Category Archives: Food

I Have a Kooky Family – So What?

I have a kooky family. So what? I miss them anyway. It’s the day before Thanksgiving and I’m moping around the house. Earlier this month, I expressed an extreme disinterest in doing a huge bang up in-law infested turkey day at Hubman’s mother’s house this year.

We leave on a way loooong road trip, with his mother in tow, the following Monday at the ass crack of dawn. That’s too much to cram into the time allotted. It’s not like there is no one else here in North Texas to cook a damn turkey. So what is his response? Move the party to our house! Excellent idea, oh beloved Bimbo of mine. Howz about I burn all your Star Trek collectibles in a big bonfire in the back yard. Wouldn’t that be fun?

I think I now know why iron skillets were invented and it was not for cooking, that’s just the cover story. There were created to knock husbands over the head with when they just…don’t…get it. Part of the problem is that I miss MY family. I love each and every one of them, even though there have been times that I contemplated murder, keel hauling or at the very least 20 lashes.

Some of this annoying ennui is my fault. I need to put my foot down in the marital kind of way before the next big holiday and say “HEY! It’s my turn. WE, not just me,  are going to my family’s house for a holiday.” We are not solely responsible for entertaining every one of your relatives on every damn holiday ever invented. And I don’t wanna hear any whining a about how much it’s gonna cost. Or what is your mother is gonna do without us there to cater to her every whim, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

Hell, bring her with us. We’ll give her a peek at how the darker side celebrates a holiday. The crazy beer drinking, Saints football team loving, dance at every opportunity, laugh at everything, wear a turkey on your head, New Orleans people way of celebrating. There is more than one way to do a holiday. And some of them don’t involve standing on your feet slaving over the stove until your feet swell up to the size of watermelons, and groaning and moaning about it. And on top of all that claiming you enjoy it. Uh, yea, and I like to get root canals too. Nice try, but I’m not buying it.

So I’m trying to work on things to be grateful about. I’m alive, have my health, a loving husband, even though he is rather thick-headed in the female department. A family that loves me, friends, I don’t live on the Gaza strip. I can afford to do pretty much whatever I want to do, within reason. I probably can’t afford to charter a jet and fly to Russia to train and go up in space, but I don’t want to do that anyway. I’m pretty much OK with being Earth bound for the time being.

I own a postage stamp size plot of ground on the moon. I bought if from a coupon on a cereal box when I was kid, but can’t find the paperwork. My dog loves me, and my cat doesn’t bite me…often. I do have a lot of things to be grateful for. Perhaps what I need to do is state my case earlier in the game. No means No. If I don’t wanna, then I don’t wanna. And if I do, then I do. Going along for the ride, moping around and pitching a fit when it’s too late to change anything isn’t working out well. Guess I need to pay more attention. Ignoring my needs and wants just isn’t doing the trick.

Texas State Fair 2012

Big Tex

Mr. Husband and I went to the grand and glorious State Fair of Texas yesterday. We had a ton of fun and stayed almost 4 hours instead of our usual 2. I must be in better shape than I thought I was. Had been a bit worried a bit after getting some hellacious foot cramps from walking around a shopping mall last weekend.

This fair has been an annual event in Dallas for 125 years. It’s the largest state fair in the U.S.A. Every year they come up with some kind of crazy fried food. In years past there has been fried macaroni and cheese, fried snickers bars, fried cheese cake. This year they had chicken fried bacon, fried coke, fried butter and in the textile crafts pavilion they had a 6 foot tall cowboy boot carved from butter. You just never know what you’re going to see.

Girl Scout Exhibit

We always go to the car show.  It’s a hoot to gawk at the concept cars. This year’s fantasy motif seems to be painting the cars with a flat paint that looks like a primer coat. Sort of cool if you harbor fantasies of joining a gang. One of the cars last year was a corvette converted to a pool table. Now that I could picture in my house. Although where I would put I have no clue. I’d cross that bridge if and when I come to it.

We managed to show up on senior day again this year. We weren’t senior enough to get in free but who cares? We were some of the youngest people there so we felt like spring chickens; maybe that’s why we stayed for 4 hours

Speaking of chickens I forgot to go to the chicken show. Oh yes there is such a thing as a chicken show. Every kind of chicken God ever invented. An interesting hobby but a little too stinky for my tastes.

Corny Dog Love

We missed the pig races by an hour. Darn it all. If you’ve ever seen a pig race they are hilarious. Pigs have a mind of their own and don’t draw inside the lines, shall we say. The fact that any of them get around to crossing the finish line is bonus.

