Category Archives: Food

Vice Parade

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6

Ok so I’m a creature of comfort. I like it. Domesticity=heaven in my book. Making breakfast in heels and panties makes me happy.

A wannabe pin-up for sure. I’d put my hair in pigtails if it wouldn’t risk ruining the perfect eggs.

Looking at the day ahead and breathing, finally. Itching to go for a run in the fog.

Cleaning the kitchen… emptying the dead food from the refrigerator and deciding to sink into my own little parade of vices.

So I iron a dress, and curl my hair. Fake lashes, the whole nine. Why not. I feel better and nobody needed to see me for the past week- I’m starving and there’s nothing to eat. Hell I might even go to two stores, or even three. I love grocery shopping. Love it. Especially at Super 1 after my whole Mr. Flintstone crush.

Call it a retail high, or my Mormon roots shining through… but I go down every aisle, happily. I curled my hair for this, I’m gonna enjoy it!

First things first, a dozen roses. Fuck Valentine’s day this year, period. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to be tortured by the displays and not see roses in my kitchen. Nope. That’s the beauty of being a self reliant, single woman. $15 is cheap to avoid another boyfriend.

Olive bar… oh gawddd… this is gonna be one of those days. Prawns, fresh basil, grape tomatoes, fresh mozzarella pearls…prosciutto and marinated artichoke hearts. Be still my heart.

Pizza… bacon… and my favorite little Ham & Swiss Lunchable. Oh my. You absolutely CAN buy happiness.

This girl intends to feed this broken heart until it’s full again. Emotional eating? Absolutely- don’t judge.

Fresh tuna, lobster tails, wasabi and baby fingerling potatoes. Everything to make Husband soup. Inoki mushrooms, praise God.

Rootbeer, vanilla ice cream… and everything to bake myself into the white zone.

Two bottles of Sauvingnon Blanc and a bag of beef jerky… because I’m still that pathetic broken hearted girl and it reminds me of him. I’m being honest. Ugh. Ouch. Time to get baking.

Dicing vegetables is zen. I’m meticulous. I have to have perfect little square potatoes, and they have to be fairly uniform. I don’t like haphazard soup… and I enjoy the process. Washing mushrooms and peeling carrots. Making the dough for the noodles and diving deep into my favorite things to save myself.

I’m sad, and it’s awful- and I miss him… and I know that I just have to miss him from now on… and it sucks when you know you just have to survive it, because the pain is not going to end until you let it. It was so right… so incredibly everything I ever wanted… and it’s confusing how it all ended and it’s hard having him hate me. How’s that for truth. Ugh.

Making noodles makes me feel ridiculously attractive. Funny huh? I’m the sexiest noodle making old fashioned girl on the block, lol. I like doing things the old fashioned way. I love making it from scratch. I’m Jenni Crocker Stewart on overdrive, consider this my public service announcement. Y’all are about to gain some weight if you stop by.

Why not make bread if I’m making noodles, right? Sure. Honey whole wheat rolls, for my daughter to pack for lunch this week too. If this nightmare has taught me anything, it’s to stick to my core values and true feelings. I knew something was wrong when he wasn’t waiting for me at the airport. I’m a fucking hypocrite if I tell my kids to listen to their heart and ignore my own. I ignored some red flags here and there because it was just so good. Funny and intimate and amazing. Until it wasn’t. I’m really determined to be thankful for the good moments because the pictures make me smile and the memories are priceless in knowing what it feels like to have someone be wonderful to you. It’s a hell of a story, if nothing else.

My life is a damn movie, lol…

Complete with Puerto Rican Police and being roofied. Word. Come on, laugh with me about it. I’m still in shock. A week ago today I was walking in the rainforest with him, so in love and so sad to be leaving him I dissolved into tears all day. It was fantastic and I am thankful for the memories.

Bake, woman… stop thinking… grating lemons, melting butter… mmmm…. Meyer Lemon Bars.

