life caught up

Wasn't able to write in a while because my life caught up with me and I suddenly had no free time to sit for more than a minute. Now I'm catching up at the Boulders in Carefree, Arizona for a birthday celebration with my husband (and still suckling child). It's magnificently peaceful. Think I might retire here one day, or at least esacpe from winters here. So sweet.

Just wanted to comment on Top Chef. Though it's similar to other reality shows where certain people are pigeon-holed into characters by the video editing, I'm kind of a sucker and get pulled in to the drama. If you haven't seen it, you'd better check it out.

a half pound of butter

This morning I attempted to make blueberry pudding cake, a recipe from Gourmet 2005. An old favorite; made it several times last summer with our overabundance of Michigan blueberries.

But this time I had two of my three little ones tottling around my feet. "Please can I help. Please can I help. Please can I help." and "da da da da da da da da da". I try regardless. But I should have known not to try something like mentally doubling the recipe while I was mommy-ing. 1/4 x 2= 1/2, 1 tsp. x 2= 2 tsp etc. - not great at the multiplying to begin with. You wouldn't think it's that hard, but alas, 'tis. Here's when I hit a speed bump. The phone rings. Caller ID reads MY MOTHER. I picked it up anyway. So now not only do I hear "Please can I help. Please can I help. Please can I help." and "da da da da da da", but "Aunt Renie said this and Aunt Renie said that." Then there's my second grade teacher in my head saying "1/8 tsp. salt x 2 = 1/4 tsp salt." Meanwhile, I'm trying to measure flour while the butter melts in the microwave. I'm mixing the wet ingredients, whisking the dry, taking the fruit off the heat, assembling the whole mess (which interestingly enough is the batter first in the baking dish, fruit on top - and the blueberries sink during the cooking process.)

So happy that I'm able to accomplish this task, I begin to cleanup, pick up the baby crawling around my feet, think about contructing some lunch for the three year old angel. Ten minutes pass and I need to use the microwave, (who's following along to this point and can guess what mistake I made?) so I open it up. Yep, a half pound of NOW MELTED butter still hanging out in there . Great! I wasn't even making this for myself. This was supposed to be a gift for an unsuspecting friend.

Don't know what you would have done. I actually consider pouring the butter over the top and mixing it all together real fast. But I've done this sort of thing lately and it's backfired. Like the time I forgot baking soda from a orange chicken batter and tried to sprinkle it on the top after the fact. P.S. Don't try that at home. Every third or fourth bite the family got a suspiciously funky tasting chicken bite. Just pretended like I had no idea why. "Huh. That's funny. It takes like a chemistry experiment? Huh."

I decide to let it bake all the way through, peering in every few minutes to see how its turning out. Maybe it'll be salvagable. Timer dings. I take the sucker out. It actually looks okay. But can I really give this to a friend without knowing if it tastes nasty? No, sir. Sheepishly, I cut out a corner and taste it. Pretty good. Whew. Not only does it taste okay, but I've created a new lowfat recipe for my arsenal. If only there weren't two eggs in it, I could call it fat free.

Now I must explain to my friend why a corner is missing from her cake. >Sigh< At least she's also a victim of mommy brain. She'll understand.

a foodie on a diet

Three and a half pounds dissolved, 24 to go. This is not a happy picture for one who thinks, dreams, drools about the next meal. Gotta loose the baby fat though, or else I'll end up looking like Ina. Just looking at that woman you know she is such an amazing chef.

On the other hand, I'd like to know if Giada has an eating disorder. I think I would feel better if she did. Seriously. Because if not, I definitely have issues with her. Perhaps all she eats every day are the two tasting bites of each dish she prepares. If she's able to eat all of her food and still have that kind of boob-waist ratio, then she needs to be burned at the stake. Just like all of the other "women" in this world who wear size zero. Zero is not a size; it's the symbol of nothingness.

In the light of this health consciousness, I tried a recipe from The best of light recipes (love the original best of - it's tattered like a chef's best friend). Lowfat peanut butter cookies. Weren't bad right out of the oven, but by the time they cooled they tasted nasty. The big flaw of that recipe was substituting brown sugar for peanut butter. Bad move. What are peanut butter cookies if not high calorie bites that leave your mouth full of sexy goodness. mmm... peanut butter... will you please excuse me? there's a tablespoon calling my name.

the beginning of the end

So here I go, joining the ranks of the crazy bloggers who think that other people want to know what they're thinking. Sounds nuts, but I think people really do want to know what's in this crazy head. ;)

Mom, this is a lame first post.

Don't worry, bella. There's much more to come.