asking you to go into politics or something, and that my friends, is when you drag your ass up, pull up your Spanx, kick off those Uggs, and put on some actual shoes. 

Two things have happened recently which have led me back here. Well, two and then a third. One involves a work proposal which has given me an actual reason to revisit Eat Your Feelings. The second is a letter I received from a member of a rebel group either in the planet Corelia or in the American Southeast. Take your pick. 

Dear Heather,

I have accomplished many things in my time in this universe. I have helped defeat the Galactic Emperor, completed the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs, I rescued a princess, destroyed a superweapon that would have obliterated us all, I've been frozen in carbonite, made friends with muppets, comanded the Pathfinders, I am in fact a General, and on top of that I attended medical school, am an actual doctor and a mother. The problem is that lately in my current place of employment, I am inundated by those who demand of me menial tasks, trivial nuisances beneath my station, my rank, my education and my intellect. It has rendered me physically too exhausted to complete my PX90, and that can not do. To make matters worse, when I travel to and from work I am bombarded with the most horrendous vitriol imaginable, delivered via car radio. I wonder, has this planet slipped into a black hole? The collective peoples of earth, and mainly the United States where I am now, have lost their fucking minds! When I arrive home as depleted as a mylar balloon clogging  a landfill five thousand years from now, am I met with warmth and comfort! Nay! Rather my home has been overrun by small peoples who need - no - demand of me absolutely everything. I don't get it. I can see myself in the mirror. I look fucking amazing (have you tried P90X?) I know I AM fucking amazing, so why doesn't everybody else know that, too?

Help me Heather. You're my only hope.

Yours,
Totally Fucked

You see what I'm talking about? How am I to ignore a plea like the one from TF? I mean, I totally get it. TF, for you I have the perfect tonic to your troubles. Enjoy.

EXTRAORDINARY BURRITO FOR ASTONISHING PEOPLES

You will need:

One hour
Whole wheat tortilla
Black beans
Garlic
Onion
Tomatoes, three
Sweet Potato, chopped
Pineapple, chopped
Rice
Vegetable broth
Green and red pepper
Tomato Paste
Oregano
Orange Juice
Cumin
Cilantro
Olive Oil
Avocados

First things first, this mofo has a lot of steps, but they're all easy, and really a monkey could make this with minimal supervision, so don't freak out. 

Step one, after work take the long way home. Go somewhere, anywhere, just for a little bit, even if you just drive once around the block, nothing is going to collapse, at least not to the point of disrepair. Once home, take deep cleansing breaths, making sure they're loud enough to both drown out the whining of small persons, and to scare them into thinking you might be about to keel over or explode. 

Once the coast is clear, go in for the pineapple. Throw it into a roasting pan along with the sweet potato. How much? However much you want. You're in control here, the last thing you need is some lady telling you how much freaking pineapple to eat. Toss both with a little olive oil and some brown sugar if you like, and roast at about 425 degrees until the edges are crispy. 

Meanwhile, put a couple of onions into the food processor, whiz them up and put them into a bowl, then chop the green and red peppers in the processor, then chop up tomatoes with a knife, that's a lot of chopping, but you've got those insane P90X arms, so should be no problem. Place some onion and tomato into a bowl with minced cilantro, squeeze lime juice over it, and add some salt.  Keep the lime handy in case someone comes to ask you for something, and then accidentally squirt it in the direction of the eyeballs. 

Place some onion and minced garlic into a saucepan with some olive oil. When the onions are soft, add some cumin, then add the black beans and some orange juice. Not too much. You're making black beans, not the world's most revolting smoothie. Season with salt and pepper and let this simmer.

Now on to the rice. Not actually "ON TO" the rice - don't sit on it for crying out loud. In another saucepan, heat some olive oil, then add some of that onion you chopped, and some garlic, and the green and red pepper. When it's all nice and soft add cumin, oregano, and tomato paste. Cook for 30 seconds, then add one cup of rice. Stir it all around then pour on 1 3/4 cup of broth. Bring to a boil and yadda yadda, cook the rice. 

Next mash some avocado, add the remaining onion and tomato, some lime and salt. Don't give in to the temptation to just eat this out of the bowl. It would be good, but will be so much better later. Wait and see!

