Mai Time in the Kitchen

Juicing: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

2012-01-23T09:40:00.000-08:00

After I watched "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead" a couple of weeks ago, I simply couldn't understand why everyone in the USA wasn't walking around wearing juicer backpacks or creating a permanent home for their Breville on their office desks or kitchen counters. "Why, in heaven's name, isn't everyone juicing!!" I asked myself. The documentary clearly outlined the benefits of juicing and the neon green concoction everyone sipped at throughout the film looked funky and cool.

In the days after I watched the movie, I didn't get all over-ambitious and commit to a 30 day fast. I didn't ever commit to a "fast" of any sort. I simply said that I would substitute one or two meals a day with a rich, healthy juice, giving my body the extra boost it needed. My in-laws were kind enough to lend us their juicer so I loaded up my Costco cart with every fruit or vegetable I could get my hands on.

"I love fruits and veggies," I told myself. This couldn't be that difficult.

And then I started juicing.

I now have a new found respect for anyone who juices. And by "juicing", I mean real juicing.

If you are new to the whole "juicing" scene, you have to know the basics, which I have only discovered in the past two weeks.

First of all, if you want to get the true benefits of juicing, you are technically not supposed to combine vegetables with any other fruits other than apples. That, personally, was a fatal blow to my juicing life. It meant that the kiwi-apple-grape-orange-celery-kale-spinach combo I had been drinking wasn't actually doing for my body what I had hoped. Don't get me wrong; it was absolutely better for me to drink a juice versus a milkshake. But my body wasn't absorbing all the nutrients and vitamins from the juice because of the way I combined the fruits and vegetables. It has something to do with enzymes and is far too technical for me to understand or explain.

Secondly, you shouldn't eat any solid foods in combination with your juice. That meant that the banana-and-almond butter-chaser I had after my "Mean Green" was illegal in the juicing world. Seriously, though, I could not bear the thought of conducting the rest of my day with that aftertaste in my mouth; my father-in-law called it "dog pee" and he wasn't far off.

Thirdly, juicing should be primarily used for vegetables, not fruits. The rule of thumb is to "juice your vegetables and eat your fruits" because the fiber in whole fruit is easy for your body to digest and helps your system deal with the sugar content of the fruit. That's not to say that you shouldn't drink fruit juice, but it should be a very small percentage of your juicing diet.

So yesterday, in an attempt to create a vegetable juice that I could stomach, I turned my kitchen into a laboratory of sorts. I juiced about 6 different vegetables separately and then mixed them using different combinations for each one, desperately looking for something I could hold down.

Alas, I never found it.

Honestly, I will eat just about anything under the sun, so the fact that I could not create a vegetable juice that didn't leave me gagging with each sip was very disconcerting. I felt an incredible amount of envy towards my juicer friends who told me that I would love beet juice and carrot-fennel-parsley-garlic juice. Why had God given them those Herculean tastebuds while I couldn't even gulp down a mouthful of mere carrot juice?

But after the disappointment lifted, I accepted what I did have: a love for raw fruits and veggies. So I've decided that since I don't have an auto-immune disease that requires serious healing for my body like the guys in the film, I'm going to get back to eating more fruits and vegetables each day in their solid, raw state, while throwing in the occasional, palatable juice. That's something I can do and something I really enjoy. And if the time should come when my body needs extraordinary healing, I'll put my lab coat back on.

If you are at the point now where you need that kind of intense healing for your body, here are some links about juicing, food combining, and juice recipes (the sidebar of this website has different categories to choose from like "Juicing for the Liver" or "Juicing for Kidneys"--very helpful). And while it wasn't a complete success for me, I still wholeheartedly believe in the power of juicing. So if you have any tips, recipes, or testimonials you'd like to share, please do so below--I'd love to hear your perspective!

An Apology to My Countertops

2012-01-16T09:05:00.000-08:00

To my dearest Kitchen Countertops,

I am sorry.

You, my dears, were created for a higher purpose. Built upon sturdy columns of wood, you stand ready to endure the force of my knife as a chop down the round bulbs of onion and garlic, the sturdy lengths of carrots and celery, the coarse sweetness of ginger. Your ruggedness was meant to endure the pounding of pots and pans, laden mixing bowls, sauced ladles, and battered spatulas.

But unused you set, as I hasten past you, delivering dictation for spelling class or toting clean laundry from the dryer to the living room. You lower yourself to uphold misplaced math books and displaced legos, pastel pink and purple hairbrushes and bottles of ibuprofen. You do your duty quietly, and without complaint.

Yet, I know you aspire to more. You desire to be used for what you were created. You long to feel the heat of a simmering soup, the cold of rare meat, the lightness of fresh cilantro.

You want to cook.

Frankly, so do I.

And I will…eventually. One day I will cook more than a bowl of oatmeal, boil water for more than a cup of tea, slice more than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. One day I will cook again.

But not today.

Sincerest Apologies,

"Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead": How I am Becoming a Convert

2012-01-12T05:00:00.000-08:00

One evening last week, my husband sat scrolling through the Netflix offerings on our t.v. and shouted to me in the kitchen.

“Hey, they’ve got that documentary ‘Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead’ on here. I heard it was really good. Wanna watch?”

Keep in mind, Shawn tends more towards the types of films I can’t really handle. I roam more in the PG-13 arena (total lie—I’m a “G” girl all the way), while he doesn’t bat an eye at an “R” rating. Our compromise is that either he watches “R” movies while I’m not home, or he watches them on the computer in bed, while I lay beside him, watching his face and incessantly asking “So what’s happening now?” That option's not really fun for either of us.

Therefore, “Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead” was a perfect compromise for us: comfortable rating for me and interesting enough for him. So I dished up some frozen yogurt with chocolate chips for myself and got cozy on the couch with my hubby.

For those of you who haven’t watched the film, it’s about an Australian guy who decides to go on a 60-day juice fast in hopes of curing an auto-immune disease he has, as well as shed some excess weight from his 300+ lb. body. Along his journey, he picks up a couple recruits, including a really large truck driver with this same auto immune disease. Through this liquid regiment, the two men bring their bodies back to health, inspiring countless others to follow in their footsteps, transforming entire towns with their commitment to juicing .

The adventure is both fascinating and inspiring to watch, and you can’t help but ask yourself, “Could I do this?” Think of it. Sixty days of nothing but vegetable and fruit juice. Wow. I don’t usually jump on the bandwagon of detox diets, but this one has me faltering a bit. I love the idea of injecting your body with a busload of nutrients, providing your cells with the food they need to repair themselves, and flushing your system of the toxins we all know that processed foods leave behind in our bodies. The care this detox provides for your body aligns itself with what I hold in highest esteem in the weight/food battle: being kind to yourself, both mentally and physically.

