The single coffee cup made me sense my solitude even more. Everything around me faded into the background, much like I knew I had been doing. The cloud over my morning solace taunted me, trying to will me to tears. But I simply sat on that stool and waited for the rainbow.
Just thought I would share a good laugh with everyone. It reminded me of this post I wrote a while ago!
I was asked by our local Public Library to donate some goodies for their holiday get-together today. The local singing group ‘The Minettones’ will be performing and many locals will be in attendance. I gladly agreed as it combined two of my favorite things – cake decorating and books.
If you read my post yesterday you would know I have been filling out applications to volunteer at some local establishments. Since the lodge is officially closed for the winter, I will have more spare time and I feel strongly about giving my time to those who could use the help.
Between the Toy Drive at the lodge and the time spent creating these goodies for the Library, I feel good about the decision to give back since I feel I have so much already. I may not be rich in terms of my bank balance but life has treated me well in many other ways and now it is time to ‘share the wealth’.
I have said this before and I’m sure I’ll say it many times again before they pry my cold, dead fingers from my laptop – I love to cook. I find great pleasure in mixing flavors and trying new things (sans recipe – my dad would be proud). Some of those things work and some don’t. And since I referred to my dad, I will tell you that although he was a fabulous “do it yourself” cook, some recipes just didn’t have the desired effect once on the plate. For those of you who have ever entertained the idea of scrambled eggs made with eggnog – Don’t Do It!!
I have worked in many restaurants from breakfast diners to fine dining restaurants and I had the foresight to pay attention to how each Chef took the time with their presentation. From swirls of Balsamic Reduction to the height they could achieve on a plate, every little nuance, every detail on that plate, made that dish even more special by enhancing the flavor. It was food for the eyes as well as the palette. The term “Amuse Bouche” delighted me. When a single, delectable morsel became the new trend at the beginning of a meal, I was taken with its modesty in size but explosion of flavor.
I do my best to amuse my bouche every time I create my feasts, whether it is for company or simply for myself. But sometimes, on those rare nights you just want to curl up under a blanket with an intriguing book, there is nothing better than a good breakfast for dinner. Those recognizable morning food items are the epitome of comfort food. Sizzling homemade pork sausage patties and the perfect fried egg were the perfect end to my day, especially since the eggs were nestled in a bed of potato pancakes. Simple, delicious and just what the bookworm in me required for the perfect night. My bouche is amused and it is time to find out who Darwin really is!!
I am not skinny. I have never touted the pretense that I ever was skinny and by no means do I think I ever will be skinny. I am not built that way and, after my many trips around the sun on this planet, I have come to accept that and be okay with it. It’s who I am and I happily embrace who I am. I have many other attributes I am proud of without having to slip into size zero pants. And I am hoping I will remain this secure when the newest clothing lines are introduced and size “minus-ten” becomes the newest “in thing”.
But that is not saying that I have not made valiant attempts to become healthier by decreasing the caloric sums that enter my digestive system. I am not a victim of fad diets. I merely try to cook and eat whole, natural foods that consist of ingredients I can pronounce. Chicken is a very easy item to cook with because it contains, well, chicken. I try to avoid fast-food at all costs and hope the only processed foods I eat are ones I have processed myself so I can easily articulate the components of the nutrition that I am consuming.
In the process of communicating with my fat cells, the message was clearly not concise enough for them to understand – when I lose you, I don’t want you to come back and bring your friends! “Weight” and “Girth” have been partying like rock stars in the Aurora, Illinois basement of my viscera and it’s time to pull the plug on the amp and shut this party down.
When I sat down and had a chat with those fat cells and told them the plan, I could swear I heard Mike Myers voices saying, “No Whey!” Yes, Mike, “Whey…..because I’ve been told it’s good for you!”
With the days growing shorter and the nights becoming cooler, my natural reaction to this autumnal phenomenon is to adorn the apron, plant my bare feet firmly on my kitchen floor and cook. Today the universe made the signs of my nesting tendencies abundantly obvious when our grocery store flyer found its way to my desk and had every necessary ingredient for chili at a discounted price. As beautiful as the landscapes are in Santiago, I opted for some ground beef, kidney beans and the two necessary ingredients for my chili that others may frown upon but they make it mine.