Fresh pesto with the basil I bought… Mmm the house smells amazing. My bread is rising, my noodles are drying and the broth is simmering lightly on the stove.

Success. Grin. Let the fun begin.

A delightful cigarette before filling a glass of wine… and a bubble bath with my favorite coconut scented bubbles. Scrub my feet and shave my legs… anything to get rid of this tan that is a constant reminder that I just got back. Bruises here and there. My aching heart. It all just sucks to go through. Haven’t I done this enough already? Haven’t I learned my lesson? What the fuck is wrong with me and my judgement? Seriously.

He’s more worried about how I portrayed him than the fact someone put something in my drink… while telling me I don’t know what real love is. To be honest, I think he’s right. I don’t know what it is… but I do know what it’s not.

This is a prime example of what real love ISN’T. Perhaps it could have been, but without faith, love doesn’t stand a chance.

I have an hour before I have to shape my dough into rolls… and I’ve avoided my knitting because I’ve been too depressed. Knitting makes me happy and I have brand new fuzzy brown yarn. Within a few stitches I’m at ease. Calming down. Breathing deeply and allowing myself to miss him even though it’s gone so horribly south. It’s a lot to deal with in a week and I’m still reeling. Nevermind the impact of the climate change on my body, my whole world has been turned upside down and I have been in both heaven and hell in the last 7 days. I don’t recommend it.

This darling little bunny face is shaping himself in my hands and I’m wistful. He wanted me to knit him something and I naturally start. I’m so ridiculously predictable it’s sad, lol. I’ll make him for myself and it will be a reminder that I shouldn’t do too much. Cute little seed stitch ears, a little pink nose… he’s adorable already and he’s simply a decapitated bunny head. Sitting down to quietly make something with your hands, even if it’s nothing more than folding rags into squares is soothing, routine, and peaceful.

Sunday cleaning, fresh fluffy towels in the bathroom and clean sheets on my little darling’s bed. Fluffy white socks, a freshly washed blanket and one of many glasses of wine needed to face this day. Stupid shows about weddings… ya know- cause that’s what you watch when you want to wallow in your breakup.

Because ultimately… if it can work out for that crazy bitch on the TV?

It can definitely work out for you.

Cheers… and give me a call if you’re hungry :)

Poisoned.

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10

I feel like I got kicked in the chest by a horse.

Holy Mother of God… I may will never touch a grocery store chicken salad, ever again.

I’ve admitted my laziness in cooking for myself. I’m a Mormon girl at heart- I can’t cook for two. I cook for twenty. It’s in my blood. So on an already crazy busy day off, I clung to my lazy habits of late and cruised by the grocery store for lunch.

Hmmm…. nothing fried- I’m not a huge fan of anything cooked by submerging it in boiling grease. Ew. I found what looked to be like a divine chef salad. Tukey, ham, cheese… etc… yummy. Chuck it in the cart and lunch is ready. Amen… or so I thought.

I flew home to get ready for the impending snow storm, inhaled my salad without really tasting it- and went to work getting everything locked down, picked up and ready for the dreaded white crap.

I went to bed early- happy my baby girl would be home the next day and delighted with all I’d managed to get done. Looking forward to my first football-free Monday shift in ages. I love football, but it’s gotten insane lately.

By 3 in the morning… I woke up to my stomach flip-flopping. Within an hour of that I was in a ball on the bathroom floor, thanking God and all that is holy that I’d already cleaned the bathroom the day before. I fell asleep some time around 9 the next morning, with my head on the edge of the bathtub… eternally grateful for the icy cool porcelain.

Not in the clear, by a long shot.

I threw up all day… until I had to call work at noon and beg for someone to cover my 4 o’clock shift. My body was caught in some sort of firestorm of chills, nausea and fever. My stomach waging a vindictive battle rivaling the civil war. In tears… and desperate for relief.

Popsicles… nope. I swear they were still cold when they were rejected.

Water? No. If you’ve never thrown up ice cubes, say a silent prayer that you never will. They feel like cold glass- and that’s precisely how they feel in your throat.