I, personally, have not done a juicing detox before. Word on the street is that you shouldn’t do a juice detox while also engaging in regular, rigorous exercise. Since Body Combat is currently kicking my butt three times a week, I’m going to attempt to do a modified detox and substitute 1 or 2 meals per day (depending on my workouts) with juice. And at the moment, a Breville juicer sits upon my counter waiting for initiation. Today we begin.

So I would love to hear your take on all this. Have you seen the film? If so, what did you think? Have you done a juice fast before? What was your experience? What’s your favorite juicing recipe?

An Overgrown Cookie, Delighting the Child in Us

2012-01-09T06:33:00.000-08:00

This past Christmas, Lucy and I had the privilege of spending a few days in NYC enjoying the sight and sounds of a city during the holidays. One of the stops on our self-guided tour was FAO Schwarz. I remember visiting this overgrown toystore when I was a child and walking around, eyes like grapefruits, taking in the vast selection of toys and candy, more loot than I could ever imagine owning in a lifetime.

Funny enough, I found myself walking around with the same amazement this Christmas at 33 years of age. At one point, Lucy and I took a tucked away elevator down to the lower level. Walls enclosed the moving staircase on both sides, until, in one grand reveal, the walls ended to showcase a candy store of monstrous proportions.

And I mean that.

As I browsed around, mouth gaping open, I discovered Twizzlers the length of my legs, Reese Cups the size of my daughter’s face, and a box of Nerds with similar dimensions of my suitcase; I felt I was snooping around in the BFG’s pantry. Yet as ridiculous as the sizes were, the child in me loved it.

It’s that same child-like sparkle that comes into the eye of my guests, adults and children alike, whenever I serve my cookie pizza. There’s nothing magical about the cookie itself, but I think we like the idea of oversized food, even if we eat only a small wedge of it. It's something of our imagination come to life, a small wonder in an everyday, grown-up world.

Mai’s Cookie Pizza (I wish I had a picture of the full cookie to show you, but somehow everytime I make this, it gets divided up and devoured before I ever fetch my camera.)

6 tbsp. butter, softened
¾ c. brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. vanilla
1 ½ c. flour
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
2 c. chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, beat butter and brown sugar till fluffy. Add egg and vanilla and beat well. In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking soda, and salt. Add flour mixture to butter mixture and mix well. Stir in chocolate chips.

Dump dough onto standard 12-inch round baking pan lined with foil. Press dough evenly into a 10 ½ inch circle (leaving about an inch and a half border). Bake for 15-18 minutes, or until cookie is a light golden brown. Cut into wedges and serve.

Creating Omnivores: Mai's Early Morning Pot-Roast

2012-01-05T07:29:00.000-08:00

For the new year, my husband and I committed to getting up together in the mornings, 6 am specifically, so that we could stop the hectic cycle of being awakened by the kids at 7:30am, jumping out of bed in a state of frenzy, and beginning the day feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and exhausted.

Monday morning, we began. The alarm on Shawn’s phone sounded promptly at 6 am, and he slowly rolled over, with a groan, and turned it off. I laid there, careful not to move, hoping he presumed I hadn’t heard the alarm, shrugged his shoulders, and snuck back to sleep. Unfortunately, when my husband says he’s going to do something, he does it. So with a gentle voice he turned to me and said, “It’s 6 o’clock, babe.”

I moaned and squeezed my eyes tighter shut.

Making a new commitment and actually doing it are two completely different matters. In your mind it sounds delightful. I imagined myself hearing the alarm, eagerly sitting up, yawning and stretching, while singing a cheery show tune to the chirping birds outside my window; it’s all very Cinderella-esque.

The truth was that when the alarm sounded, I was exhausted. No birds chattered outside my window because it’s too damn cold, and my voice could barely muster an audible “I’m awake” for my husband, let alone carry a tune. It was hard.

But an hour and a half later, it was wonderful when our drowsy-eyed children stumbled into our bedroom one by one and I was completely ready for the onslaught. I’d had a whole 90 minutes of time to myself to read, meditate, pray, talk with my husband, journal, and shower. I got to start the day on my terms and it felt great.

The fruit of one of those early mornings this week was this recipe. By 8 am I had this easy, tasty dish working away in the crockpot, and dinner already crossed off my list of “to-do’s”. Nothing fancy, here; just a good ole’ fashioned pot roast, but with mashed potatoes on a chilly winter evening, it does the trick.

Mai’s Early Morning Pot Roast

1 tbsp. olive oil

1, 3-4 lb. shoulder roast

1 can beef broth

1 ½ tsp. herbes de provence

½ a large sweet onion, sliced

3 garlic cloves

3 carrot, scrubbed, peeled, and cut into thirds

2 celery, scrubbed and cut into thirds

1 ½ tsp sea salt

Freshly ground pepper

Heat oil in a large frying pan. Add the roast and brown on all sides. Keep drippings from meat in frying pan, and place browned roast in a 4-quart crockpot. Pour broth over roast and sprinkle with herbs. Place carrots and celery on top of roast. Add onion and garlic to drippings in pan and sauté until they are starting to soften. Scrape onions and garlic on top of veggies. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Cook on low for 10 hours. You could certainly drain the juice out of the dish at this point, mix it with a flour/butter roux, and make a gravy to go with the roast. I’m currently gluten-free so I passed on the gravy. I leave that decision up to you. However, I do insist that you serve this with mashed potatoes*. I simply don’t think there is any other legitimate side to accompany a pot roast.

Now I don’t know about your kids (if you have them), but mine aren’t fans of red meat. They’ll eat it if it’s disguised in a soup or chili of some sort, but straight-forward, in-your-face roast doesn’t fly with them. So last night when I made this pot roast, I made a batch of vegetarian chili alongside to ensure that everyone left the table with a full belly.

To my great surprise, they loved this roast. Excited shouts for second and third helpings started echoing from all corners of the dinner table, while I spent the majority of my mealtime shredding beef for my 2-year old who, between bites, kept yelling, “More meat!” Needless to say, I ate a cold meal…but with a warm heart—I love when my kids enjoy my cooking; don’t you?

*I don’t proclaim to be any sort of mashed potato expert, but I will give you my quick recipe here if you are a “mashed-potatoes-from-scratch-virgin”: Scrub, peel, and quarter 5 or 6 large potatoes. Boil potatoes till tender (will probably take about 20 minutes). Throw hot potatoes in a large mixing bowl and beat on medium speed for a minute. Then slowly add heavy cream until the potatoes reach your desired consistency. Add salt and pepper to taste, and the deed is done.

Wanna Lose Weight? My 3 Must-Do's for 2012

2012-01-04T05:00:00.000-08:00

With the New Year only a few days behind us, fresh conversation about adopting new diets and exercise regimes still clog up the space around the water cooler at many offices and countless Americans are clipping the tags off new spandex shorts and hitting the roads in an attempt to shed the complimentary 5+lbs. that the holidays provide.