I find a deep sense of comfort in my kitchen. While chopped onions feverishly jump in the Dutch oven and the rest of the ingredients lay in wait to join the party, the smells of happiness assuage any other feelings I may have carried home with me from the remnants of my day. The food in the pot is not just food – it is my sanctuary and my resolve to end the day on a positive note, regardless of how it began or how it ensued.
Cooking and baking are a tonic for me. They are a natural drug I can always count on to make me feel like myself again. And they are not just there to pull me from a sullen mood but also there to heighten my well-being on the good days, which thankfully far outweigh the bad days.
I have often pondered the idea of taking a leap of faith and pursuing this passion to make it a career but I am always left with fragments of an unfinished conversation that always takes place in my head. ‘If I do it for a living, will it just become a job and will I lose my passion for it?’ I would hate to have something I take so much pleasure in become a prosaic way to pay the bills.
Until I become brave enough to get within range of that bridge, I will not even entertain the thought of jumping off of it. For now, I will remain content with the wafting smell of chili from my kitchen, the collection of frozen soups in my freezer and the anticipation of the already-marinating pork tenderloin for dinner tomorrow.
“Cooking is like love; it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.” ~ Julia Child
A little less than a year and a half ago my life was irrevocably changed when my mom passed away. She had been ill for a while but it was still a shock to receive the call on a Friday morning that she was gone. As fate would have it, a small typo at the funeral home transformed an evening that could have been incredibly morose into a night of bizarre toasts that my mom would have found hilarious. In the haze of tragedy, my family was able to find laughter. In the wake of death, my family was still able to breathe some life.
One slight alphabetical error was a domino effect for a myriad number of things that would follow. Had the funeral director not misspelled Jane and typed June, the course of our mourning and subsequent celebration of my mother would have been profoundly altered. You can read the original story by clicking here. Since then there have been continual toasts to “June”. There is a place setting for June at family meals and she is always a part of our celebrations.
Recently, I began to dabble in cake decorating again and decided that I would like to bring the old cake business back to life. The company name I had used in the past no longer seemed to embody what it was that I was trying to represent and I struggled to come up with a new moniker for my part-time occupation.
After sifting through photos of cakes I had done in the past, I came across this cake I made for my mom on her 70th birthday. Without hesitation, I knew the name of my new venture would be “Sweet June”.
“In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love.” ~ Mother Teresa
These cakes are the small things that I do with great love. I find peace in the moments of creating special memories that help celebrate milestones. I find joy in knowing that I was an invisible part of a happy occasion. And I achieve the most reward, now, by knowing that my mom, Sweet June, will forever be a small part of those moments as well.
I love pizza. Once upon a time, pizza used to love me as well. But as the decades have marched on, my relationship with pizza has become a mere shadow of its former self. There is a feeling more akin to a contractual obligation than the heartfelt love we once used to share. And as much as I continue to love pizza, its feelings for me still leave my heart (and my abdomen) feeling enlarged, but in a bad way.
In my quest to become healthy, I have been scouring the internet for recipes that omit the culprits responsible for wreaking havoc in my over-forty year old body. Contrary to my belief twenty years ago, bread is not my friend. That knowledge, combined with my love for pizza, nearly brought me to my knees.
And then I heard something in the distance. I put my hand to my ear. It was quiet at first, almost non-existent, but then it became louder and more distinct. It was the angels singing….and they were holding pizza! It was like coming home…only to no home I had ever known. I was just taking a slice out of my oven and I knew. I was like….magic. Okay, so the last couple of lines slightly resemble dialogue from Sleepless in Seattle, but you get the idea…..
This “pizza” recipe is brilliant. It has no yeast, no flour and no way of making someone avoiding bread be anything less than ecstatic. And the taste was delicious. For those who have not experimented with cauliflower in any way, now is your chance. Had I not made this pizza myself, I would never have guessed it was made with cauliflower. Here is a photo of the result and below is the recipe I found on Pinterest, with a few modifications.
