Here is something that I wrote.

You might want to wait till after lunch to read this piece on The Hairpin, written by me.

Adventures in Booty Holes: The Story of the Botched Colonic. 

99% Cavalcade of Cabbage

Dear Reader,

In these times of economic woe, it is good to take a cue from our grandparents and great grandparents - unless yours were very very wealthy, in which case you can suck it.  My great grandfather worked in a steel mill in Indiana. He lived, with his wife and four children, in a one bedroom apartment in what was called, "Company House," sort of like a dormitory for the steel workers. This was during the depression, and so my grandmother started working at age five to help support her family. She woke early to pick onions on a farm before school. When the farmer saw how industrious she was, he told her she could hire her sister to help out. Her sister, my great aunt Anne, was three. My grandmother let her sleep in the field and just hurried to pick more onions. There wasn't much food for them, but being Ukrainian, they had a deep appreciation for cabbage.  My grandmother could do as much with cabbage as Bubba could do with shrimp .  And one cabbage would sometimes feed them for several days. So I will here give you three uses for cabbage, besides the obvious stuffing your bra with the leaves to relieve engorged nipples.

Happy Happy Cole Slaw

This is a good one and can be varied. You can use any kind of cabbage you want for these. I love Savoy because it's so pretty, but I can't always find it. Basically shred your cabbage - not the whole thing unless you're feeding all the neighbors, use about one third. Add some sliced onion and diced pineapple. My grandmother used to use canned pineapple and it was fine. Toss it all together with simple white vinegar that you probably have left over from that time you wanted to dye Easter eggs, and some olive oil, salt and pepper. If you're feeling fancy you can add in some chopped jicama and some avocado. I love this cole slaw inside a taco or fajita, and in fact had exactly that last night for dinner. Yum.

Good Enough For Guests Cabbage

This will become one of your favorites, I promise. Unless it doesn't.  Shred another third of your cabbage.  In a large pan, melt some butter and toss in a handful of cumin seeds. You can also use caraway, but as you must know by now, I love cumin. When you can smell the cumin wafting from the pan, throw in the cabbage, salt and pepper, and saute until nice and soft. Squeeze on some lime and serve. This would go nicely with some sort of Germany sausage like Bratwurst, or plain ole hot dogs.

Post Modern Saurkraut 

My own grandma's recipe for saurkraut, not at all authentic, but really tasty.  Shred the last third of that cabbage and put it in a pot. Pour in a healthy squeeze of ketchup. Toss in some chopped apples, some onion, a small fistful of caraway seeds, and about two tablespoons of brown sugar and some salt.  Cover and cook over low heat until everything is soft and blended together. If it starts to stick to the pan, you can add water or if you have it, some cider.  This also goes well with hot dogs, but is perfect with kielbasa, which also comes in a not-too-bad vegetarian version, if that's your thing.

Stupid Stories for Children: Three Little Pigs

This is how my daughter entertains us at dinner. Enjoy.

*#@!#*& Snack Week: Friday

Friday

So what do you eat when you make about a million raspberry bars and half the kids don't touch them? They'd rather have left-over pretzel rods? I'll tell you:  raspberry bars and a super large vodka tonic. I guess this answers my question as to whether my bars are as good as my friend's.  Cheers.

*#@!#*& Snack Week: Thursday

Thursday

I have a friend who makes the most delicious raspberry bars known to mankind. Yesterday I begged her for the recipe, knowing that I was going to bake something for my daughter's class. But even knowing how very much in love with her raspberry bars I am, she would not fork over her recipe. Well. I. Never. Actually I completely understand, however I took this as a CHALLENGE. I would make my own raspberry bars, goddammit. And that is what I did.

I started with a shortbread crust. I can make shortbread. My grandmother was from Scotland, and just about the only thing she could make was shortbread, so that's a cinch. In my food processor, I dumped 2 1/2 cups of flour, 2/3 cup sugar and 1/2 tsp (sort of heaping, almost). I blitzed for a few seconds, then dropped in two sticks of unsalted butter cut into cubes. I pulsed this for about 40 pulses until it was grainy, and able to be pinched together. I scooped out 1 1/4 cups of this sugary grainy flour and put it in a separate bowl. Next, I lined a 13x9 inch baking pan with foil, greased it up, and pressed the shortbread into the pan, and let her cook at 375 for about 17 minutes until she was nice and golden brown on the edges. Shortbread, done.

Here you see the shortbread crust mid-way through being pressed into the pan.