If you are one of these folks with “Lose Weight” at the top of your list of things to do in this New Year (like every year for the past 20), do yourself a favor and bump it down a couple lines and put “Read Geneen Roth’s When Food is Love” at the top, followed by “Now read Breaking Free from Emotional Eating (also by Roth)”. Really, you could just continue down the page and keep listing off her books, but you get the point.

Honestly, the light that Roth sheds on the subject of food and body image is solar in its power. I laughed and cried my way through both these books, feeling both understood and challenged at the same time. In fact, I have now added “Attend a Geneen Roth workshop” to my bucket list (a very elite compilation, I might add).

Here is a link to an O Magazine interview with Roth as well as a link to her website if you want to learn a little more about her.

Another source that I have found incredibly helpful in my journey to wholeness in the area of food/body image and one that I strongly encourage you to check out is the blog canyoustayfordinner.com. Here, Andie Mitchell eloquently chronicles not only her adventures in cooking, but also her life-changing journey from 268 lbs. to 133 lbs. Actually, Andie speaks a lot of Geneen Roth’s work on her blog, and was in fact the first to introduce me to Roth's books. Andie is Geneen’s philosophy in action.

Stay tuned as I continue the food/body image discussion in the coming weeks, and thanks to all of you who have contributed to the conversation over the past several months; your thought-provoking responses have led to much healing and freedom in my own life. Thank you!

A New Year's Challenge (With Vegetarian Chili on the Side)

2012-01-02T05:00:00.000-08:00

Two Thursdays out of most months, I scurry around my kitchen assembling all the necessities for cooking (pots, utensils, aprons, etc.), stuff it all in an empty box or laundry basket, load it in my minivan along with my two oldest children, and drive the short distance to the local food pantry where we volunteer.

My role there is simple: cook.

I receive the same items for a meal that the food pantry patrons will receive at that day’s distribution. And with those ingredients, I create recipes that will give them options for interesting and healthy meals, then I make those recipes for the patrons while they’re waiting for their opportunity to gather their rations from the pantry.

I love to cook, so when this role presented itself, the fit felt perfect. But over the past year, the cooking has become secondary. Even now emotion chokes in my throat as I think of last month’s demonstration and the petite, white-haired woman who, with red-rimmed eyes, relayed to me the dire circumstances of her husband’s health, and how, without insurance, they couldn’t afford to buy the medication that keeps him breathing.

“I’m so so sorry,” I whispered, tears blurring her form before me as she spoke.

“He says he’s not afraid to die, but he’s not ready yet,” her voice quivered as she whispered the next few words, “and I’m not ready to lose him.” As I slid my arms around her trembling shoulders, shaking with her stifled sobs, I felt helpless. I felt small. I felt ill-equipped.

And I felt that I was right where I needed to be.

In the New Year, so often our resolutions center around self-improvements we hope to achieve through more effort: lose weight, eat healthier, exercise more.

I challenge you this year to follow your passion (cooking, art, singing, photography, etc.) to a place where you don’t have the solutions or the answers, to the place where you are simply arms open wide ready to welcome the broken-hearted.

And just see the self-improvements that come from that.

Today’s recipe is taken from one of the cooking demos I did this past year. It’s cheap (a plus after the havoc the holidays can have on our finances), healthy (because the holidays tend to wreak even more havoc on our waistlines), and oh-so-easy.

Mai’s Vegetarian Chili

2 tbsp. olive oil

1 c. chopped onions or 1 tsp. onion powder

1 garlic clove, chopped or ½ tsp. garlic powder

1 tbsp. chili powder

1 tsp. cumin

1, 28 oz. can of crushed tomatoes

1, 14 oz. can of pinto beans, drained

1, 14 oz. can of black beans, drained

1, 14 oz. can of sweetcorn, undrained

1 c. vegetable broth (if you’re not too worried about the whole “vegetarian” bit, beef broth works nicely here)

¼ tsp. ground pepper

1 ½ tsp. salt

In a large pot, heat olive oil. Add onions and garlic, and sauté for 5-8 minutes, or until veggies are softened. Add chili powder and cumin and sauté for another minute. Then add tomatoes, beans, corn, pepper, and salt (if you made the bean salsa recipe from last week, feel free to throw your leftover beans and corn into the chili at this point for a slightly chunkier version). Simmer for 30 minutes and serve.

My kids can’t get enough of this chili. When I’m feeling down in the dumps, I simply whip up a pot of this and sit back in my easy chair to absorb all the compliments. When I made this for lunch last week, my daughter, after eating a bowl full, stormed into the bathroom where I was showering and declared, “Mom that chili was delicious!” and then quickly exited. Gotta love that kind of affirmation!

New Year's Eve Special: Easy Bean Salsa

2011-12-31T05:00:00.000-08:00

You awake bleary-eyed as the fog of your dream world quickly clears and the morning light snaps your consciousness to the present-

It’s New Year’s Eve tonight and you have nothing prepared.

Fear not, my holiday-weary friend; I’ve got the salsa covered. If you’re like me, you hate to give that frazzled appearance with your food choices by serving up jarred salsa and dips. You want to look like you’ve been planning this spread for weeks, cooking for days, and tablescaping for hours. So I provide for you a short-cut.

Today’s recipe consists mostly of pantry staples with a few fresh veggies thrown in to add that “homemade” flair. In 10 minutes flat you can have this baby in your fridge and the flavors melding while you put the finishing touches on dessert or scrub off all the globs of old toothpaste stuck to the bathroom counter (that’s where you’ll find me).

Note: If you are expecting a big crowd, this recipe can easily be doubled or tripled depending on your need.

Mai’s Easy “Peasy” Bean Salsa (I love the pun here.)

1 cup of canned black-eyed peas*

1 cup of canned black beans*

1 cup of canned white sweet corn*

1, 10oz. can Mexican-style Rotel tomatoes, drained

½ c. green pepper, finely chopped

1 green onion, both white and green parts, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, finely chopped

Salt and pepper to taste

Tortilla chips, for serving

Mix everything (except chips, of course) in serving bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for several hours to allow all the flavors to dance and mingle. Serve with tortilla chips.

*You will have leftover beans and corn, but don't even dream of throwing them out! Tune in Monday for a delicious vegetarian chili that will make great use of those extras.

Happy New Year, friends!

A New Year's Eve Must: The Over 21 Cookie

2011-12-30T08:06:00.000-08:00

Last week, in the floury whirlwind that was my Christmas Eve, I added a new cookie to my list of favorites, one I think will make a delightful addition to your New Year's Eve menu. The 1/2 cup of Kahlua qualifies its name, and the addition of espresso might have you second guessing whether you want to share this delicacy with your 3-year old, hence you could also call it "The Adults Only Cookie".