Now comes the fun part. On your tortilla, place some rice, some black beans, some of that Pico de Gallo (the onion and tomato, dummy), some roasted sweet potato and pineapple, and finally some guacamole. Roll the damn thing up like you swaddled your babies before they could talk and drive you up the wall. Find a room, a closet, anywhere you can be alone because this is going to be so good you might start making out with it, and nobody wants to see someone making out with a burrito. Eat in it's entirety, filling yourself with this awesome creation, because you are what you eat. Awesome. 


The third thing that happened recently? I made this for my family, and my teenage son said, "This is so good you should put it on Eat your feelings at blogspot dot com." Voila.

NRA Cookies

Dear Reader,

I apologize for my absence.  My time has been taken over by matters of politics and persuasion.  You can read about it here if you like.  One of my new activities has included spending time with members of the NRA.  Being a decent person, who likes to fix things in the kitchen, occasionally I make a little treat to bring along to these meetings.  It turns out that everyone, Radical Lefties and NRA members alike, LOVE cookies.  So today I am sharing with you my never fail NRA Cookies.  These aren't going to win you any friends among those who ideologically oppose you, but I have personally seen at least one pistol packing paranoid patriot double fisting these bad boys.  Enjoy.

NRA Cookies

You will need:

Ill-fitting jeans
2 cups flour
2 tsp salt
3/4 tsp baking soda
Carhartt Jacket
1 cup unsalted butter at room temperature
1 cup sugar
Concealed Carry Permit
2/3 cup brown sugar
2 tsp vanilla
2 eggs
12 ounces best dark or bittersweet chocolate

Preheat oven to 375.  Dump the flour, baking soda and salt into a bowl and stir it around.  Do not use your rifle or pistol for this task, as can result in clumps forming in barrel.  Beat butter until smooth, add vanilla.  For avid bakers, vanilla may be carried on your person at all times, for easy access and cookie defense, with no permit required.  Add eggs one by one, first breaking them against the side of the bowl or on the tip of a .223 - if you can find one!  Beat the eggs into the butter.  Mix the dry ingredients into the butter (have a personal aversion to calling this mixture the "wet" ingredients) then add in the chocolate.  Spoon the dough onto baking sheets in sizable chunks to make either skeet-sized cookies, or itty-bitty buckshot-sized guys.  Bake for about 10 minutes, depending on size and how chewy you like them.  Store cookies in a securely locked cookie-safe until needed to defend your home from the zombie hoard.

Ribollita for Rabble Rousers

Dear Reader,

I apologize for not having posted in so long.  I've gotten swept away by this movement for reasonable gun laws.  Here is a video I made using some local kids.  Please share it with everyone, everywhere.  And for your trouble I offer some Ribollita for Rabble Rousers.

Ribollita for Rabble Rousers

You will need:

Righteous Indignation
2 can Cannellini Beans
2 onions
3 carrots
Facebook account
3 celery stalks
3 cloves garlic
Thick skin
2 cups shredded cabbage
2 cups shredded escarole
2 cups shredded spinach
1 28 oz can plum tomatoes
Shamelessness
Fistful basil
6 cups stock
1 baguette, cubed

First, check Facebook to see what poorly spelled insults the right wing conspiracy loonies have posted on your wall.  Wonder why they don't teach grammar in bunker schools.  Place onions, carrots, celery, and garlic in food processor and chop.  Pour a healthy glug of olive oil into a large pot, and toss in vegetables.  Throw tomatoes in the processor and whiz those up, too.  When they have begun to soften, as people who underestimate you expect you to do also, add in the stock, greens, and tomatoes.  Email everyone you know to make sure they have found out who represents them in congress, that they have their phone number and email address.  Encourage- no require they call/write/email immediately or face wrath of no soup.  Add beans to pot and cook 20 minutes more.  Add bread and basil, cook ten minutes more, or just enough time to post the above video to your Facebook, Twitter, Tumbler, and then email to your entire contact list.  Eat soup.  Thank you.