1 cup riced cauliflower, 3 cups mozzarella, divided, 1 teaspoon dried oregano, 1/2 teaspoon garlic salt, 1 teaspoon crushed garlic, 1 egg, olive oil, mushrooms, artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes.
Preparation:
Pulse one head of chopped cauliflower into chunks in a food processor until it looks like grain. Microwave the cauliflower for 8 minutes. (I don’t own a microwave so I heated some olive oil in a pan, heated the cauliflower to medium heat, covered the pan and reduced the heat until cooked.)
In a medium bowl, stir together 1 cup riced cauliflower, 1 1/2 cups mozzarella, oregano, garlic salt, garlic, and egg. Spray a cookie sheet with cooking spray. Pat mixture out into a 9-inch circle. Brush with olive oil. Bake the crust at 450° for 15 minutes.
Top the pizza with 1 1/2 cups mozzarella, mushrooms, artichokes, and sun-dried tomatoes. (I also added parmesan cheese) Broil 3-4 minutes or until cheese melts. I’m sure there are a multitude of toppings….including bacon….that you can add to this pizza and be completely happy with the result.
Pizza and I have rekindled our romance, on my terms, and love each other once again. Mangia…. and enjoy.
After many months of prolonging the inevitable torture, I am finally ready to admit it is time to be serious and get myself into summer-shape. And by summer-shape, I don’t mean round.
It’s time to hold myself accountable for those invisible pounds that crept into my room at night and methodically attached themselves to parts of my body whilst I slumbered. My wardrobe has begun to mock me while threatening to abandon ship. It’s time to get a buddy and make the goal a reality. It’s time to put the spring back in my step instead of breaking the diving board. It’s time to get back what I’ve lost. No, wait. It’s time to lose….what I….got back. Now I’m confused.
A few years ago, I went on a very noble quest to get healthy. And that I did. I diligently tracked my food choices and the only processed food I ate was food I had processed myself. There was no bread involved, nothing packaged and nothing I couldn’t pronounce. I simply ate whole, natural food and at the end of my journey I had lost fifty pounds and felt amazing.
As reality is wont to do, it came stomping in and replaced my determination with dejection. It exchanged my willpower with weakness and it magically turned me into a shape-shifter. I went from healthy and happy to fleshy and faking it without even putting up a fight.
Well, the gloves are back on. I remember what it felt like to be so proud of my accomplishment. I recall how wonderful I felt being so healthy and I wish that for myself again. Since I began my first journey on May 1st, I shall do the same again this year. The lemons will be stocked, the spices abundant and the determination back and in high gear.
Cooking has always been a passion so now I shall choose a much more intelligent selection of ingredients before I lift the “mystery box” and delve into the long-lost world of cooking with the right food. I may not win a million dollars at the end of my arduous journey but I will be The Biggest Loser….or the smallest loser…..why is this so confusing??
I think I now moderately understand the mentality of a football player when their season comes to an end. I have spent a great portion of my time planning a party that happened on Saturday night and now, the party has come and gone, and I feel like something is missing.
I love planning events. I love paying attention to the smallest personalized details to make the experience memorable and let the person being celebrated feel how special they are by the little nuances that appear in the party’s finer points.
Although the week leading up to the party had a few speed bumps, the party was a great success. From the food choice and preparation, the slide show and the soundtrack of his past 50 years, my brother was able to celebrate his upcoming milestone with great friends and family and it was a great way to honor the special place he holds in all of our lives.
After spending the entire day in the kitchen, partying like a rock star until 3:30 in the morning, being the first up at 7:30 to prepare for breakfast and spending the next day cleaning the lodge, I came home, possibly had a little “hair of the dog” and watched the end of the Masters through barely opened eyes. I poured myself into bed at 8:00 pm and slept solidly for 11 hours.
Physical exhaustion aside, I would do it all again next weekend! Happy 50th Jamie…..you deserve every bit of fun that party had!
polysyllabic profundities 