I actually found the recipe in this year's August edition of "Southern Living" and never got around to testing it out till this past week. While I have the habit of fidgeting with most recipes, I followed this one step by step and loved the results; I wouldn't change a thing, therefore, I've provided the link to the recipe here for your convenience.

However, I have two quick notes to add:
1. For all you liquor novices out there whose pantry doesn't include a big bottle of Kahlua, 2 of those little bottles they display at the checkout at your local liquor store will suffice for the 1/2 c. required in the recipe.
2. Be sure to use dark chocolate on top of the cookies; the flavor is far more sophisticated and I'm afraid you'll miss the total effect if you go with milk chocolate.
3. This is an egg-free recipe for any egg allergies out there so here's a late Christmas present to you--enjoy!

If you are looking for a last minute appetizer idea for the big hoorah, tune in tomorrow for a delicious recipe that will take 10 minutes or less to prepare. Happy Baking!

The Final Day of the Cookie Countdown: The Love Biscuit's Predecessor

2011-12-24T05:47:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas Eve, my friends!

Today I present to you the final recipe of our cookie countdown. This one comes to you without much fanfare because, simply, I have hundreds of cookies to make today and I have no time for chit chat. We're getting right down to business.

This recipe hails from one of my favorite baking cookbooks, The Great American Bake Sale. Actually, before The Love Biscuit (day 11's recipe) entered our lives, this cookie claimed the heart of my husband. So if you're looking for one last addition to your dessert tray for tomorrow's get-together, look no further.

Honey-Roasted Peanut Butter Cookies

1/2 c. butter, softened
1/2 c. firmly packed light brown sugar
1/2 c. granulated sugar
1/2 c. chunky peanut butter
1 egg, beaten
1 1/2 c. all purpose flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 c. honey-roasted peanuts, coarsely chopped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Cream butter, sugars and peanut butter until light and fluffy. Beat in egg, flour, and soda to make a smooth dough. Mix in peanuts. Shape dough into 1-inch balls and place 2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheets. Press the back of a fork into each cookie in two directions to make a cross hatched pattern. Bake 8 to 10 minutes until edges are lightly browned. Cool 10 minutes, then lift cookies with spatula and transfer to racks. Make 5 dozen.

Wishing you all the wonder and peace that this season promises--Have a very Merry Christmas!

Day 2 of the Cookie Countdown: The Cookie that Stole My Heart

2011-12-23T05:00:00.000-08:00

When Shawn and I lived in England 6 years ago, our brother-in-law (a Brit himself) introduced us to a sweet little bakery called Ben's Cookies. As many of you know, cookies hold a very special place in my heart, and therefore, I tend to be a bit of a cookie snob. I hold high standards for the cookies I eat, and for this very reason, I rarely buy cookies from a store--I'm a made-from-scratch cookie consumer.

Then Ben's Cookies entered my life- wait, let me rephrase that. Then Ben's Triple Chocolate Chunk Cookie entered my life. There are not words, my friends, to describe this cookie. It is simply an experience meant to be enjoyed by each and every one of your five senses.

Unfortunately, this is not the recipe I am giving you today; one day perhaps, I will have that beauty in my clutches, but not today.

Instead, I give you one of my own triple chocolate recipes that is reminiscent of Ben's masterpiece. My husband seems to think it is a masterpiece in and of itself, and since he's almost as picky as I am about cookies, I hold that as the highest of compliments. So for the chocolate lovers on your Christmas list, seal up a bag of these and consider your shopping done.

Mai's Triple Chocolate Cookies
1 c. salted butter, softened
1/2 c. white sugar
1/2 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. dark brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. unsweetened cocoa
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2 c. mixture of milk, dark, and white chocolate chunks

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a large mixing bowl, combine butter and sugars; mix until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time. Then add vanilla. In a separate bowl combine flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt. Add flour mixture to butter mixture and mix to combine. Stir in 2 cups of chocolate.

Drop dough by tablespoonfuls onto lined baking sheets. Bake for 10-12 minutes, or until cookies no longer look doughy. Remove to cooling rack. Makes 2-3 dozen.

Cookie Countdown Day 3: Mimi's Wedding Cookies

2011-12-22T05:00:00.000-08:00

Looking back to my childhood, I would have never labeled my grandma as a “baker”. Yes, the woman could make a mean Coconut Snowball Cake, but her gifting laid more in the arena of fried chicken and gravy. My grandma was a no-nonsense kind of woman and she stuck to what she knew. What she made, she made well, and while she didn’t often do a lot of baking, one plate of cookies you could certainly count on her bringing to Christmas dinner was her Wedding Cookies.

If you don’t know them by name, I’m sure you know them by sight (my sister-in-law refers to them as “the little white bally thingies”). But whatever you call them, the consensus usually is that if you like butter, sugar, and nuts, you’ll love these. So today I give to you my dear old Mimi’s recipe. Enjoy!

Mimi’s Wedding Cookies

1 c. butter

½ c. powdered sugar

2 c. flour

¾ c. pecans

1 tsp. vanilla

½ tsp. salt

Additional powdered sugar to roll baked cookies in

Mix ingredients together and chill for 15 minutes. Roll dough into 1-inch balls and place on baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 min, or just until cookies are beginning to brown. Remove from tray to cool briefly. When cool enough to handle, roll in powdered sugar, then cool completely, and reroll in powdered sugar.

Cookie Countdown Day 4: Christmas in a Cookie

2011-12-21T06:31:00.000-08:00

Today's recipe comes from one of my favorite cookbooks, Feast, by Nigella Lawson. Please forgive this slight tangent, but if you don't own any of her cookbooks, I highly recommend putting a bug in your nearest and dearest's ear to get one for you this Christmas. Above all else, her cookbooks are always a good read in and of themselves because the woman can not only cook, she can write. And her recipes are so tangible, built for the common cook like you and I, easy but full of flavor.

Now, on to the good stuff. I initially made this recipe (whose link is provided below) a few years ago, and the first bite I took of the finished result I heard Christmas carols singing and saw snowing falling all around me. This cookie is Christmas in an edible 3-inch diameter.

I love what Miss Lawson did by starting with the basic idea of an oatmeal raisin cookie and then deepening the concept by adding chopped pecans, white chocolate, and exchanging the raisins for dried cranberries. The end result is both delectable and gorgeous.

Miss Lawson, a many thanks for allowing us to add your Cranberry and White Chocolate Cookies to our dessert array this year. Happy Baking, Friends!

Day 5 of the Countdown: The Great Pumpkin Cookie

2011-12-20T05:00:00.000-08:00

Forgive me for tooting my own horn again, but once more I must pull a recipe from the archives to add to this countdown. I’m not sure the first time around everyone took me seriously when I waxed poetic about this recipe, so this is my second and final attempt.