I passed on the fried food this year and even the fudge, but I did eat a Fletcher’s corny dog. That is something that everyone should eat once in their life. Later the Hubman ate a Frito pie and I ate a taco and an ice-cold beer. A good time was had by all!

THe Kitchen is a Dangerous Place

The Abyss

The Abyss

A Kitchen is a dangerous place. It should only be entered by a trained professional. Friend named Judy. Don’t Remember her last name.

The scene above is a picture of our cooking utensils drawer. It is but one example of why I don’t go in the kitchen except to forage for occasional sustanence. There are 2 problems going on here. 1) I hate clutter 2) I hate to cook. This attitude does not mix well with sharp knives and fire.

Oh, I know how to cook. Being the oldest of 6 kids I’ve been cooking for a long time. I can remember standing on a chair to reach the stove. I’m just sick of it. After my kids were grown and gone I declared my cooking days were over, Amen. Every once in a while I do get an urge go in the kitchen and actually try to create some food. I usually give up because hub-man has to trot in behind me and micro manage every move.  Mr. Husband and I have opposing views bordering on extreme when it comes to the kitchen and food preparation. The only logical next step would be an exchange of blows.

Below is a comparison of styles.

My Idea of a Good Kitchen Husband’s Idea of a Good Kitchen
Counters free of clutter. One should not have to spend 15 minutes lugging around heavy gadgets and looking for yet another available cranny to cram 1 more thing. 

 

The counter is there to put stuff on. If there is an open inch of space, an object must be immediately placed so as to cover the offending space.
Things you use the most should be the easiest to get to and closest to the stove. This includes spices. I know this defies the theory that they should all be organized in a shoe box making it necessary to pull out every bottle to find a spice. Even better if this box is on the top shelf so you have to go find a step stool. The things you use the most should be kept in an orderly fashion with similar objects, and on the highest darkest shelf of the pantry. What should be kept on the counter is a 5 pound bag of brown sugar. Having to find the food in the kitchen is foraging. This should take at least an hour and involve a great deal of profanity. If you don’t do this you’re not doing it right. 

 

Gather all ingredients before hand so that food is cooked in an order that renders all of it ready and hot at the same time. 

 

Begin cooking by putting a frying pan full of oil and garlic sufficient to stink up house for a week on the stove. Go play on the computer until stench of burning oil reaches office.
Clean dishes used in the preparation as you go. This avoids a huge pile of dishes to tackle after meal and having to face a scene that looks like someone sacrificed a goat. Use every pot and mixing bowl. Then pile the whole mess in a 3 foot high stack in the sink. This is the fun part because the sucker who does the dishes has to then remove every pot and pan back out of the sink to clean them and the sink . 

 

Relax and enjoy a meal. Part of the enjoyment is knowing that you don’t have to pay for meal by being a galley-slave for an hour and a half afterwards, pretty much negating the fun part of this whole adventure. When I bend over to put things in a dishwasher on a full stomach there is a very real possibility that my dinner will end up in that dishwasher. Laugh and point at the mess. Plop ass in bar-co- lounger and say “have fun cleaning up.” I do not find this statement even remotely amusing. In my opinion, it should be punishable by a good horse whipping, at the very least..

Melt Down On Isle 3

The original Piggly Wiggly Store, Memphis, Ten...

Image via Wikipedia

Attention shoppers. Melt down on Isle 3!

I hate grocery shopping. I would rather have a root canal. Seriously. Wandering around in a big freezing cold warehouse full of packaged junk. Staring at impulse items that I wouldn’t feed my to neighbor’s yappy dog. Seasonal shelves of cheap junk made in China. The only way I can even remotely handle it is to turn it into a social experiment and opportunity for research. Proof that “you are what you eat” is right there in those shopping baskets everyday.

I like to approach if from 2 different angles. First I look at the baskets while trying to not observe the person pushing said basket. What’s in there? Instant potatoes, chips, cookies, frozen juice, cup-o-noodles, instant coffee, candy, mushy white bread, peanut butter and jelly swirled up in a cutesy, one jar approach. Nary a vegetable or anything resembling protein. Ok, now take a look at the person pushing this cart. Usually well on their way to obesity if not already there. They are sporting splotchy, icky looking skin. If there is a kid in the cart I will bet you cash money that kid has a runny nose, is whining, and sucking on something sweet. Half of it is smeared in the kid’s hair.

Now look at from the person perspective first and look at a person similar to the one I just described. I gay-run-tee you will find a pile of carb-loaded, pre-packed pseudo food, completely devoid of nutrition, in their basket.

