Mystery Lunch

Excerpt from a conversation with a three-and-a-half year-old who happened upon me today at 12:30 and introduced herself as Leah:

Leah: Oh, hi. What are you doing in here?
Me: Cleaning up the art room.
Leah: Do you work here?
Me: Yes. Do you take classes here?
Leah: Yes. And I'm going home. That's why I'm here. Because I'm going home.
Me: That sounds good. What are you going to do at home?
Leah: Eat lunch. See my mom.
Me: Oh! That's nice. What will you have for lunch?
Leah: Chippies.
Me: Tell me again?
Leah: Chippies.
Me: Chippies. Will you have anything else?
Leah: Nope. When I eat chippies, that's all I have.
Me: Oh. Interesting! What are they like? (trying to figure out what in the hell she's talking about) Are they crunchy?
Leah: I'm not sure. No. Not crunchy. I'm not sure what they're like. (grinning in a big way) They just taste like chippies.

Countdown

In approximately 72 days (give or take, people! I'm not a botanist!) we will be able to say goodbye to these horrid, sad, genetically modified impostors shipped from faraway lands! No longer will an entire carton of strawberries be mainly white in color! Finally, strawberries will taste like something! Finally, strawberries won't taste like styrofoam! Soon, everyone, soon! Strawberries we can be proud of! They're coming. Hang on. You can make it!

Sunday Chores

There's always tomorrow, right?

A Cozy New Suit

You lurk deep, little lemon, you lurk deep. Somehow, amongst all your yellow-suited brothers and sisters in the bottom of the refrigerator drawer, you decided to change clothes -- is this really necessary, or are you just a show-off? Either way, you look adorable. Not quite as charming as a freshly-baked puppy, but still pretty fuzzy and cute. But cuteness pays a price! You will not be dining with me tonight. You will be dining by yourself, in the bottommost part of the trash can.

Sorry, my lemon.

Hold the Relish

This is a short story dedicated to my hot dog-loving brother, who discussed hot dog condiments, brands, and style choices with me today -- all the way from California.

Once upon a time, I went to Mustard's Last Stand, a hot dog place near Northwestern University's stadium in Evanston. The man in front of me said this when he placed his order:

I would like one hot dog with double chili, double onions, lots of that cheese sauce, mustard, ketchup, and triple mayonnaise. To go. Can you wrap it up tight?

I have a lot of questions about this order, some of which are:

Is there really that much surface area on a hot dog?
Is this really still called 'eating a hot dog'?
Perhaps this man would like to eat his hot dog condiments from a bowl, with the hot dog as the topping?

I invite you to think of your own questions for this hot dog orderer. I also would like to cunningly invite you to apply triple mayonnaise to your dog. If you can fit it all on there, you win!

Don't forget to wrap it up tight for the road!

Butcher, Baker, Frustration Maker

This onion came from the supermarket a really, really long time ago.

Oh, dear reader, I've missed you!
You see, I've been a bit under the weather with this awful little cold, so I haven't been putting myself to very good use. And the sad thing is, we have both suffered terribly as a result. It's a shame. But don't you worry. I'm going to perk you up by...complaining!

Yesterday, I ventured to the grocery store for the first time in ages. I was coughing my head off. I was sniffly. I was listless in the low-energy way and in the food-words-on-a-piece-of-paper way. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. But we all know what happens when you want to make a quick jaunt of it -- the opposite happens. And fourteen hours later, you're still in the grocery store, being run over by crazy people as you stare blankly at the wall of eggs, praying for someone to just make a decision for you.

Not to worry, though! Somehow, I made it out alive. With groceries! With my soul still intact! I did, however, manage to compile a very useful document while I was a shopping. And, yes, of course I will share it with you!

Grocery Store Pet Peeves (in the form of requests):

1. Guy by the oranges, do NOT stand so close to me. I was here first! Do not touch my body with your body while I am picking out oranges.

2. Woman at the potatoes, do not try to pick up the same potato that I reach for.

3. Woman at the bananas, do not give your one year old a bunch of bananas, watch him throw them on the ground, then put the bananas back on the display shelf.

4. Guy in the bakery, do not pick up every single loaf of french bread by the exposed part, squeezing each one fiercely with your entire fist and then choose none of them.

5. Kid in the condiment aisle, don't you have a parent?

6. Woman working here giving out samples, why is your table blocking the entire aisle?

7. People eating the samples, have you never eaten before? Why are your carts blocking the aisle?

8. Guy behind me in line, why do you roll your eyes at me when I put the plastic divider between our groceries? I'm trying to be nice.

9. Guy packing my bags, why don't you understand the way my bags work? They are just bags. Why do you say things disgustingly like, this bag is full when it's really only halfway full? And that plastic part that sits in the bottom of each bag in order to support it? Why do you take it out and hand it to me like it's garbage?

10. Woman in front of me on the way out of the store, why do you stop your cart right in front of the door, take out your groceries, and leave the cart blocking the whole doorway?

10. People in their cars in the parking lot, why do you hover three inches away from me waiting for me to unload my groceries and pull out?

The frightening part is that I could go on and on! I'll save us all, though, and stop here. And if you have some supermarket pet peeves, too, I encourage you to share them -- with me, with your friends, perhaps even with that weird guy who's pushing his cart into your rear end while you're trying to slide your debit card through the pay box.

The more market woes, the merrier!

Grocery List

How To Cook A Blizzard

Most of the time,

am I way too lazy to make 

my own beef broth?

Yes. Yes I am.

But, come on! 

Aren't these tiny cubes so cute?