Just kidding…I’ll never give up, my friends, never.

The recipe I speak of is The Great Pumpkin Cookie. It’s got the simplicity of a drop cookie with the decadence of an iced beauty. I love the warm flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice, especially as the weather chills and snowflakes begin gathering on the windowpanes.

And it’s a great contrast to the traditional cookie platter residents: iced sugar cookies, peanut butter blossoms, homemade fudge, and chocolate chip cookies. It changes things up, keeps people on their toes.

Oh, and as a bonus, it's knock-your-socks-off delicious.

Great Pumpkin Cookies

Cookies:
1 c. butter, softened
½ c. white sugar
½ c. packed brown sugar
1 c. canned or fresh pumpkin (if you’re using fresh, make sure you squeeze out as much moisture from it as possible before adding to the batter)
1 egg
1 tsp. vanilla
2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. pumpkin pie spice
¼ tsp. salt
¾ c. chopped walnuts (optional)

Penuche Glaze:
3 tbsp. butter
½ c. packed dark brown sugar
¼ c. milk
½ to 2 c. powdered sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

For the cookies, cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Blend in pumpkin, egg, and vanilla. Mix in flour, soda, baking powder, pumpkin pie spice, salt, and nuts. Drop by tablespoonfuls 3-inches apart on ungreased baking sheets. Bake 10-12 minutes until golden around the edges. Lift warm cookies from baking sheet with spatula, and transfer to racks. Cool about 30 minutes, then spread with glaze.

For the glaze, heat butter and brown sugar in medium saucepan until bubbly. Cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute until slightly thickened. Beat in milk. Blend in enough powdered sugar to make glaze a smooth, spreadable consistency.

Day 6 of the Cookie Countdown: Disconcerting Lemon Shortbread

2011-12-19T05:00:00.000-08:00

My friend Carrie is what I would call a daring cook. I look at a recipe and scoff at the strange combination of flavors; she scans the same list of ingredients, pulls out her pots and pans, and gets cooking. I want to know it’s all going to work out okay; she’s willing to take the risk that it won’t for that slight possibility that it just might be the most amazing dish she’s ever tasted. She sees the diamond in the rough; I see a waste of time.

Though I would love to be more adventurous in my cooking exploits, the benefit of having a friend like Carrie is that I get to taste the fruit of her experiments. Today’s recipe is one of them. When she told me about the recipe, I shrugged it off: “That’s not the kind of flavors I could get excited about,” I told myself.

And then she served this shortbread at her house one day and I couldn’t hold a single coherent conversation with anyone the rest of the afternoon because my mind kept wandering to the lemony, buttery flavor lingering in my mouth after every bite. It was disconcerting, but in a really good way.

The recipe, from Fine Cooking, is Lemon Cornmeal Shortbread. Sounds simple, right? Kind of unexciting, right? Wrong. Oh, so very wrong, my friends. I simply urge you now to go to this link and open your cupboard doors because shortbread needs to be on your menu tonight!

Christmas Cookie Countdown Day 7: Shirley's Buckeyes

2011-12-18T05:00:00.000-08:00

This is a bittersweet blog for me to write today. The recipe I’m showcasing comes from one of the nearest and dearest women I’ve ever known. As I began sketching out what I wanted to write, I realized that a simple 250 words could do no justice to the imprint this woman had on my life so I won’t even dare to try. Instead, I’ll give you a short history and a short memory, and perhaps leave the rest for another day.

The story goes that when I was about 6 months old, my mom had to have her gallbladder removed. Now back then, getting a gallbladder removed was a fairly major operation. Judging by the rugged scar across my mom’s mid-section, it looks like they pretty much filleted your stomach to get that little bugger out.

After the surgery, my mother couldn’t lift anything (including little ole’ me) for 6 weeks. So while my mom recouped, her best friend, Shirley, took me on as her own. For six weeks I was her little baby girl. And she used to tell me that when my dad came to pick me up on the last day in order to take me back home to my mom, Shirley cried and cried because she couldn’t stand to let me go.

Thankfully Shirley was a constant presence throughout my life, but I remember her most fondly at Christmastime. It was her favorite season, and being an extraordinary baker, it was her chance to really show off. One Christmas in particular, she arrived at our family get-together with a huge round tin, brimming with festively frilled red and green wrappers, each cradling what we Ohioans fondly call the Buckeye. This decadent confection is, simply put, peanut butter fudge rolled into balls and dipped into chocolate. What’s not to love.

I spent nearly every Christmas season of my life enjoying the delights of Shirley’s cooking. Then, in July of 2009, just 2 weeks after I had my baby, Sam, Shirley passed away. His slight little body cuddled me on the solemn flight from Virginia to Ohio for her funeral. He never got to meet her, the only one of my children not to know their “Grandma Shirley”.

Oh, how I miss her…

But she would be so delighted to know that her Buckeye recipe is alive and well and bouncing around cyberspace. Thanks, Shirley, for this recipe.

Shirley’s Buckeyes

1, 18oz. jar of creamy peanut butter
½ c. softened butter
1 lb. box of confectioner’s sugar
1, 12 oz. pkg. semi-sweet chocolate chips
3 tbsp. shortening

Combine the peanut butter and butter. Add sugar and mix well. Roll mixture into balls, stick a toothpick in each one and chill for at least 30 minutes. Meanwhile, melt chocolate chips and shortening in microwave, stopping every 30 minutes to stir chocolate until completely melted.

Working quickly, dip chilled peanut butter balls in melted chocolate being careful not to completely cover the top but allowing a crown of peanut butter to show through on the top, resembling a buckeye. Place dipped balls on waxed paper, remove toothpicks, and refrigerate till ready to serve.

Day 8 of the Cookie Countdown: A Jungle Jack Christmas

2011-12-17T06:47:00.000-08:00

Today’s recipe is for all you health-nuts out there. No, this recipe is not “healthy”; does such a cookie recipe truly exist? But this recipe is healthier than your standard chocolate chip cookie. There are loads of nuts, so you can check protein off your list, and lots of flax, so at least you’ll stay regular.

I actually got this recipe from a Paula Dean magazine a couple years ago. It’s the go-to cookie for Jack Hanna (you know, the animal guy). Supposedly he has a real sweet tooth so his wife made up this recipe to help satisfy his cravings and keep him sleek and handsome in this khaki safari outfits.

But whether nutrition is top on your list of food priorities or lingers a little closer to the bottom, this is a wonderful recipe that you simply must try. Chewy, hearty but not heavy, and the flavors of maple, nuts, and chocolate complimenting each other perfectly, this recipe will not disappoint. Thank you, Suzi Hanna--you made a beauty with this one!