Then I mixed 3/4 cup raspberry jam with a half pint of fresh raspberries, and sort of squashed the fresh berries into the jam because nobody wants great big globs of fruit in their delicate raspberry bars. To this berry mush I added some fresh lime juice, squeezed from half of an extremely juicy lime. If you are using a dryish lime, then go for the whole thing, or taste it to see how limey you like it.

 This picture is not a badly drawn parallelogram. You can't tell, but that is my stove on the right.

Now for the crumb topping. Normally I like almonds in a crumb topping. Or pistachios, if I'm feeling fancy. And if I am being totally over the top, 'who does she think she is?!' I mix marzipan in there. Oh, I know. It's totally crazy. But there's this nut issue. So I used pumpkin seeds. I blitzed half a cup in the processor, then added them to the flour with 1/2 cup of oats (the old fashioned kind) and 1/4 cup of brown sugar. My mother used to call brown sugar "Brown Hoo Ha," and one of my earliest memories is of her standing on the counter, gnawing on a hardened piece of said Hoo Ha that she kept in a high cupboard so that my brother and I couldn't reach it. Chic c'est la vie!

 Pumpkin seeds to save the day!!! Since I used pumpkin seeds a.k.a. pepitas, and lime, can these bars be heretofore known as Mexican Raspberry Bars? Maybe not.

I mixed this stuff up, and when the shortbread was ready, slathered on the raspberries, then topped with the crumb mix. Baked for about 24 minutes, then let it rest for an hour, or as long as it took me to pick the kids up from school and take them to their after school activities. I swear, if I added up all the time I have spent waiting outside various ballet classes, swimming lessons, gymnastics and Kumon, it would total about four years. Anyhow, when I got home, I cut them into squares, and as I made two batches, we got to eat some!

The verdict? These bars are delicious. Do they match up to my friend's raspberry bars? It doesn't really matter, does it? The important thing is that I am no longer dependent on someone else to provide me with raspberry bars, cause I can make them my own self. Not that I wouldn't be really really really thrilled if my friend would make me some of hers soon. Real soon.

Will the kids like them tomorrow? My daughter assured me that they would - if I also sent in some whipped cream.

*#@!#*& Snack Week: Wednesday

Wednesday

Today the kids ate the rest of the yucky pretzel rods, and the cookies - nobody had to bust out their epi pen, so that's a good thing. This afternoon I really planned to bake something, I swear I did. But I hurt my back and am trying very hard not to move too much, so that's not happening. Don't worry I didn't hurt my back so badly that I won't be able to lift the magnum of vodka out of the freezer and pour myself a large cocktail now that the kids are in bed. I bought the snack for tomorrow, and it is a healthy one to make up for the cookies that I'm sure the teacher was not exactly thrilled about (sorry Caitlin). Tomorrow is hummus, carrots, and I was thinking to buy pitas and chop them into cute little triangles, but I found these, which are super cute all on their own!

I'm sure the kids would like them more if they were stuffed with M&M's, but they're going to have to settle for chick peas.

Here is something else that's cute:

*#@!#*& Snack Week: Tuesday

Tuesday

Today I got a free pass, as the kids had the Pirate's Booty that I dropped off yesterday. AND, if that's not enough to make a mom smile, the cookies passed inspection, so that takes care of tomorrow! I'm feeling like a bit of a whiner that I was making such a big deal out of snack week, and I was almost finished with my duties on Monday. So, just to even things out, I am going to actually make something for snack on Thursday and Friday. I know you're saying, "Heather, don't make us wait until Thursday to see what you are bringing for snack! We will die of anticipation by then!" But remember, if I'm making something to bring to school on Thursday morning, I'm going to have to bake, or otherwise prepare, the snack tomorrow night, because the type of person who gets up at four to bake is not the type of person that I am.  In the meantime, check out this totally awesome video I found on the YouTubes. Enjoy!

*#@!#*& Snack Week: Monday

Dear Reader,

At my kids' school, parents are required to take turns providing snack for the class for one week. It's best to sign up early, lesson learned by forgetting that it was my turn and leaving the teacher with a room full of famished first graders. So this week it is my turn, and in this here blog, for this whole entire week, I will tell you about the snacks I am bringing to school. If you have any snack suggestions I would be most appreciative!  

MONDAY

I thought I had everything under control, buying strawberries, because the snacks are meant to be healthful, and also some organic Oreo-type cookies, because I want the kids to think that my daughter's mom brings awesome snacks. But last night I received a letter from the teacher, with words that no parent who is providing snack for thirty (yes, THIRTY) kids wants to hear:  

There are peanut and nut allergies present in the class. When shopping for snacks, please be on the lookout for anything containing peanut oil, peanut butter and nuts as well as any foods that have been manufactured on equipment handling these ingredients.