Happy New Year

Dear Reader,

Happy New Year!  I've been absent for a while, busy with the holidays and unable to speak for the obscene amount of cookies being shoveled by the fistful into my mouth at all times.  I have for you, tonight, the night after New Year's Eve, the perfect cocktail to take the edge off the bummer of the end of holidays, to warm the cold toes of winter, to grow the heart of even the most devout Grinch.  And it's easy to make.  All you need is some ice, or snow.  That will do in a pinch.  And some vodka.  Pour it over the ice, wait fifteen seconds.  Be patient!  Pour in some tea, left over from breakfast perhaps.  Not hot, mind you, just some regular old tea that you brewed some time ago.  Squeeze a lemon over it.  Perhaps a sprig of mint.  Or just forgo the tea, the lemon, and the mint and drink the damn vodka.  It's a New Year, kid.  Enjoy it.

Here is something else I wrote, not food related, but definitely related to all the drinking and cookie binging.

Something Else.

xo
Heather

2012 Holiday Gift Guide

Dear Reader,

As the holidays approach we all become a bit busy, a bit overtaxed, generally a bit panicked about finding just the right gift for the people on our lists.  Many of us turn to online gift giving guides compiled by tastemakers to ensure your friends and loved ones get exactly what they want.  I've perused these lists myself and while overpriced used tablecloths and granny-style wallets that cost more than you've actually got in the wallet may be your thing, they're not mine.  But don't fear.  I will be happy with almost anything you get for me.  Almost.  Here is a list of things I do not want for Christmas this year, just in case you've got them in your cart and are threatening to push the trigger and click "Order Now."  I think I can speak not only for me, but for all of us when I say that these gifts will not be appreciated, rather promptly handed back to you with a shove toward the door and a "see you next year."

2012 Holiday Gift Guide

This is not an appropriate stocking stuffer.  Nor is it an appropriate food source.  What's it for?  

Hot Dogs?  Yuck.

This ruffled table runner from Pottery Barn can double as a petticoat.  You know, for all the Colonial Times reenactments you like to do in your free time.  Plus, it's got wings.

Hopefully this "Row Boat Salad Bowl" aka "Pi Patel's Fantasy Lifeboat" doesn't float, so when I throw it in the lake I won't have to see it anymore.

Now I know you are thinking, Heather you've gone too far.  Nobody in their right mind would give you a snake for Christmas!  That's absurd.  Well, as a matter of fact this is exactly what a friend gave me one year for my birthday.  Okay fine, it was a ribbon snake and not a boa constrictor as pictured, but really, what's the difference?

Alpaca Hot Water Bottle Cover?  No thanks.  I'd prefer the $96.00 this thing costs.

I don't work at a desk, and this "Tabletop Zen Rock Garden" would look pretty strange on my kitchen table.  The worst part about this gift is that I gave it to my father one year.

Oh sure, I'd love to hang this calendar on my wall for an entire year so that every day I could not only see what the date is, but also be reminded of how lonely and sad is my life, and how those hot royals would probably be mean, or worse, totally indifferent to me if I were to meet them, say at the grocery store, or while waiting for the school bus.

What DO I want for Christmas you ask?  I am desperate for some linen hand towels.  Plain, white linen hand towels with nothing printed on them, onto which I can print something of my own choosing.  Should be easy enough, right?  If you can find them, or even just send me a link to where I can buy them for myself, I will be your absolute best friend.

Get Ready

 Nuff said.  Cheers!

Gimme Shelter on the Rocks

Dear Reader,

You might have heard we had some weather in these parts.  I'm not going to try and say anything funny about Hurricane Sandy, because there's really nothing funny about it.  However, when you are talking about secondary effects of a storm, and primary effects of being the only one in your family with a generator, hilarity ensues.  Or hysteria in any case.  Here is something to calm the nerves left raw and frazzled by family members camping out in your home.  Enjoy.

Gimme Shelter on the Rocks

You will need:

Generator
Spare bed/ sleeping bags
Ice
Patience
Tequila


First, place all perishables into a chest full of ice, reserving ice to be used in this cocktail.  Then place any elderly relatives in areas near a bathroom if they are functioning, or near the door if they are not, to encourage them to go by themselves.  Leave a trowel by the door to prevent piles in the yard.  Crush the ice using a hammer or other blunt instrument.  Do not crush by bashing your head on the ice - even though it may provide some numbing now, it will hurt like a mofo in an hour.  Likewise do not use size D batteries to crush the ice as you will need these for portable radios, flashlights, or to sell to neighbors who do not have generators and didn't buy enough batteries.  Throw some mint in the bottom of a large glass, and smash it around with anything but the trowel.  Place crushed ice into the glass and top with six ounces of tequila and two ounces of lemonade, limeaid, orange juice, or whatever juice your have on hand.  If your mother-in-law is staying with you, chances are she brought some juice, so take some when she's not looking.  Swirl the whole drink around a bit and find a quiet place where you can be alone, such as a closet, cupboard, or inside the dryer.  Take a deep, cleansing breath and drink with a straw.  Repeat.