Jungle Jack’s Cookies

1 c. unsalted butter
1c. sugar
1 c. firmly packed brown sugar
¼ c. maple syrup
2 large eggs
1 tbsp. vanilla extract
2 ½ c. organic all-purpose flour
½ c. organic whole-wheat flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 c. canola oil
1 ½ c. old-fashioned or quick-cooking oats
½ c. 7-grain cereal
½ c. golden flax seed
1 c. finely chopped walnuts
1 c. finely chopped pecans
1 c. finely chopped almonds
2 c. semisweet chocolate chips
2 c. walnut halves

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper; set aside. In a large bowl, beat butter, sugars, and maple syrup at medium-high speed with an electric mixer until light and fluffy. Add eggs and vanilla, beating until combined.

In a medium bowl, combine flours, baking soda, and salt; sift once. Add flour mixture, alternately with oil, 1 cup at a time, beginning and ending with flour mixture; beat at low speed, until smooth, after each addition. Fold in cereals, flax seed, and chopped nuts.

Drop dough, by rounded tablespoons, gently pressing flat with hands. Sprinkle cookies evenly with chocolate morsels and walnut halves. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, or until edges are lightly browned. Let cool for 2 minutes on baking sheets. Remove to wire racks to cool completely. Makes about 3 dozen.

Day 9: A Gluten-Free Special

2011-12-16T05:00:00.000-08:00

I have just realized that in my past 1 ½ years of blogging, I have already imparted to you some of my most beloved cookie recipes, therefore, you will have to forgive the occasional recipe repeat that may appear on this countdown. Be assured that if a recipe is repeated here, it has happened out of necessity.

Day 9’s inductee into the countdown is really a shout-out to all you gluten-free folks out there. I just want to let everyone know that GF’s still know how to have fun, and this little humdinger proves my point.

This cookie is chocolate on a chocolate high. It’s over the top and that’s why I love it. Sometimes we need to cut loose a little bit, let our hair down and relax. I have really short hair so this is my compromise—I eat one of these.

Many thanks to Bon Appetit for once again splashing life onto my palate by introducing this recipe to me!

Deep Dark Chocolate Cookies

1 1/2 c. bittersweet chocolate chips, divided

3 large egg whites, room temperature (I didn't have mine at room temperature so I just sat them in a bowl on a towel set on the preheating oven and in about 10 minutes they were just right.)

2 1/2 c. powdered sugar, divided

1/2 c. unsweetened cocoa powder

1 tbsp. cornstarch

1/4 tsp. salt

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. You could take a gamble and try to make these just by greasing your baking sheets but I like a sure bet like parchment paper; I'm a play-it-safe kind of girl. Melt 1 cup of chocolate chips in glass bowl in microwave, checking and stirring about every thirty seconds, just until the chips melt and are smooth. Cool slightly.

Using electric mixer, beat whites in large bowl to soft peaks. Gradually beat in 1 c. sugar. Continue beating until mixture resembles soft marshmallow creme. Whisk 1 cup sugar, cocoa, cornstarch, and salt in medium bowl to blend. On low speed, beat dry ingredients into meringue. Stir in lukewarm chocolate and 1/2 cup chocolate chips (dough will become very stiff).

Place 1/2 c. sugar in bowl. Roll 1 rounded tablespoon dough into ball; roll in sugar, coating thickly. Place on prepared sheet. Repeat with remaining dough, spacing 2-inches apart. Bake until puffed and tops crack, about 10 minutes. Cool on sheets on rack 10 minutes. Transfer to rack; cool.

Day 10 of Cookie Countdown: The New and Improved Gingerbread Man

2011-12-15T05:00:00.000-08:00

What holiday cookie platter is complete without the husky build and tentative smile of the gingerbread man? Problem is, his traditional taunt of “catch me if you can” is hardly enticing when he usually tastes no better than a piece of spiced cardboard, hardly the Christmas delicacy he was meant to be.

Until now.

This recipe gives the gingerbread man the makeover he has long been awaiting. The combination of cinnamon and ginger is perfectly balanced, the texture is tender and light. Again, I’ve never been a great fan of gingerbread cookies until this recipe came along. They are perfectly delectable without a hint of icing, but if you, like me, enjoying flexing your artistic muscles by decorating cookies, then whip up a batch of royal icing from Tuesday’s recipe and get creating; the sweetness just adds to the experience.

Mai’s Gingerbread Men

4 c. flour

1 tbsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. ground ginger

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. baking soda

½ tsp. baking powder

1 c. butter, softened

2 c. dark brown sugar, packed

2 tsp. vanilla

2 large eggs

¼ c. buttermilk

In a separate bowl, combine flour, cinnamon, ginger, salt, baking soda, and baking powder. In a large bowl, beat butter and sugar. Add vanilla and eggs, mix well. Then add buttermilk. Combine dry ingredients with butter mixture and mix just until combined. Divide dough in half and wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for 2 hours or overnight.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Roll out dough to about ¼ inch thickness and use 5-inch cookie cutters to cut out cookies. Place on lined baking sheets and bake for 10-12 minutes or until edges start to darken. Cool. Decorate with royal icing if you wish.

Day 11 in the Cookie Countdown: The Love Biscuit

2011-12-14T06:34:00.000-08:00

Today’s recipe is a tribute to my impossibly kind and handsome husband, Shawn. This is his favorite cookie, and coincidentally, it’s my favorite cookie dough to eat. Strange, perhaps, but nevertheless true.

It’s a simple drop cookie; nothing elaborate here, but the taste makes up for its plain appearance. In my eyes, you can never go wrong with a chocolate-peanut butter combo, but in here you have a subtle hint of maple in the background to usher the flavors in.

And the best part is that most of the ingredients (actually all of them) are staples in my kitchen so I can crank out a batch of these cookies at last minute notice. That’s a handy recipe to have in one’s arsenal, especially around this hectic time of year.

Mai’s Oatmeal Cookies aka The Love Biscuit

1 c. vegetable oil

¾ c. brown sugar

¾ c. white sugar

2 extra-large eggs (or 3 medium)

1 tbsp. vanilla

1 tbsp. pure maple syrup

2 ½ c. old-fashioned oats

1 ¾ c. all-purpose flour

1 ½ tsp. salt

1 tsp. baking soda

1 ½ c. peanut butter baking chips

1 c. chocolate chips

Combine oil and sugars. Add eggs and beat well; then add vanilla and maple syrup, mixing to combine. Add oats, flour, salt, and baking soda and mix well. Stir in peanut butter chips and chocolate chips. Refrigerate dough for an hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Drop tablespoonfuls of dough on parchment paper lined baking sheets. Bake cookies for 10-12 minutes, or until just beginning to brown.

The 12 Cookies Of Christmas Countdown

2011-12-13T07:16:00.000-08:00

12 days before Christmas. 12 cookies to bake for the pleasure of you and those you love.