My dear friend covered my shift, as I threw up the nonexistent contents of my evil stomach.

I swear on a stack of bibles that I will never eat another salad from the grocery store.

It got to the point that I started to bargain with God. I promised to volunteer more, go to Mass and grasp the lazy lesson I was being taught the hard way.

I finally kept a glass of water down around 10 o’clock last night as my poor little angel tucked blankets around my trembling body. She got me a cold wet washcloth for my forehead. She snuggled in next to me and flipped the rag so it stayed cool and told me all about her week and playing with her baby brother, who she treasures more than anything.

We watched the Smurfs movie, which was actually really pleasant in my weak and vulnerable, near comatose state. I could see the concern on her face and she actually started asking me about going to the emergency room after the 5th or 6th time I had to run to the bathroom. Little did she know I was on hour 15+ of my body fighting to get every single bit of that godforsaken salad, out.

Waking up to my sweetheart this morning, I feel like a damn beauty queen. I jumped out of bed giggling and my princess sat up, sleepy soft and rubbing her pretty green eyes. Opening them and smiling sweetly, she grimaced at me.

D- Ohhhh mommy… you look horrible.

I turned around and looked in the mirror and OH. She’s not kidding. The blood vessels in my eyes are shot. I look like I’ve been to war. My skin is dull and lifeless, my hair is still damp from the fourth bubble bath I took late last night. It’s going to take some effort to look presentable for work this morning.

But…

Life is beautiful.

I am so happy I don’t have to worry about getting snow in my shoes because I’m inches off the ground and beaming sunshine at anyone in my path.

It’s all a lovely bowl of delicious hope and anticipation, precisely what my soul has been hungry for….. and in a matter of weeks?

Someone may have to tie a ribbon around my wrist to keep me from floating away entirely.

I’m so damn excited I’m stuck in a perennial happy dance.

Come on… dance with me ♥

Kiss & Tell

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3

*Guest Blog, Thanks, Mr. Chef*

She walked in and I knew immediately that it was her. She had some sort of black strappy dress on and she was looking left and right while picking at her nails. I read enough to know that means she’s nervous.

I observe her like I’m hunting her, not wanting her to see me until I’ve had a moment to really watch. She’s fairly short, quite busty and she smiles at everyone who smiles at her. She has amazing bone structure. Her cheeks are flushed and sort of sparkly. Her lips are red. I’m enjoying her not being able to recognize me. She glances at me briefly, raising an eyebrow slightly while smiling appreciatively. I find that I’m particularly happy being hunted by this blond beauty in my own restaurant.

She’s looking like she’s about to bolt so I stand up and watch her turn, slowly. It’s like an explosion that hits you in the chest. When she smiles at you, she smiles into you. Her eyes are green and sparking at me flirtatiously. I have to return the smile because the smirk on her lips is contagious.

There’s something about Jenni. There’s something about the way she makes you feel that makes you want to know her. Sitting in a crowded restaurant and she’s the only woman I notice. Her laugh is intimate, reminiscent of something sexual and it changes my thought process. She’s classically beautiful. All the parts and pieces are pretty and they add up into a woman that’s more than easy on the eyes. Just when you think you’ve got her figured out with her red handbag, she opens her mouth and she’s smart and funny.

I’ve read her blog for so long that I watch for the signs that match my favorite posts. Does she bite her lip (yes). Does she fidget? (yes). Does she notice my freshly shaved head? (she’s sitting on her hands, I’d say yes). She swallows repeatedly when I ask her what she’s hungry for. I like this woman. She’s intense. She’s so sexy. I want to talk to her and I really want to kiss her but I’m determined to wait until she stops playing with her nails.

I’ve been waiting for this. I’ve watched and read about her foodie habit. She has a thing for the men of the kitchen and I intend to make the most of it where the others have failed her, I want to make her write about me.  The last of the tables are leaving and I can see she’s not sure what to think.

• Want to help me cook?