A quick check of the cookies I had purchased revealed that they were manufactured in the same general vicinity as some things that may or may not have touched peanuts. I don't know when peanut allergies became so commonplace, or so dangerous, but I'll be damned if I'm going to make a kid go into anaphylactic shock over my snacks. So the cookies stayed at home and I will soon be providing you with a recipe using two boxes of organic Oreo-type cookies.

Three pints of strawberries are hardly enough for thirty kids, so after the school run today I had to stop in the grocery store for some pretzel rods. I also picked up three bags of Pirates Booty, because I can't figure out why kids, or anyone else for that matter, like pretzels. When my son was in nursery school, my very first snack experience, I brought in fruit and the kids helped me make a delicious fruit salad. I was so proud of myself, had bought the best fruit, all organic and everything. I spooned some of the fruit salad into little bowls, and hovered, waiting for the kids to say how delicious it was. Not one of them ate a single bite. They just sat there squirming in their little chairs. And these weren't exotic fruits or anything. The teacher said, "Would anyone like pretzels?" There were cheers, fist pumping, and chants of, "Pretzels! Pretzels! Pretzels!" Go figure.

At least there aren't gluten issues in this class, cause that leads to some super lofty string cheese bills.

September 11th.

The past few months I’ve been running in the morning, getting up early before my husband and the kids. But with school starting this week, today I ran after dropping the kids off. Their school is near the West Side Highway in lower Manhattan. I always run along the Hudson River to avoid the awkward jogging in place that one must do when stopped at a traffic light. Today, a beautiful, crisp morning, I ran west to the river and turned left. This is what I was looking at:

 

That building with the cranes on top is 1 World Trade Center, formerly known as the Freedom Tower, under construction. I have lived in New York for eighteen years. The view from my apartment used to be of the World Trade Center. After it was gone, the view, in spite of all the buildings I could still see, was nothing more than a huge, gaping void. Today, running along the river, I was staring at this new building and, I don’t know why, but I decided to run there. I ran down to the pedestrian bridge, against the swarming mass of commuters emptying out from the PATH train, and stopped just in front of the site. 

1 World Trade is really quite eerie when you imagine what it is replacing - you can see them - really see where the twin towers once were. Craning your neck, looking up into the empty air, it is hard not to picture the people who were just sitting at their desks, turning on their computers, drinking coffee, and ten minutes later hanging out the window about to jump, or the busboys with their faces pressed hard against the floor of Windows on the World trying to breathe.  This morning, in front of the site, I was stopped in my tracks. I stood, staring for a minute, and then I just cried and cried. I didn’t even know that I was still that sad. 

Mostly when I think about 9/11 I feel angry. Not only angry with the people who did this, but also angry at the tourists who go down there sightseeing, ticking “Ground Zero” off their list before catching the matinee of Mary Poppins. I hate the street vendors who sell American flags, souvenirs, pictures of the towers, pictures of the towers on fire, and the people who buy them. I’m angry at stupid right wing politicians like Sarah Palin who praise the virtues of small-town America and the people that live there, and lambaste the “liberal elite” that live on the east coast in lefty places like New York, all the while waving their flags and saying “Never Forget,” and cheering a war against people they know nothing about in the Middle East. The reason New Yorkers are so “lefty” is that it’s hard not to be tolerant and compassionate of your neighbors. It’s much easier to hate what you don’t know, the unfamiliar scares everyone, even my kids know that. And these small town virtues, what might they be? Helping your neighbor? Sticking together, being strong and proud of where you come from? Because that’s what we New Yorkers did in the days after 9/11. While it’s nice to say that the terrorists didn’t win, in many ways they did, because it’s just not the same here anymore.

It was religious fanatics who did this, not Muslims. The guys who run the deli down my block don’t mind if you’re short on money, and they’ll let you come back later when you’ve got it. They’re Muslim. They used to have a sign in their window, written in Arabic, saying their meat was Halal. It’s gone now. They took it down September 12^th. The week following the attack I got into a taxi with my husband, the driver wore a turban.  In front of us on the plastic partition he had pasted a sign reading, “I am not a Muslim. I am a Sikh from India. I love America.” That’s not something you ever would have seen in New York City prior to 9/11. In New York, a turban wasn't out of the ordinary. My husband and I both cried, because while the attack was against America, it was also against our hometown, and it was also this cab driver’s hometown, and it was all so sad. Religious fanaticism that rejects any sort of reason is dangerous regardless of the religion from which it was born.