I am actually a bit of a cookie connoisseur. Therefore, I assure you that you will not be led astray by any of these recipes because they are my tried and true favorites. I have eaten these cookies in every form: dough, hot from the oven, 3 days old, and they simply don’t disappoint at any stage.

Today’s offering heralds from my earnest desire to eat things that both look beautiful and taste sublime. For me, there is no in-between. Actually, I’d rather eat something that looks sub-par but tastes marvelous than eat something that is gorgeous and tastes like sawdust. But this recipe meets all criteria.

As a child, I loved those little Keebler iced animal crackers with the soft-pink icing. It was back in my “knows not the meaning of moderation” days and I could polish of the whole bag in an average of 2 sittings. But I never could get into the typical iced sugar cookie hoopla. I could pass up plates upon plates of Christmas tree cut-outs slathered in pastel green powder sugar icing.

And then, at the ripe age of 22, I stumbled upon this recipe. It hearkened back to the essence of the Keebler cookies of my youth but were far more sophisticated and evolved; imagine the Keebler elves closing the doors of their tree-trunk abode and moving to Buckingham palace—these cookies are classy.

Most of the recipes from the countdown will be my very own, but this particular one I pulled from a Bon Appetit magazine years ago (December 2000 to be exact). It’s been my go-to cookie-cutter recipe ever since then and now I invite you to add it to your baking line-up.

So here I provide for you the link to these sweet delectables:

Ladies and Gents, I present to you…The Holiday Sugar Cookie with Royal Icing. Enjoy!

Giving Thanks for Your Body

2011-11-21T05:00:00.000-08:00

I am not normally a sickly person, but last winter, all the illnesses I had adeptly dodged and evaded for the first 32 years of my life rallied together, cornered me, and began to deliver blow after blow of colds and flu and stomach viruses to my once healthy body in the span of about 3 months. By the time the last one gave me a sucker punch to the gut (literally), my sanity hung by a thread. Yes, in my self-centered way, I questioned the goodness of God. I mean, why would a God who loved me allow me to keep getting sick?

Theologically, there are all sorts of problems with that question, but I won’t go into those today. But I will expound upon is the answer that God gave me.

After I sensed Him chuckle to himself and mutter something about Job, I really felt Him lead my spirit in the direction of this one thought: Your body is a gift so be thankful for it.

What I realized was that through all that sickness, I subconsciously began to care about my body more deeply than I ever had before because suddenly I understood all that it allowed me to do. Up until that then, the only time I thought about my body was in relation to whether I felt fat or skinny. Really, I didn’t want to think about my body because usually the thoughts left me feeling a lot of self-hate. So as much as I could, I avoided thinking about my body.

However, when I was sick, I couldn’t help but think about my body all the time: how it felt when I ate this or that, how my head spun or throbbed when I walked around, how my arms and legs felt weaker, how my breathing was more difficult. In a strange and sort of lovely way, sickness forced me to get attune to my body.

As sad as this may sound, for the first time I can ever remember, I finally felt thankful for my body. For 32 years, it had walked me around this earth, allowing me to hear the hymns my mom sang to me every night as a child, to pedal my purple Huffy Ewok bike on across town treks with my dad, to kiss my dashing brown-eyed husband on our wedding day, to scream and struggle 4 babies into this world, to run my fingers through my son Cade’s hair, to tickle my daughters and tell them stories when I tuck them in at night, to cradle my baby Sam when he wanders groggy and smiling into our room every morning, to feel my husband’s hand cupping the curve of my hip as we talk late into the night…and I never once thought to be thankful for this body that has brought me thus far.

This Thanksgiving, I encourage you to take some time to thank God for the body He has given you. I don’t care how much it weighs or what size it wears. Think simply this: your body is the only thing that gives you a presence on this earth and it is a tremendous gift.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Gluten-free Pumpkin Crisp--A New Thanksgiving Tradition

2011-11-17T05:00:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is fast approaching, my friends, and for you gluten-free folks out there, it can be a bittersweet occasion. You see your family and friends enjoying the fruits of wheat-laden cooking and baking while your plate looks rather bleak minus the bread stuffing, gravy, green bean casserole, homemade dinner rolls, pumpkin pie…I could go on, but I won’t.

Or perhaps you celebrate this holiday with a family of gluten-free believers who have found creative ways to make Thanksgiving dinner with tasty, digestive-friendly alternatives to the traditional fare.

Whichever group you are in, I present to you a splendid, gluten-free pumpkin crisp that will entertain any palate. I will actually go so far as to say that you could forgo the pumpkin pie this year and serve this alone and there would be not a whisper of protest. It’s that good.

Mai’s Gluten-free Pumpkin Crisp

3 c. fresh pumpkin (if you use canned pumpkin, up the evaporated milk to 1 c.)
¾ c. maple sugar (but white sugar works just fine here if that’s all you’ve got on hand)
¾ c. evaporated milk
4 eggs
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. pumpkin pie spice
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Topping:
¾ c. packed brown sugar
¾ c. gluten-free quick oats
¾ c. chopped walnuts
¼ tsp. cinnamon
6 tbsp. butter, melted

Whipped cream or vanilla ice cream to serve

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine pumpkin, sugar, milk, eggs, cinnamon, pumpkin pie spice, and vanilla. Mix until smooth and then pour into buttered 8-inch baking dish and bake for 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, make topping by combining brown sugar, oats, walnuts, and cinnamon in a small bowl. Toss ingredients in melted butter. When the pumpkin mixture has baked for 25 minutes, gently top it with crumble mixture and bake pumpkin crisp for an additional 20-25 minutes, or until topping is golden brown.

Serve with sweetened whip cream or vanilla ice cream, and don’t begrudge all the folks who are passing up the gluten-rich desserts to feast on your treat; remember: ‘tis the season for thankfulness.

Time to Kiss and Make-up with Your Body

2011-11-15T06:23:00.000-08:00

For the past couple months, we’ve talked about how to attain true weight loss by first dealing with your crap. That is and always will be step one. Then, once you begin to deal with the emotional side of your weight, the feat of losing weight won’t seem so enormous.

But it will still take some effort. Step one is not a wonder drug. But it certainly takes your problem from cancer-level down to the severity of the common cold. It will require some attention and doctoring, but you can deal with it.

I believe that initially some of the effort will have to focus around reconnecting your mind with your body. I completely understand that when you struggle with weight loss and body image issues, the last thing you want to think about is your body. It disgusts you, it frustrates you, it embarrasses you.

But what you’ve forgotten is that it also gives you life and carries you around this big blue and green earth every single day. And it might actually have something worthwhile to say if you’ll take the time to listen to it.

At this point, I fully anticipate you saying: “I wouldn’t be in this spot if it weren’t for my body.”