J- Right now?

• Yes

J- Ok.

I threw her an apron and she threw it back.

J- I brought mine.

I thought I was going to smooth talk her, I figured this had to be easy and I was fully armed with all of her hopes and hates………………… but she ties a sexy apron around her neck, smiles at me and turns her back to me with a wink.

J- Tie me?

Any man who thinks they’re going into anything with her with an upper hand are totally mistaken. This lady knows your moves before you make them. I move to tie the white lengths that are hanging at her sides and her perfume envelops me. She smells like the clean air after it rains, and you can only smell her perfume if you’re close to her. Something she knows if the smile on her face is any indication. The clover tattoo between her shoulders is begging to be kissed for good luck. I need a smoke. I hand her some garlic to peel and she rolls the onion back to me.

J- Making me cry on the first date?

I went for a smoke and when I walked back in she was singing along with the music and dancing while she peeled the garlic. She’s at home in my kitchen and its so hot I could sit and watch her but that’s creepy so I get to work. She makes me remember why I loved to cook in the first place and I’m thankful for my apron because shes precocious and having her in my kitchen is a rush. When it got to the point I had to pay attention I poured her a glass of red and sat her on a stool next to me so I could talk to her while I cooked her dinner. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be one more asshole to overcook her steak.

The dining room is dark except for our table which is lit enough that we can eat and talk through dinner. I untie her apron on her way out of the kitchen and she laughs. She brings out the aggressive bastard in me. I want to throw everything off the table and fuck her right there. Fuck dinner, I want to really feed her. I want to put more than words in her mouth and I’m a dick for admitting it. It doesn’t make it any less true and I watch her take her first bite like she’s the worst critic to cross my career. Praying to the food gods she loves it and knowing I’ll read about how bad it was tomorrow if she doesn’t…… but she smiles and says it’s amazing.

She talks about things like hating the snow and loving her kids. She’s funny even talking about painful things. She isn’t the slightest bit damaged by the guys who have tried so hard to use up all the sweetness she brings. She doesn’t like to talk about her blog. She gets quiet and I watch her choose her words carefully. I don’t tell her I was a journalism major in college before I started cooking.

J- It scares all the right people and tempts all the wrong ones.

Fuck, does that make me one of the wrong guys? Maybe so but I’m going to enjoy my date with her either way and her company is hard to relinquish. We drink two bottles of wine laughing about everything from the Octomom to global warming. She’s disarming and she has a look that would give a dead man goosebumps.

I watch her yawn a dozen times before I do the respectful thing and ask if she’s ready to go. She is. Damn. She moves to clear the dishes and I stop her. Where did this woman come from? I walk her to her van and she smiles again.

J- Thanks for dinner, it was absolutely delicious.

I don’t wait. I move in and kiss her. I’m seeing green lights and hoping I’m right. I press her up against the cold metal of her door and hear her moan in my mouth. Feeling her mouth open under mine is the equivalent of the dessert I’ve been wanting since she walked in the door. Kissing her requires three languages to describe. I can see the potential for things getting out of control in a second when she pulls away and smiles.

J- Whoa… I’m actually not dating anymore and I promised myself I’d be single until my sweater is finished. If you want to wait I’d love to see you again but I need to get home.

• Yeah. I’d like that. How much longer until you finish it?

J- Six months or so? Oh…. would you want to guest blog for me? It’s a really rough week and I’ve decided to ask my favorite people to help out. You just made the best steak I’ve had since I saw my Daddy last. Can you write at all?

• I can spell even! Can I kiss and tell?

J- I hope so, the last guy I dated couldn’t kiss his way out of a wet paper bag, there aren’t words to thank you for that kiss goodnight.

• Yes, I’ll do it.

I’ve already broken my promise because I was supposed to keep it under a thousand words, but those lips, that tongue and her laugh make keeping it short and sweet impossible.

Shame on any of you fuckers who would even think about giving her less than she deserves…. which is everything.