Every year, I hate September 11th.  I hate the beams of light that blare up from “Ground Zero” as a memorial, and was really glad they didn’t have them this year. I hate the reading of the names. I hate the flags. It’s too sad. I don’t want to remember that. It was horrible. But of course, nobody has to tell me to “Never Forget.” How could I when the wail of a fire engine’s siren turns my blood cold, and the sight and sound of a fighter jet fills me with deep, gray sadness? I won’t forget checking in with everyone - the guy at the coffee place, my doctor, anyone I saw really, in the days that followed, to see who had lost friends and family. “Is everyone OK,” we’d ask each other, and hold our breath for the answer, knowing that nobody was OK. Not really. I will never forget the smell, like burning plastic mixed with an acrid sweetness which lingered in the air, for even as long as late October when my husband and I came out of a movie on 19^th street, and it was as strong as it was in those first days. I don't remember the movie, but I remember that smell. I remember every time I take the subway, drive through the Holland Tunnel, get on a bus. I was four months pregnant on that day, and when my baby was born I wouldn’t let him out of my sight, wouldn’t even let him sleep in a different room, and when the time came for him to go to nursery school, I sat in front of my window, staring in the direction of his school, waiting for a plume of smoke that would send me tearing down Eighth Avenue to get him.

This weekend, all the warnings, and the advice to be “vigilant,” whatever that means, has brought all those awful feelings back, and it is, this year, as if it happened yesterday. I’m crying more. I canceled the babysitter tonight because I just felt like being home with my kids, and I’ll probably stay home for most of this weekend. I hope that this anniversary brings some sort of closure, not to the pain, and horror, and sadness, because that will never go away. But to the media’s constant reminding us to “remember,” because that’s not necessary.

This blog is called Eat Your Feelings. What will I eat on this September 11^th? Probably the cans of soup I’ve had stored in the basement for ten years. And maybe a bagel.

First Day of School Gooey Breakfast Cake

 Fourth grade, Second grade.

Dear Reader,

This year the first day of school came too soon.  I couldn't figure out why this formerly joyous day was now bittersweet, and then I realized: this year I like my kids more.  Of course I have always loved my children, I'm not a monster, but they're a little older now and we can do stuff together besides playing Memory or reading over and over about the cranky trains on the Island of Sodor.  They're real people now!  Sometimes they even give me the finger!  (Not in an out-and-out F.U. kind of finger-giving way, but more like an "Oof, I got something in my eye," while wiping your eye with your middle finger kind of way.)  So today, I packed them off to school and actually can't wait for them to get home.

I wanted to make them something delicious for breakfast - not only because they are awesome and they deserve it, but because I knew I would be exhausted and bleary-eyed this morning.  And let's face it, the first day of school can really, really suck.  Just ask my brother whose best friend thought that dying his hair platinum would help with the bullying.  Wrong!  He was wrong! Oh so very, very wrong!  Then he tried to dye it back to brown and wound up with green hair, oh the torture!  Don't worry though, cause that kid grew up to be team President for the World Series Champion San Francisco Giants, so suck it Eric Berg, you mean bully.

Last night I whipped up a banana bread for the kids, but no ordinary banana bread was this. To make my bread really yummy and special for awesome kids like mine, (and yours I am sure), here's what I do:  I rub butter all over the inside of the loaf pan, as usual, but then I sprinkle in sugar, the same way you would if you were to flour the inside of a pan, but see, I used sugar!  Ten minutes before the thing is finished baking, I pull it out, dot butter on the top and sprinkle on more sugar!  So the outside of the bread is super gooey and sweet and so freaking good.  This works with any quick bread and is especially good if you have that raw sugar with the big crystals which can be obtained for free at Starbucks if you're sneaky or just cheap.

Of course the banana bread recipe I prefer is the You Were a Bully In Middle School Banana Bread from my book, which you can buy even if you are cheap because it is only $9.67 on Amazon.

Enjoy.

 Pan dusted with sugar. Note: I didn't get the bigger crystal sugar, but just used plain ole reg'lar sugar, which is also good.

Bread ready for baking.

Extra buhtur and shuhgur.

Voila!