To Donate to the American Red Cross relief effort for those affected by Hurricane Sandy,
CLICK HERE.

Mind-Blowing Mac and Cheese

Dear Reader,

Here is how I spent a recent Saturday afternoon.  A brief warning, this was an activity done with the help of children, so excuse the shaky creative camera work.  Also a note:  My son, the resident food police, was horrified at the amount of fat involved in this macaroni and cheese, but what he didn't know is that the cheese, or some of the cheese I used was of the lower fat variety, and the milk was 2%.  I was trying to make a lighter version of a gooey, crunchy-topped mac and cheese, and I have to say, it was divine. I've listed the ingredients below.  Enjoy!

Mind-Blowing Mac and Cheese

You will need

1 baguette (most of one)
4 Tbs. butter
1 box elbows (noodles - not actual elbows, bleh)
1/2 cup flour
6 Tbs. butter
5 1/2 cups 2% milk
1 tsp. dry mustard
1/4 tsp. cayenne
salt and pepper
1 8 oz pkg. Cabot Extra Sharp 75% fat Cheddar
1 8 oz. pkg. Cabot Extra Sharp Cheddar
8 oz. Gruyere


For Pickle Deliciousness:

1 shallot
Handful parsley
Handful chives
Handful tarragon
Half of a jalapeño (I removed seeds for benefit of wimpy kids who didn't try it anyway)
Handful cornichons (otherwise known in my house as, "snack")
Splash Sherry vinegar

Fat Mom's Lunch Fajita for One

Dear Reader,

I don't know if it is the end of summer, the return of election year anxiety, or all of this suburban pudge I have packed on since moving out of the city, but I'm kind of down in the dumps.  A frumpy dumpy mom is what I am, as a matter of fact.  Yesterday I was explaining to my eight year old daughter that her math homework really wouldn't take that much time.  She looked at me in my yoga pants and Aerosmith t-shirt from Target that is now covered in paint from when I decided I could paint the garage, and said, "You know what else doesn't take much time?  Putting together a decent outfit."

If I had the energy or the inclination I might have scolded her for rudeness.  But, she's right.  It takes no more time to put on a casual dress than it does those dorky yoga pants - you know, the ones for people that don't actually do yoga.  After moving I developed some awful thing in my foot - a heel spur and Plantar Fascitis, so gone are the days when I would run five or six miles every morning.  My foot hurt so badly for a while, that I could barely walk, much less run.  But then I went to the Nike outlet in Freeport, ME and bought myself a pair of Nike Icarus running shoes.  They felt different - better even that the fancy orthotics I was told to buy by the podiatrist.  So I ran.  The first day I made it one mile, the second a mile and a half, and on and on until today.  Thanks to those Nike's and the super fun app Zombies, Run! I managed to pound out four miles this morning.  Up hills and everything!  After my shower I pulled on a cotton dress from the J. Crew outlet in Freeport, ME (do you sense a pattern?) went to the regfrigerator, opened the doors and let the icy air waft over me for a minute until I was faced by another problem.  Food, ugh.  See, this suburban pudge I mentioned comes in the form of eight pounds that have settled on me seemingly for good.  No amount of Weight Watchers tracking points or bowls of watermelon have made a bit of difference.  Bleh.  Maybe this is just me now?  Maybe this is me becoming a middle-aged lady.  It's true that I find myself watching Face the Nation most Sundays.  I never did that before.  Perhaps I need to go to the mall and buy myself a nice new outfit at Lane Bryant to cheer me up.  Maybe I'll do that later, but for now, I'm going back to the fridge to rustle up some lunch, and what I feel like is something a little spicy, a little sweet, something healthy but that won't leave me feeling famished in an hour because I have four different cheeses and three kinds of crackers that are actually singing to me the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar a capella.  So I am armed with a little bit of advice for myself.  It's okay to eat my feelings, but not okay to look like I do.