I am beginning to think that winter is never going to leave. Ever. So, in keeping with the mindset that I'll never again feel a summer breeze on my arm as I drive along with the windows down, I have decided to submerge myself fully in the memories and lifestyle of winter. You know, reverse psychology. Mother Nature is always doing things like that -- giving us spring when we act like we are in love with winter.

You may have heard about those, ahem, snow days at the beginning of last month. Or perhaps you live near here and also received seventy-two feet of snow? Well, I must say, that snowy aftermath -- that Wednesday snow day -- was, in my book, the most luxurious thing ever. The actual snowstorm itself was horrendous and trapping for a lot of people, but once everyone was accounted for, the city seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Thankfully, many people were smart enough to turn off their TVs and head outside to play in the snow. And now that it's all over and the snow has (almost) all melted, it seems mostly like some sort of odd dream, and it's all sorts of fun to laugh about how silly that snowstorm was.

We received word of the impending snow on that Monday before the storm, so that's when the whole city started dashing about insanely, everyone gathering all the provisions they could cram into their houses, just like it was Y2K all over again. I decided I didn't want to be one of those people, but then, well...something was preventing me from acting rationally. There was this thing in my head, this delicious, amazing thing that I couldn't stop thinking about. It was my Sunday night dinner I had just had at Martha's, this blissful little place in Suttons Bay, Michigan. It was the wintery-est thing, the perfect blizzard supper, this really really incredible shepherd's pie.

Here's the thing. I had never had a shepherd's pie in my life. They always sort of worried me -- mainly because I never took the time to understand what exactly it was, and I always had put it into a category with other dark, rich, scary foods, like haggis and mincemeat pie. But when I saw it on the menu, I knew. I knew that it would be a perfect shepherd's pie, that this would be the exact one to have for my first experience. Not to toot my own horn, but rather to toot Martha's -- I was right. It was incredible. Underneath the pillow of mashed potatoes lurked an unreasonably dark and unreasonably delicious stew. Picture rustic but artfully trimmed carrots, turnips, celery, and onions, all swimming with shredded and ground lamb in the darkest, thickest gravy you can imagine. Ah. A more wintry dish does not exist!

But on to my saga. You know, that would be my poorly-timed hunt for the ingredients with which to construct my own shepherd's pie. And, no, it couldn't wait. I spent Tuesday swamped, teaching in the morning and then playing catch up at my desk all afternoon. The Snow Was Coming, everyone said. Mmmhmm, I thought. Sure it is. While everyone had their noses stuck to the windows, counting each snowflake, I was at my desk, rolling my eyes. By mid-afternoon, though, the snow looked, well, real, and my phone was ringing with pleas for me to go home and come home. I finished up and put on my coat. I did have some sense, after all.

I had the kind of sense that took me in this madly driving snowstorm to the market, wherein I knew I would find supplies for my shepherd's pie. Two pounds of ground lamb later, I was rustling up some celery and parsnips, looking out the window at the now entirely obscene blizzard, thinking, okay, really, you have to get home. This isn't charming anymore. Armed with my ingredients, I managed to find my car in the blinding snow, thinking at this point, you idiot! If you never get home, it's because you had to go to the stupid store and get your stupid ingredients even though there are eight hundred other things to cook at home, and then if you're stuck on the road for a whole day, the meat will certainly go bad, and then you really won't have a shepherd's pie, and it really won't have been worth it. And won't you feel like a moron then? 


As it turned out, I did manage to get myself home in one (white-knuckled, anxiety-ridden) piece, and, I must say, there was nothing better than cooking lamb stew while being held snow-hostage in my own home. I can't possibly imagine preparing or eating a shepherd's pie in the summer, which makes me want to cram in as many of these things before the warm weather hits. So, if I teach you nothing else today, it's this: before winter disappears completely, I'd suggest that you get thee to a shepherd's pie. You won't regret it.

A Basic Shepherd's Pie Outline

A#1. Make a thick stew of your liking (Any kind of stew! I use lamb or beef as a base, plus onions, celery, carrots, and turnips or parsnips -- keep it simple and rustic. Beef broth is also going to be key here, as that's what will make your stew deliciously dark and divine. I also crafted a meat-free version last weekend, featuring a really thick, really mushroomy gravy to which I added seared vegetables.)

B#2. Make a batch of thick mashed potatoes

C#3. Put your hot stew into deep ramekins; top with mashed potatoes

D#4. Broil your little treasures until the tops are golden brown and bubbly (or just plop your hot potatoes on top of your hot stew)

E#5. See? You did it! Now eat one up and go gather your flock.

In Like A Loin

When is a loin not a loin? When it's a shoulder, of course.

 
Welcome to March!

Such an unpredictable month, this thing, but such a glorious bridge into spring. So very liony here at the beginning, what with the rain and me having a nasty cold and all, but that means a dear little lamb will be lopping over in just a few weeks. But don't you lop too close, fuzzy lamb, or you may end up in my skillet! (We all know that lions don't cook up quite as nicely as lambs do.)

In the meantime, though, I will entertain myself with this pork shoulder, or a loin, if I come across one, or a chicken, or perhaps that glorious pound of bacon that I scooped up at the meat market on my way home today. And I will entertain you with a very nice poem about a pig.

The Pig
by Roald Dahl

In England once there lived a big
A wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn't read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn't puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.

What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, "By gum, I've got the answer!"
"They want my bacon slice by slice
"To sell at a tremendous price!
"They want my tender juicy chops
"To put in all the butcher's shops!
"They want my pork to make a roast
"And that's the part'll cost the most!
"They want my sausages in strings!
"They even want my chitterlings!
"The butcher's shop! The carving knife!
"That is the reason for my life!"

Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great peace of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let's not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.

Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
"I had a fairly powerful hunch
"That he might have me for his lunch.
"And so, because I feared the worst,
"I thought I'd better eat him first."