World Food Programme

Driving home from the beach, we listened to a program on the radio about the crisis in Somalia. The kids decided to have a lemonade stand to raise money for The World Food Programme, after they raised so much money for Doctors Without Boarders and Save the Children. I'm happy to report that they raised more money than ever - a whopping $273.63, thanks to the kindness and generosity of our neighbors and passersby. Coincidentally a gentleman who stopped by for some lemonade and a cookie actually works for The World Food Programme. He took a photo of the kids with their sign, and was kind enough to let me take a photo of him.  To donate to the WFP click HERE.

Unexpected Financial Windfall Watermelon Wahoo!

Dear Reader,

Sometimes you win the lottery.  Sometimes you are walking through an empty parking lot and find two hundred and forty dollars in twenties just lying on the ground. I once won one hundred dollars in a scratch off game. And sometimes you are at Staples, shopping for a new electric pencil sharpener, when out of the blue Mr. Moneybags Deeppockets calls from Twentieth Century Fox in Hollywoodland, USA, to tell you they want to option your book, Eat Your Feelings: Recipes for Self-Loathing, to make a T.V. show. Trust me, it happens. It did happen! Wahoo! This news deserves a drink, don't you think? And not my usual tall glass of vodka with a straw. For this, I'm whizzing up a delicious celebratory cocktail, and I hope you'll have one with me. Cheers!

Unexpected Financial Windfall Watermelon Wahoo!

You will need:
Frozen watermelon chunks
Limeaid
Mint
Vodka
Ice

Fill a blender with frozen watermelon.  Add equal parts vodka and Limeaid - or more of one or the other depending on taste, tolerance and alcoholism.  Toss in a sprig of mint, a few ice cubes and whiz. Pour into a glass, top with a an additional sprig of mint for added panache. Slurp. If you feel like dancing, go right ahead, nobody's watching.

Very Important Candy Update

Remember when Fun Dip was as complicated as candy got?  I don't know if you've noticed, but there's an awful lot of candy contraptions being manufactured these days, and thankfully my children keep me up to date on what is cool.  Right now my daughter is obsessed with Juicy Drop Pops, which are basically a lollipop, but they are contained inside a sleeve, or a sheath, and when you remove the lollipop, you notice a groove hollowed out on one side.  In the bottom of the sleeve is a container of sour juicy liquid, which you can see through two portholes in the side of the sleeve.  You are meant to drop this stuff, which is vile on its own, into the groove on the lollipop before each lick.  It's an awful lot of work for a piece of candy, and you may tire of the whole procedure before you finish the damn thing. Fortunately the liquid has a cap, so that you can top it up and stick the lollipop back into the sleeve if you are somewhere lollipops might be frowned upon, such as a fancy restaurant, the opera, or a funeral.  Just thought I would let you know.  By the way, they also make Blow Pop gum that comes with crushed up Blow Pops to be gradually added to the gum as it loses flavor. Genius.

What better to go with this super sweet confection than a super sweet video from these adorable boyz?
 **This post brought to you by ThingsMyKidsGoNutsOver.org

Consolation Pie

Dear Reader,

This weekend I had the good fortune to attend the Loudoun County Fair in beautiful Leesburg, VA.  I love a good fair, and the county variety is even better than the State Fair if you ask me.  See for yourself:

This was a big disappointment, obviously, but led to a lengthy discussion about whether they actually made cars out of outhouses or just picked them up and carried them, and whether they used modern Port-a-Potties or actual outhouses.  If anyone can enlighten, please do so!

I was all puckered up, but there were no pigs in sight, unless you count the man that was trying to sell me new gutters for my roof while staring at my breasts.

This boy bred and raised that dwarf goat on his farm all by himself, which is pretty awesome.  He's got seventeen of them, and this goat's name is William, so if you ever see him you can say hello.

Now you know.

The pig barn wasn't called "PORK BARN," and the chicken barn wasn't called, "NUGGET BARN."  Not fair.

Here my son is feeding a baby beef with a bottle.

Not sure what this is supposed to be, but I'm guessing there wasn't much competition.

Here is a slutty Barbie cake, I guess.

Yellow cake with Lego?  It is only fitting this cake got a yellow ribbon, because it is so extremely YELLOW.

 

These blueberries were massive.  In my opinion they were ROBBED. 

You should have seen the first place plate of dirt.  Amazing.

Prize winning photo of two old people in a car.  Clearly I know nothing about fine photography, because I wouldn't have even bothered to print this one.