Fat Mom's Lunch Fajita for One

You will need:

One whole wheat tortilla
Green pepper
Mushrooms
Lime
Onion
Garlic
Cabbage
White Vinegar
Mango
Cumin
Chili powder
Cooking spray
Black beans
Orange

First, take off the old college sweatshirt and pajama bottoms.  If you have nothing better to wear then put on a robe, do not go naked as you might scar your flabby body in the cooking process.  Chop green pepper and onion, place in a large bowl with mushrooms.  Mix together juice of one lime, one clove of garlic, a teaspoon of cumin, and a teaspoon of chili powder, and some pepper and pour over the vegetables - NOT on your face.  This is not an acid peel, although lord knows you could use one.  Let sit for a few minutes while you SHOULD be doing some sit ups, but instead are chopping cabbage and mango.  Pour some white vinegar over cabbage and mango, add a little salt.  Place one quarter cup black beans in a small pot with juice of half an orange, let simmer to heat.  Spray a skillet with cooking spray (duh) and toss in marinated veggies.  Cook about ten minutes, then warm the tortilla either in the microwave, in a pan, or under your fat ass, then fill it with the vegetables, black beans, and coleslaw.  Add light sour cream only if absolutely necessary.  Weight Watchers PointsPlus value 3 as far as I can tell.

Spaghetti for Secret Stoners

Dear Reader,

Oh my, it has been a long time since I posted anything.  This was the busiest summer on record, with camp, vacations, family visiting, and the birthdays! Oh my god, the birthdays!  In one week I made four cakes.  That's not an exaggeration.

A banana cake.

A coconut cake.

Plus two chocolate cakes that I didn't photograph because by that time I was totally over cake.  Also I have this to deal with:

I know, she looks super cute, and she is, but it has taken me forty minutes just to write this because she has been sitting at my foot, staring up at me and BARKING VERY LOUDLY since I sat down.  So I had to get up and take her out for a "walk" which consists of her yanking on her leash until she is gagging and wheezing, chasing every single squirrel, not to mention the moths and the butterflies, and only after all of that is she quiet and sleeping so that I can get down to business and answer some of this damn mail that has piled up in my absence.

I want to thank each and every one of you who has written to me either with encouragement or complaints.  You make my life a sunny day.  Not really.  But it is ever so comforting to hear about the misfortune of others, isn't it?

This email arrived way back in the beginning of August, and it is from someone who goes by the name of DoobyDebbie, from whom I do not expect great things.

Heather-

Got any recipes for what to eat when you are stoned out of your mind but told your boyfriend that you quit smoking pot months ago and then didn't even though you thought you were going to but then your friend came over and had a stash of weed that she got in vancouver so you smoked and she left it at your house and you smoked it all yourself after she left and you're super hungry but know that if you crack open the box of teddy grahams he's going to totally know what you've been up to?

Thanks,

DD

Dooby,

I certainly hope you're not still high, but I'm pretty sure you are.  This one is for you.  It may help, but I doubt it.  Enjoy.

Spaghetti for Secret Stoners

You will need:

Spaghetti

Peanut Butter

Red Wine Vinegar

Olive Oil

Tamari

Honey

Crushed Red Pepper

Garlic

Cherry Tomatoes

Broccoli

Newspaper

Eye Glass Repair Kit

First, you need to say something that you would never normally say if you were as high as a kite.  Avoid phrases like, "Dude, you have got to be kidding me," and, "Wouldn't it be cool if your car ran on slushies?"  Try instead, "Did you know that recent studies challenge conventional medical thinking about CPR?  It turns out that prolonged resuscitation for patients does not lead to permanent neurological damage.  No!  In fact, patients who underwent CPR for a long time fared just as well as those who were revived quickly," which I just read out of today's New York Times, or look to your own paper for ideas.  Then ask if he's ever performed CPR, and as he muses, put on a pot of salted water to boil and toss in the spaghetti.  If it is not time for spaghetti eating, say if it is nine o'clock in the morning, tell him that you are trying out a new Asian Breakfast Pasta you read about in Saveur Magazine.  Be careful saying "Saveur."

