Tucson 2012: Local Food Ad

I deeply love bacon, but this is just... disturbing.

Mr. Onion Says...

I like Eating Well magazine because it always contains some interesting ideas and healthy recipes -- and that's a good thing, since most of the recipes I come up with contain copious amounts of cheese.

One thing I've noticed, however, is that the recipes tend to take shortcuts.  I'm sure this is to make them user-friendly for the busy home cook, but some things can't be rushed.  To wit: sauteeing onions.  When I made the Eggplant Bulgur Pilaf in the October issue, I followed the instructions.  I put the eggplant in first, never stopping to consider the natural order of saute handed down from mother to daughter since the earth cooled.

I just blithely went ahead, and ended up with chewy onions and not much aromatic flavor in the eggplant.  If only you'd spoken up a little sooner, Mr. Onion.  Lesson learned.

Chocolate Fountain

During these hot summer days when maiden aunts are subsisting mostly on smoothies and sandwiches, our thoughts naturally turn to food tales of yore.

Picture it: my mother's kitchen, 1985. My youngest sister Rachel (age 8 at the time) asked me to help her make a milkshake. Since I was fully grown and much taller, she stood in front of me while we loaded the blender with ice cream, milk, and Nestle's Quik. As I reached out to pick up the blender's lid off the counter, Rachel pushed a button and started the blender.

Have you ever noticed how, in moments like this, time seems to slow way down? I saw her push the button. I heard myself say "NOOOOOOOOO." I saw the blender's contents fly high into the air, and then splash down upon us. I was still reaching for the lid while flailing toward the off switch.

I surveyed the wreckage. There were chunks of ice cream and splashes of milk everywhere. I was spattered from the chest up and completely clean from there down since Rachel had made a very effective human shield. She was drenched from head to toe, her hair dripping chocolate milk onto the floor. I ran across the kitchen and unspooled a roll of paper towels to mop us off, and then sent her to take a shower and change. I cleaned the kitchen, although I suspect my mother is finding bits of chocolate in odd places to this day.

When I got back from my turn in the shower, believe it or not, the kid still wanted a milkshake.

Good Nutrition

March is National Nutrition Month. Does this mean I have to read the nutrition facts label on everything I eat? Good heavens, I hope not.

What say I try to remember to take my vitamins every day and we leave it at that?

This Kid Scares Me

I can't imagine why anyone ever thought this would be a good way to sell bread... or jam... or whatever they were trying to sell. That child is not right in the head, I'm telling you. She's got "future creepy neighbor" written all over her.

Middle-Aged Math

Not My Best Idea

If you were me, and you'd been invited to a New Year's Eve party about which your friend -- who is a faithful blog reader -- expressly said "For the love of God, don't bring any of that Betty Crocker stuff you've been posting," would you:


A) Bring a lovely side dish
B) Bring Creamy Fruit Salad as a joke
C) All of the above


If you guessed C, you are correct. Thank goodness I also brought Spinach Borek from my Armenian Cookbook (which was great), because the fruit salad went over like the proverbial lead balloon. I got the same quizzical looks that I got last year when I said "I brought bundt cake!"


Tough room.

Wedding Cake Madness

Image: NewJerseyBride.com

I finally got around to watching an episode of The Cake Boss on TLC, and it is deliciously tacky. This five-foot wedding cake is festooned in grapes, ivy, and flowers, and topped with a large column featuring cherubs. The center is a plexiglass box holding live doves. Live. Doves. Click the image for a closer look if you dare.

I guess nothing says "I love you" like bird poop between the layers of your wedding cake.

Food Math

Come Fry With Me

I received the following email from my mom yesterday:

I have no idea why I can't post a comment on your blog so here it is.

Re: Questionable Judgment

This is one time the apple fell far from the tree. You see, I was buying a pumpkin doughnut from Dunkin about every other day so I came up with this wonderful idea that the money saved making my own would pay for a Fry Daddy. Bad Idea is putting it mildly. So far Dad and I have eaten four dozen pumpkin doughnuts, four dozen doughnut holes (after all, can't let those little cutouts go to waste when they can go to waist), two dozen clam cakes (small), and one dozen corn fritters (large). And yes, I have looked up the recipe for deep frying Snicker bars but so far, have resisted.

Don't you just love my mom, gentle readers? She's hilarious.

Another Bad Idea

I didn't eat chocolate for breakfast on purpose. I just got busy yesterday morning with laundry, blogging, and catering to the cat's every whim. As you do. The next thing I knew, it was time to go to work and nothing but caffeine had passed my lips.

Around 10:00, the basket of leftover Halloween candy was calling my name. I tried to ignore it, but its allure was too powerful. I ate a couple of pieces of chocolate even though I knew what was likely to happen.

Chocolate, you are a cruel mistress.

Questionable Judgment

A while back, my mom asked me for advice on deep frying. I told her that I leave deep frying to the professionals because I am afraid of burning the house down or disfiguring myself due to my clumsiness and lack of experience. I suppose I could get a Fry Daddy, but I think it's probably a really bad idea to be able to have anything I want deep fried at a moment's notice. Oh sure, I'd start with vegetable tempura and next thing you know I'd be deep frying bacon and Snickers bars.

Also possibly a bad idea: I signed up for NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). Both blogs. That's 60 posts in 30 days. It sounded like fun when my friend Monica of 5 Cats Shy suggested it, but now I'm wondering. I might surprise myself and come up with some good content. Then again, I might drown in a vat of my own crazy. It's hard to say.