And on to the vegan peoples. Basket full of veggies, roughage, expensive food supplements, and all-natural juice (squeezed in some third world country and fertilized with God only knows what.) Maybe it’s just me, but they always look sort of skinny and nervous. Just this side of taking flight if you yelled “Boo!” I read all those books about how you can supposedly combine this and that to come up with the same protein you get from meat. I’m don’t buy it anymore. Sounds too much like Alchemy to me. In a caldron, stir together equal parts aluminum, eye of newt, and pencil shavings and you get…Gold. Yea, alright, now that’s what I’m talking about.

It just doesn’t work for me. The traditional grocery store is a creepy and confusing place. Every aisle has a collection of things to eat that totally contradicts the premise of the food in the next aisle over. The Atkins diet, South Beach, Asian – soy is the answer to everything, salt free, Gluten free, Sugar Free, fresh never frozen, frozen to preserve freshness, blessed by Rabis, untouched by human hands. The whole place starts spinning and I want to run out to the parking lot to throw myself across the hood of my car. ***shrug*** Maybe I need therapy.

I Don’t Care About Your Fiber

I Don’t Care About Your Fiber. And don’t even think of telling me what to do with mine.

diet paleolithic

Credit: Lifedestiny.net

Been conducting my ongoing research on all the different diets that are supposed to be THE answer, the magic bullet, the end all be all answer to health. I’m leaning towards the Paleo eating plan.  There is one major problem with it however. Paleo foods don’t store as well as grains. I have to go shopping more than once per year. One of the things I found out while researching vegetarian diets (which seem counter intuitive to me) is the following tidbits:

Potatoes, grains and beans are:

  • Toxic when eaten raw, which means they have to be cooked. This leads me to believe that eating them came after the discovery of fire. What did us humans do before that? A cleansing juice fast? Bugs?
  • Insufficient cooking can lead to mild stomach upsets to acute gastroenteritis. Amen to that brother.  I have accused my husband of trying to kill me with lentil soup on more than one occasion.
  • chock full of carbohydrates, digest quickly, and have a high glycemic index. Ah ha! The old sugar spike.  I don’t care if I’m diabetic, bring it on.
  • Has lots of fiber, more than your body needs. As result you become bloated and flatulent. Particularly annoying if you have to sit in meetings all day at work. Although a minor explosion might provide come comic relief, and lead you to be excused from further meetings. Great topic of conversation for parties.

So far, I haven’t found what amounts to any first hand or the original research on vegetarianism.  All the sites I look at are copy and paste of some article zero written by God only knows who, God knows when.   So if you try to tell me you wrote it. I want proof! They all say pretty much the same thing, though. Meat is gross, veggies are good. Eating meat is unnatural. Eat grains, grains and more grains. Eating meat is EVOL… yada yada. (I stole the evol from Christopher Titus, a great comedian) References to references to someone’s interpretation of a study they heard about at a cocktail party that refers to someone’s blog who makes up stuff out of their head just to mess with people.

Riddle me this:

Mr. &  Mrs. Cavemen are sitting around the fire one evening. They are arguing about who gets the last piece of  cold nasty root. Mrs. Caveman is trying to get root fibers out of her teeth, but not having much luck because no one invented the toothpick yet. Mr. Cavemen stands up and declares “That’s it. I have had all I can stand! I’m off to the jungle to kill the first squiggly thing I see. Stoke up that fire, Missy, I’ll be back.”  Later on in the cave they are munching on some ribs:

Mr: Caveman: (groaning) oh my God that’s good. We need to do this more often.

Mrs. Caveman: “honey, I don’t know about this. It just seems…unnatural.”

Mr. Caveman: you always complain!

Mrs. Caveman: it just feels like…what’s that word…cannibbalism? A minute ago I looked at you and had a vision of you roasting on a spit with an apple in your mouth.

Mr. Caveman:  sometimes you scare me.

Vegetarians tell stories of trying to eat meat and becoming violently ill afterwards.  This is post hoc, ergo propter hoc. Other wise known as a fallacy of reasoning.  Event B happened after Event A.  Therefore, Event A caused Event B. Not automatically true.  “Vegetarians tell stories” is a red flag right there. Telling stories is not evidence, it is a S T O R Y, anecdotal not empirical evidence. There are many possible reasons that someone became violently ill after eating.

  • Their body is not used to eating meat. Same thing can be said of people who become violently ill after eating beans or lentils. Me, for example.
  • They didn’t like the company they were with. Happens to me all the time.
  • The all natural spinach salad with organic mushrooms they had for lunch had e-coli all over it.
  • They have the flu.
  • They found out it was their turn to clean the cat box.
  • They licked the door knob at the bus station. (Richard Jenni, another great comedian, RIP)

The Straight Dope:  This link does not embrace tofu, so don’t get your knickers in a twist.

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