Just before the spaghetti is finished, toss some broccoli florets into the water.  In a large bowl, mix one half cup peanut butter, one glug red wine vinegar, one quarter cup tamari, one glug olive oil, and two squirts from the Honey Bear.  Resist urge to talk to the Honey Bear, or apologize for squeezing out his brains.  Crush one small clove garlic and add to sauce.  Drain pasta and broccoli and add to the bowl containing the sauce.  Chop some cherry tomatoes.  Do not say, "Fuck it all," and throw the tomatoes in whole.  That would be so obvious!  Patiently chop them and toss them into the pasta.  Sprinkle on some crushed red pepper flakes.  Do not eat pasta directly from the bowl in which is was prepared.  This is very important.  Find a normal, human serving-sized bowl and fill it with a small mound of pasta.  Do not attempt to use a plate.  A plate offers no sides against which to press the fork thereby easily getting slippery noodles to your mouth, and you will just wind up with peanut butter and spaghetti all over yourself.  Use a napkin.  Have something to drink.  Perhaps an iced tea.  When you are finished, clean off your dish.  If you sense he might be on to you, consider if it might just be marijuana-induced paranoia, and pretend to repair your eye glasses, a task requiring such nimbleness and agility, sure to convince anyone of your sobriety.

Summer Birthday Plates Bonanza

Summer birthdays.  My daughter has one.  Unfortunately for her, each summer many of her friends are away and unable to attend a birthday party.  So we end up including a whole bunch of adults, which creates the problems of what to serve? How to decorate?  What sort of plates do you use when half the guests are under ten and the other half are over forty?  Lucky for you I have the answer. These adorable cupcake plates, napkins, and gift wrap are perfect.  Cute enough to satisfy little girls' desires, adorned with yummy looking cupcakes so boys won't have to eat off of Barbie's face, and elegant for the grown ups.  Oh, and there's another reason to love these. My mother Carolyn Bucha did the artwork!  I know you were under the impression that I must be the most awesome member of my family, but my mother is a wonderful artist.  Just look at these plates!

You can buy them on Amazon, so there's no need to drop everything and run to the nearest party store. Just click here!

What to serve on these plates?  Here's an idea.

And now here's this...

Totally Forgot About Swim Suit Season Garlic Bread Pudding

Dear Reader,

It has been raining for what seems like weeks.  This cold grey weather feels more late September than early June, which perhaps explains my lack of judgment in preparing last night's dinner.  Smart gals plan June menus with an eye toward fitting into a bathing suit at the beach rather than having to wrap yourself in two garbage bags tied together with duct tape.  But I kind of don't care because what I made was so freaking good.  Real good.  I had almost an entire loaf of garlic bread left over from the night before, and maybe I've been watching too many episodes of Chopped, but my mind immediately went to bread pudding.  Holy cow.

Totally Forgot About Swim Suit Season Garlic Bread Pudding

 I had some mushrooms, so I sauteed them in my skillet with a little butter.

 I also had some soy sausage, so I fried that up as well.

I put these things in a dish with my torn up garlic bread.  Everything was looking a little brownish, so I threw in some sliced sun-dried tomatoes because I don't care if it's not 1994 anymore, I still love the damn things.  I mixed three eggs and three egg yolks with two cups of milk, salt and pepper, and poured it over the whole mess.  Then I waited about 45 minutes.  I didn't really just wait for 45 minutes.  I was doing other things during that time.  That would be pretty sad if I just sat and watched the bread sopping up the custard for 45 whole minutes while I cried deep down on the inside that I had nothing better to do.  What I should have done is filled up on carrot sticks or broccoli to avoid the coming feeding frenzy.  I sprinkled on a generous handful of grated parmesan and baked at 350 for about 40 minutes.

I know, it doesn't look like I ate much, but this was the plate I served to my son, who almost gagged literally to death on the sun-dried tomatoes, but otherwise thoroughly enjoyed this dish.

To make up for this decadence, I offer this musical sampling, perfectly distracting for the long slog on the treadmill.  And this dude kind of looks like a musical theater version of my husband.  Enjoy.