Miss Loudoun County Fair was in the bathroom putting on some eyeliner.  She was mad at her boyfriend for missing her crowning, which is totally justified.  She was talking to her friend whose cake didn't win any ribbons.  The friend didn't realize that the judges were actually going to taste the cake, which inspired the following recipe, because whether it's a game show, bake off or the Miss America pageant, someone has to be number two.  For those occasions when you are not the lucky winner, I offer you this delicious Consolation Pie. Enjoy.

Consolation Pie

You will need:
3 1/2 cups flour
1 cup Confectioner's Sugar
1 cup + 2 Tbs. cold butter, cut into cubes
zest of one lemon
2 eggs
Splash of milk
Nectarines, lots of them
Blueberries
More flour
Brown Sugar
Cinnamon

First off, you are NOT a loser, do you hear me?  Unless of course you were dead last, in which case you are absolutely a loser.  In a food processor, whiz up the flour, powdered sugar, butter, lemon zest, eggs and milk until coarse crumbs have formed the way they form in your bed when you eat cookies late at night when nobody can see you. Form into a ball, or the shape of the trophy you will never win, cover with plastic wrap and stick it in the fridge for a bit.

Meanwhile, peel the nectarines and cut them into eighths or quarters if you're really lazy, while you contemplate the fact that if you weren't so lazy you might have actually won whatever it was you were trying to win.  Mix them in a bowl with blueberries and throw in some flour, brown sugar and cinnamon.  Get out a pie plate and smoosh half of the dough into the bottom of the pan, not bothering to make it look pretty, because nobody really expects perfection from you.  Dump the fruit in the pie dish.  Roll out the rest of the dough, or just sit on it to make it flat.  Whatever.  Who cares?  Put the dough on top of the fruit, brush it with an egg wash, sprinkle on some more sugar, and stick it in the oven at 300 degrees for about 45 minutes.  Either eat the pie, or stick your own face in it to save others the trouble.  Time yourself while eating, because it is never too late to enter pie eating contests.

A Neeeeeeeeeew Mixer!

I haven't felt much like writing about anything, on account of the horrors I am watching in Japan.  But this conversation sort of snapped me out of it.  Keep in mind that he is nine, and she is six.

Daughter: How long would it take for an ant to walk around the perimeter of the whole earth?

Son: I don’t know.

Daughter: How long?!

Son: First, to answer that question I would have to know what the perimeter of the earth is.  Second, an ant would spend it’s entire life just walking across one country – one state.

Daughter: Just TELL ME!

Son: I can’t.

Daughter: You asshole.

So it seems that now is as good a time as any to tell you about the new mixer I was sent by those good people at CSN Stores.  I had pretty much destroyed my old mixer making gingerbread houses last Christmas.  It was a Black and Decker that I had picked up at Rite Aid after destroying the previous mixer making gingerbread houses the prior Christmas.  The new mixer is a Cuisinart and she is a beaut! 

This is the Power Advantage Five Speed Mixer - POW!!!  This baby would normally run you seventy five smackers, but CSN Stores has it available for $39.85.  Pa-POW!

I had a surplus of strawberries, owing to the fact that the local market had a two for one special and I bought two packs (are they called packs?) and my husband had gone in later that day and also bought two packs.  So, you see I had four packs of strawberries.  I made a little strawberry tart.

The Cuisinart Power Advantage comes with a booklet telling you what each speed is used for.  Here I whip together one cup marscapone with 1/3 cup heavy cream and 1/4 cup sugar, on speed numero three.

Ooh la la!  I love this mixer.  LOVE IT.  It runs so smooth, with no hand-numbing rattling, even on the higher speeds.  And trust me, I tried ALL the speeds.

The crust was made by grinding up some almonds, pecans, cinnamon, sugar, butter and flour in the food processor.  Honestly, I wrote down the amounts of each that I used, but I think my husband threw out the paper it was written on.  He's very tidy.  Too tidy, clearly.  While I baked the crust at 375 for about twelve minutes, I plopped about two tablespoons of strawberry jam into a sauce pot with a good glug of brandy, melted it down and poured over the berries.  When the crust was browned and cool, I spooned in the marscapone cream, topped with berries and stuck in the fridge for a while to chill.  This step proved essential, because my renegade crust, made on the fly, was crumbly and would never have allowed for clean slices without ample time to chill.  You can see from the above picture that I could not locate my tart pan and so used my pie dish instead.  The poor quality of the photos can be blamed on the fact that they were taken on my phone because my children used all the memory and battery on my camera taking videos of our hamster.

Oscar Night Drinking.