Get in line behind my knitting……………..some women require you to climb out of your box to access theirs and my mama didn’t raise no fool.

I’m climbing.

Can It

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3

Sparkly pink nailed goodness is great for canning, oddly enough!

These acrylic wonders work miracles when it comes to blanching and peeling peaches.

Domesticity makes me inches off the ground happy, so the peach juice running down my arms and dripping off my elbows only makes me smile bigger.

The smell of jam boiling slowly on the stove, my favorite cherry print apron and hot canning jars in the dishwasher?

I’m in heaven. Sweet domestic bliss.

Canning is right up there with knitting. You start with the raw tools and it’s up to you what you put into it. The world is your oyster and you can have, be & do anything you wish.

Getting back to basics makes you value your skill base. It reminds you how capable you are.

Even if you fuck it up.

I had an entire batch of huckleberry jam fail last year…. so I changed the labels to say “Dessert Sauce”. Easy… and everybody loved it.

Because the reason I can and the reason I garden? Is to love the people who treasure me with the gifts I can make them from my heart. Simple homemade gifts of love.

Slicing vanilla beans in half and smiling at the tiny seeds bubbling in and around the soft sweet peaches I diced in cubes.

Foodie porn, in my kitchen, in heels even.

Baking, canning and smiling it all better.

One jar at a time.

Simple Abundance.

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5

I miss my kindred spirit sister. My Blogtastic.

She reminded me today to slow down, take a deep breath and go back to looking at everything that’s right.

Getting lost in everything that’s wrong is a losing battle. Getting upset only ruined my entire day.

Until I read a note from her.

- I dont have a car. I have a bed on the floor, a broken laptop, and a few suitcases of clothes….. And pictures of my favorite people. I feel blessed with that much. When I get real lonely, I read a book on my phone. Even without a family of my own, out the family and friends I come from, I’ve learned to be thankful for the littlest things. Like when you can’t find a problem with an ex’s new squeeze, then you find out she can’t spell. Or when you introduce someone new to tucker max, and they begin to think you are the coolest person in the universe. Or even when someone you dont like trips over their own feet, and when they look around, they see you staring and laughing at them and they are even more embarrassed. The little things. sometimes I imagine if god was man, he would be sitting in a corner with you and me, people watching. And he would call day day a whore and laugh with us. doesn’t that make you feel even closer to god? I miss you. Watch out for the little things, you just might have a great day :)

She knows so much. I miss her so so so much.

When I close my eyes, I can feel her hug me with all the love in her heart. She’s right here, lifting me up in a low moment. Reminding me who I am.

My Blogtastic and my Thomas in the same week…. combined with a painful dose of ugly reality from my dear son.

I hear you. All of you.

Clearly I’ve gotten lost along the way, and clearly the path I’m on isn’t the right one.

Nobody wants to be a buzzkill pain in the ass.

So I spent the evening watching crazy silly television with my darling daughter. She painted my nails a scary bright color of mermaid turquoise. I can’t even lie… they’re atrocious. lol The poor Asian lady at the nail place is going to call me an asshole in her native tongue, I’m sure of it.

We put the down comforters back on the beds today, and she grinned at me. I know exactly what she’s about to ask me. She loves to sleep in my bed and honestly I’ll take any additional minutes I can get with her. Even if she’s asleep. Waking up to the little miracle is a guaranteed good day.

I started knitting the endless string of hats I’m making for my friends, their babies, my babies. Hell someday I may knit one for myself! My favorite old Skacel needles and a new skein of vermillion Malabrigo. I may as well purr. Knitting makes me that happy. Sitting with my baby girl’s head on my leg, watching a bunch of guys build amazing fish tanks, telling her about the time her dad & I tried to have a saltwater fish tank in a 20 gallon tank. It was amazing… for the short time before they all died.

We went out to the garden… and really laughed. It’s an absolute field. lol. Total and complete failure of a garden. I should have listened to my son. He told me to just do a small section… and I would have been able to maintain that much- but I wanted so badly to see my pretty circle of vegetables show up again this year….