Suburban Salad

Dear Reader,

I know I have been silent for a while, but with good reason.  I moved!  Goodbye NYC, hello rabid raccoon chewing on my garage door!  There are many ways in which a move can enrich one's life, lessons to learn, new friends to make, but the most important lesson of all is this:  moving sucks.  First there were the heart wrenching goodbye ceremonies for my children in their classes.  My kids were crying, other kids were crying, it was an emotional Hunger Games.  Then the stress of hoping that the people who are buying your house won't suddenly change their minds so that the kids have to go back to school on Monday after all the farewells.  The worry that there might be poltergeists or radon (God, the radon!) lurking in your new basement, and then, once you move in, what the hell is that noise coming from under the living room floor every night at three in the morning?  It sounds like squirrels are bowling under there.  But to every cloud there is a silver lining, and today it arrived in the form of a mouse stuck to a glue trap just outside a previously undetected gap from the garage into the floor of the living room.  Gotcha.  It's amazing how blood thirsty you can become after a few nights lost sleep.

I thought I would miss NYC more than I do.  Of course I miss friends, but in this day and age, people are never really very far away.  For instance, I knew the moment my friend Sophia was egged in the head by neighborhood hooligans, and she lives in London.  I do miss bumping into people that I know walking down the street.  Hell, I miss walking down the street.  But I love my car and it costs less than we used to pay for our parking space in NYC.  Nobody ever tells you that life in the suburbs is a paradise for parents.  In New York mornings began with a 7 AM leap out of bed, hurrying the kids into their clothes, force feeding them freezer waffles and then everybody hustling out the door to wait for the elevator, because you can't take the stairs, not when your neighbor leaves used condoms between the second and third floor landings.   Then rushing down the street for a cab, or to the subway, then rushing down another street to the school, avoiding traffic, then being swept up into a sea of parents and children all funneling into a mouse-infested, lice-ridden old building, kissing goodbye while avoiding eye contact with other parents who might try and lure you into volunteering for mouse turd clean up duty.

This morning, we woke to the sound of birds singing. The kids got dressed and came downstairs for egg sandwiches and french toast, and I'm not making that up.  Then we all walked to the end of the driveway where we said hello to the neighbor, then to the friendly bus driver, who whisked my kids off to their idyllic school which is surrounded by forsythia and has two gyms and two music rooms and where the lunch room has windows!  I then went back to my house and ate a bowl of cereal.  Then stared at the wall until The View came on, which I listened to just for the sound of their voices.  No.  I'm kidding about that.  Except the cereal.  Newman's Own Vanilla Almond with a banana.  Then I found the dead mouse, jabbed my finger at it and said, "Fuck you, you noisy little fucker."  You can take the girl out of the city...

In honor of my new life here in the country, I offer you a salad on account of I've gained about ten thousand pounds because it's too damn hilly here to run very far.  Enjoy.

Suburban Salad

You will need

Glue Traps
Watercress
Butter Lettuce
Vidalia Onion
Blue Cheese
Cherry Tomatoes
Carpenter
Avocado
Mulch
Hard Boiled Egg
Professional Window Cleaner
White balsamic vinegar
Olive Oil
Dry mustard
Salt
Pepper


When woken in the night by animals scampering in the attic, the garage, the nearby woods, or gnawing on your apparently tasty garage door, do not freak out!  Go to refrigerator, remove watercress and butter lettuce, tear into a bowl.  Slice Vidalia onion as thin as the deed for your new home.  Sprinkle on blue cheese, which is the most prevalent cheese in WASP country.  You might find some growing right outside on your blue cheese tree.  Halve cherry tomatoes.  While looking out the window, notice that the lawn guy didn't finish mulching the flower bed.  Realize that you have spent more on mulch, a product which you heretofore did not even know existed, than you spent on three years of nursery school for your firstborn.  Notice the warp on the window sill.  Slice and chop an avocado and add "fix old window sill" to the ten page list of jobs for the carpenter, while resolving to learn how to fix things for yourself.  Surely it can't be too hard to replace a faucet?  Right?  Chop a hard boiled egg and place in the salad bowl.  While staring in the direction of the noise coming from the attic, notice that the absurdly tall window in the foyer is filthy.  Realize that whoever installed this window must have been in cahoots with a professional window cleaning company because only they would be in possession of the tools required to clean it.  Wonder if you could call the volunteer fire department and pretend there is a fire around that window so they might squirt it with the high powered hose.  In a small bowl mix together white balsamic vinegar, dry mustard, salt and pepper.  Toss together and enjoy before setting glue traps.  When finished, empty remaining contents into sink and listen to the sweet sweet sound of the garbage disposal as it grinds up all your scraps along with your worries.

 

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.