Tonight I will be watching the Oscars, even though the only movies nominated that I actually saw were The Kids Are All Right, the Facebook movie and Toy Story.  I saw the first two on demand - the only movies I see in theaters anymore are kids' movies, because a) I have kids, and b) I am afraid of the bed bugs.  I'm sure I will see the others at some point, if I remember and I'm not too busy watching I Shouldn't Be Alive on Animal Planet.

It irks me that Natalie Portman will win an Oscar, because she has been absolutely atrocious in every movie she's done since The Professional, and if you don't believe me, take a closer look at Closer.  Sure, she's smart and everything, but that doesn't make her a good actor.  Mike Brown is smart too, but I'm not sure I'd like to see him in a play.  No offense to Mike Brown, who may very well be a master of Restoration Comedy, as well as a prominent astronomer.  But Miss Portman became emaciated for her role in Black Swan, and whenever an actor loses a lot of weight for a role, they tend to get awarded for it, right Tom Hanks?  Whatevs, I really don't care who wins or loses anything, because I certainly don't feel sorry for movie stars not getting trophies.  I don't feel sorry for movie stars, ever.  They are highly paid and that should be all the reward they need, plus it's easy work.  Being a firefighter is hard work, so is being a teacher, also being a welder on a building 150 feet in the air.  That would be hard!

Nevertheless, I love the Oscars!  The glamour, the fashion, and the cocktails I will be drinking!  Tonight I will keep it simple, at the suggestion of my friend Maria, who thought I should make "a pitcher of martinis for one, as Sinatra used to do."  That sounds like a fabulous idea to me.  Here is how I like a martini.

Gin.  Preferably Bombay Sapphire, but if not then regular old Gordon's.  Pour it over ice.

Vermouth.  Take the bottle and wave it in front of your martini glass, then put it away.

Olives.  Pour a smidge of brine into the glass with two olives, more if you are hungry, then top with gin.

Sit back on your couch, in comfy pants, sipping your cocktail, and perhaps enjoying a meatball sub because you have the luxury to not be emaciated if you don't want.

Katie Holmes' Pasta Puttanesca

Another day, another email from a lady with a problem.  This one is easy though!

Heather,
My fiance is a really great guy, and I can't wait to be his wife, but there is one problem.  He's shorter than I am.  It's not the end of the world, I know, but it's not how I imagined my husband in my head.  I don't want to spend the rest of my life feeling huge when I'm at the dinner table with him!  Help me get over this!
-Gloria

There are many qualities which make up a good husband, that he be kind, that he be amusing, that he be helpful around the house, that he enjoy the same television that you enjoy.  Nowhere has it been proven throughout all of history that height has anything to do with it.  That said, I totally get why you wouldn't want to feel bigger than your man.  Here's what I suggest.  Replace your dining room chairs with adjustable bar stools.  Set his higher than yours and voila!  Here's something yummy you can serve for your little guy.  I mean your fiance.  Sorry.

Katie Holmes' Pasta Puttanesca

You will need:

35 oz. can plum tomatoes
Crushed red pepper
Sliced green olives
Sliced black olives
Olive oil
6 cloves garlic
Capers
Parsley
Parmesan
Step stool

Boil a large pot of salted water, and put in pasta.  Have slaves cold press olive oil.  Heat several glugs olive oil in a large pan.  Crush garlic with the side of your knife and add to the pan.  Let it cook for a few minutes while slaves get out the step stool.  Ask boyfriend or husband to climb up on step stool to help with the cooking.  Make sure slave keeps a hand on the stool while he climbs up so that he doesn't fall into the pan with the olives that you should now add to the garlic.  Pour can of tomatoes into pan, squeezing tomatoes to break them up.  This is a good job for him to do, as his wee muscles won't bruise their delicate flesh.  Add a few pinches of crushed red pepper.  Next have him measure out a fistful of capers - don't do it in your hand, that would be too many capers.  Simmer until pasta is ready, then drain the pasta and add to the sauce.  Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with Parmesan.

Begrudging Chicken Picatta

Dear Reader,

I have received an email from "D."  Her issue, not really a problem, but definitely a concern, is something I think we can all relate to.  See for yourself:

Heather,

My best friend, who I've been best friends with since second grade, just got a really great job.  She is making $30,000 more than I am.  We had a little party to celebrate, but inside I really hate her.  She doesn't deserve this.  She's really lazy, she never did her homework in school, and she went to community college. I went to real college.  It's not fair, and I hate myself even more for hating her.

Fed up,

D.