No dice. The red zinnias are starting to flower, which give some idea of a circle? But not really. The thistle isn’t just a weed in my garden anymore, it’s in full bloom.

But…

I have beautiful potatoes. Gorgeous carrots… beets even! Even some delicious sweet corn and a few green beans here and there. Adorable little pumpkins starting to turn orange, and even a sunflower or two.

I haven’t watered anything in weeks. I owe my life to the water company at this point, I don’t want to add to the suffering by any means. I had an entire new line put in last month and the bill was still $500 for August. Good God almighty… it’s certainly the year of challenges….

Yet it just keeps growing. Without my help. Without burning every off hour creating vegetables I can’t begin to deal with.

I could have planted just the front square, and we’d have harvested ten times as much. We’d at least have one tomato to pick. Sheesh.

Lesson learned- and a few new ones along the way.

1. When you do too much? You spread yourself too thin and you miss the joy in the moment being too worried about making it to the next thing on your list.

2. Filling your life with bullshit doesn’t make up for the absence of what you really want/love/miss. It’s still missing. You’re still sad. Some people and things are irreplaceable.

3. Facing the truth hurts. It makes you sick to your stomach and it makes you change the things you’ve used as a crutch. I want to be the person my son adores, not the “despicable” person he thinks I am. I’ve learned that seeking everyone’s approval only results in feeling like shit, but I need his in order to go through life. Whatever it entails, I’m committed to changing his opinion of me.

4. Men lie when it gets them what they want. All men. Your man. ALL of them. When it isn’t convenient and you ask too many questions? They lie AGAIN. Instead of being mad about it, get used to it and don’t expect anything else. Remember… expectation is premeditated resentment.

5. Women lie to get their way. ALL women. We’re equally, if not ten times more evil than you. We don’t just get even. We get even AND the title to your car. We can be a hateful bunch. I firmly believe someone will appreciate the damned horrible bitch I can be, right along with the sweet domestic princess I really am. Lucky guy…

6. Every day is better if you add music. We dance our way to getting ready for school in the morning. I run to my favorites, to the point I have to stop and dance sometimes. Dancing my way through laundry and dishes, mopping, etc… makes life a little less stressful.

7. Buying your kid what they want doesn’t make you a bad mother. It’s liberating. I let her have Cherry Coke if she wants it. I buy the bullshit overpriced Lunchables. I forever stuck to some internal mom-Bible telling me I would be thrown into the fiery pits FOR SURE if I let my kids drink soda or eat crappy overpriced cheese and crackers. Guess what? She likes them, and nobody died. My garbage can is full of to-go containers because I work so much I don’t want to cook. I’d rather bring home food and spend my moments with her. I’d rather be present in the moment. I’ve learned to get over myself. For what it’s worth.

8. Real friends are what life is all about. Being a good friend means that when the shit hits the fan and you need one? You don’t know where to start, because they’d all be there in a second.  I know the most amazing women in the world. I call many of them best friends. I know artists, mothers, wives, nurses, cowgirls, models, writers, etc. I know what it is to be truly blessed.

9. If you act like a piece of ass, expect to be treated like one. This one is pretty self explanatory. Even nice guys capitalize when you offer yourself up like ass on a plate. Being shocked by it only makes you look stupid too.

10. Lessons only count if you act on them. Acknowledging them doesn’t get you anywhere without real intention.

I’m exhausted to the point of begging for a night off work. I’m super-gluing the heel of my foot back together. I’m still fighting a cold. BUT… I’m fucking happy. Down to my toes satisfied when the fact that I love my life, I love my new roommate. I love my kids, even when one of them hates me. I love digging potatoes with my scary turquoise nails, laughing at the utter failure of a garden with my little princess, as she is hysterically cackling and bent over shrieking loudly every time she sees the weedy mess.

Ten shiny new lessons…

and so many more every crazy, beautiful & ridiculously chaotic day of my life.