Well, "D," I don't blame you.  People that are happy for the success of their friends are lying.  It is a natural human emotion to feel envy, in fact envy, and comparison to others, is what drives many to success.  The trick is to not beat yourself up about it.  Worse than the envy, is the anxiety you create by trying not to feel envy.  You'd be better off just saying, out loud, "Congratulations on the awesome new job, I am seething with jealousy, and hope you get fired just so I don't feel like such a loser."  Chances are your friend would laugh, and you would have gotten over this by now.  In the meantime, have some Chicken Picatta.

Begrudging Chicken Picatta

You will need:

Pencil

Paper

Chicken breasts, boneless, skinless

Butter

Olive oil

Wine

Nicoise Olives

Rice

Using pencil and paper, write down at least five things you have accomplished in your life.  If you can't come up with five, you may as well skip ahead to the wine.  Melt butter in a skillet with some olive oil.  Toss in chicken breasts in skillet to brown on both sides.  Remove chicken from skillet and poke at it with a sharp knife, not imagining it is your friend, of whom you are insanely jealous, but imagining it is your jealousy itself, in chicken form.  Drain off excess oil from pan.  Pour one glass of wine for yourself, and then about half a glass in the skillet, then add a chunk of butter.  Throw in the olives, season with salt and pepper.  Place chicken on a plate with some rice, and pour on the sauce, also dabbing a little bit behind your ears to attract good fortune.  Using pencil and paper, write down one realistic goal for yourself, such as, "Find underachieving friends of whom I can feel superior," or "Finish eating chicken."

Andy Warhol Eats His Feelings.

Today I took my children to the Museum of Modern Art, here in NYC.  We go to MoMA often, as I have a membership, it's always fun for kids, and the cafe serves AMAZING food.  So perhaps I am just in a Warhol mood because there is an exhibit on of his called "Moving Pictures" which, even though I had to make sure that the kids didn't catch the names of some of the pieces on exhibit, was awesome.  But tonight I came across this video of Warhol eating a hamburger, and it is intriguing to me on so many levels.

First, of course, what was Warhol feeling as he filmed himself eat a burger?  It certainly does not seem to be hunger.  More it seems like he was feeling, "Will people watch a film of me eating a hamburger?"  The answer is yes.

Second, I always wonder what people ate in the sixties and seventies, because they were so skinny then, and it's not just because they were all doing so much cocaine.  Andy's burger seems about the size of today's burger, but he doesn't finish it, in fact, half way through he discards half of the bun.  And this is before we all became obsessed with carbs, or a lack of carbs.

Third, his ketchup.  I bet it tastes great.  Ketchup didn't have high fructose corn syrup, but probably real sugar, and I bet it was awesome, and also allowed him to put the burger down when he'd had enough.

Fourth, the street noise.  What the hell is going on out there?  Is Serpico busting Son of Sam?

Fifth, the sound of the paper bag.  It is so much thicker than today's bag.

Sixth, there were Burger Kings in NYC then?  Today Burger King is an exotic restaurant in Manhattan.

I'm so freaking hungry right now.  You?

Egyptian Freedom Chicken

If you are like me, watching people on television fighting for democracy provides more than just inspiration.  For example, watching women on the streets of Tehran a year ago prompted me to wear more eyeliner, and gave me an intense desire for Ghormeh Sabzi.  And now Egypt.  All week long I have been watching coverage of the crowd in Tahrir Square on televison, and following protesters on Twitter, dreaming of fava beans and tagines.  And just now, when Mubarak finally agreed to leave, I ran to my kitchen to make some Egyptian food, because today we can all be Egyptian.

Egyptian Freedom Chicken

I didn't actually have any chicken, and wanted to quickly whip this up, so as not to miss the celebration, so I used Quorn cutlets.  I put these in a pan with some olive oil, 1/4 tsp allspice, 1/4 tsp coriander, 1/4 tsp paprika and 1/2 tsp cumin.

The recipe called for onion, which I also did not have, so I used some shallot, and poured on 1/4 cup chicken stock.

Sizzle.

Next I added rice, which was leftover from last night's dinner.  Had I used uncooked rice, I would have used more stock.

The recipe called for currants, which I also do not have, so I used prunes.  Next, I added slivered almonds.

The recipe said to cover the whole thing with a tea towel, but I do not have a tea towel - certainly not one that is (at this moment) clean enough to involve in cooking.  So I just covered the pan in the usual manner.

Awesome.

This dish is really and truly delicious, was prepared in under ten minutes, and is the perfect accompaniment to revolution.  Enjoy before the chaos ensues.

Here you can find the recipe that I used.