And this is my response to you: 1. You still need to deal with your shit because then you will know that… 2. What you said is not true. Your body had nothing to do with you gaining weight. (By the way, I’m speaking to people with non-thyroid weight gain—I’m well aware of the havoc that a crazy thyroid can have on the body. However, even if your weight gain is the result of a medical issue, it is just as important to cultivate an appreciation for and understanding of your body so stick with me here.)

Therefore, I am now declaring this as the moment to begin to kiss and make up with your body. And the way you start to do that is by listening and recording what your body tells you. I am not in the habit of using this blog to tell people what to do. But I feel so strongly about this aspect of “whole healing” that I am going to suggest that you try this writing exercise for a week and see how it goes.

I know there are people out there who absolutely hate writing anything down. Gripping a pen in their hand feels like the blade of a double-edged sword. But I’m going to ask you to put on a hefty pair of gloves and grab that pain-inducing writing utensil and begin jotting down what you’re body tells you.

This will not take hours of introspection. Intially, I’m thinking you can get this done in 20-30 minutes a day, in five or six 5-minute chunks. You will not have to continue this exercise till the grave. This is not a diet plan. All I’m doing is getting you aware of how your body feels.

Here are some questions I’d like for you to answer throughout your day:

1. How does my body feel (this morning, this afternoon, this evening)? (Do you feel energetic or tired, do you feel heavy or light, do you feel hungry or full or something in between?)
2. If you are hungry, how do you know? (Does your stomach growl, do you feel light-headed, do you feel shaky and weak, do you feel tired?)
3. Before you eat, ask yourself, “what sounds good?” (Try not to sensor your responses here. If you’ve dieted for many years, you may try to get all righteous about it, choosing what you “should” eat rather than what your body really wants to eat. Forget about “good and bad foods” for now and just let your body have a voice. But make sure it’s your body that’s talking and not your mind. Make sure it’s your body that’s saying “I want that cinnamon roll” and not your mind really saying “I can’t believe John never apologized for what he said to me last night in bed. I want a cinnamon roll.” There’s a big difference between the two.
4. Then write down what you decided to eat.
5. After you eat, ask yourself, “how do I feel?” (Do you feel full, bursting, still hungry, just right, tired, energized, happy, sad, fulfilled, unfulfilled?)
6. If you are one who normally exercises, write down how you feel after you do it. (Great, energized, exhausted, full of aches, angry, frustrated?)
7. How do you feel your treated your body today? (Good, bad, alright, like a queen, like a trashcan?)

I’d like you to repeat numbers 1-5 every time you eat. Again, I’m not looking for an epic-length writing here. I just want you to attune your ear to the voice of your body.

Now perhaps this is a practice you already do. Perhaps the path from your mind to your body is a deeply-grooved path. If so, I’d love to hear how this practice has benefited you. And if you are just doing this for the first time, what are your apprehensions?

Broccoli Soup to Sway the Hearts of Panera Lovers

2011-11-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

I absolutely love to go out to eat. However, in the past two years, the frequency of eating out in our household has diminished greatly. When my husband’s painting business plunged into ruin with the rest of the U.S. economy in 2008-9, we were left with some hefty debt. So we did what any responsible couple with four children would do: we moved into my in-law’s basement and my husband became a full time writer.

Smart thinkin’, right?

Well, against all odds, our tactic worked. Sure it took a lot of financial belt-tightening on our part, loads of inspired and beautiful writing on my husband’s part, inexplicable graciousness on the part of our lenders, and far more than a sprinkling of help from the Big Guy Upstairs, but we are now almost debt-free!

So occasions when we do get to go out to eat are a very big deal in our family simply because our current budget cares more about repaying our debt than feeding my desire to be served and cooked for. And unfortunately, when we do have the opportunity, my children unanimously vote to go to Panera Bread for our one meal out.

Now, if these kind of opportunities happened every other day, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But considering the infrequency of these events, I feel majorly jipped if we spend our meal at a chain restaurant rather than an inspired mom-and-pop sort of joint where grandma bakes the bread and daddy makes the stew.

Therefore, I devised a plan to put my kids off good ole’ Panera. They’re favorite item (and the only item they ever order) is the broccoli cheese soup. So I got my thinkin’ cap on and decided that if I could make my own delicious version of this dish, perhaps I could sway them from their devotion by filling them to the brim with that soup at home so that the very last thing they want to do is eat another bowl full.

Here, my dear friends, is the attempt—and I must admit that it is a mighty fine attempt at that (and the kids LOVED it).

Mai’s Broccoli Cheese Soup

1 tbsp. butter
1 large head broccoli, broken into flowerets
1 large carrot, shredded
½ cup onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tsp. dried basil
2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
2 c. chicken broth
½ lb. cheddar cheese, shredded
½ c. sour cream
2 c. half & half
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. freshly ground pepper
¼ c. flour

Melt butter in a large pot. Add broccoli, carrot, onion, and garlic, and sauté for 10 minutes, or until veggies begin to soften. Add basil, Worcestershire, and chicken broth. Cook veggies in simmering broth until broccoli reaches your desired tenderness, about 5-10 minutes. Reduce heat and add cheese, sour cream, half & half, salt, and pepper. Ladle out two scoops of soup into a small bowl. Add ¼ c. flour to bowl and make a thick roux. Pour roux into pot and simmer soup over medium heat until soup thickens. Serve with crusty bread.

Thinness Doesn't Make You Perfect

2011-10-31T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’m back. Last week I just couldn’t bring myself to write, because, well, I just didn’t have it in me. My thoughts about these issues of food and eating and self-image were swirling about in a dust storm of confusion and I needed to get some perspective. So I took a week off and read Feeding the Hungry Heart by Geneen Roth. The winds have died down and the dust is settling so now I’m ready to renew our discussion. Whew.

So two weeks ago I broached the topic of “The Scale”. I wrote of my hatred of the aforementioned bathroom native and even hinted that I might know why we are so powerless against its siren call.

I think the reason we weigh ourselves obsessively and strive toward that golden number is because we believe that it’s the answer. “If I could just weigh (fill in the blank), wow, that would be awesome.” And it is awesome…for about a week, or a month, or (if you’re lucky) a year. It’s an indescribable high, really. You feel in control, attractive, part of the “normal crowd” who don’t give food and eating a second thought, that enviable group who routinely “forget to eat because they’re just too busy”.

But eventually the high wears off; it doesn’t scratch the itch, and you admit to yourself that you truly aren’t one of the at-peace-with-food-cool-kids. So you either choose a lower number to attain (because that will surely be the answer) or you throw your hands up in the air, gain the weight back, and then start the cycle again, looking for the euphoric feeling that the first weight loss gave you.

When I lost my weight in high school, I went from 165 lbs. to 130 lbs. And for about a year, that weight felt great. I felt I had conquered every evil of this fallen world. But then I went to college and I was scared and lonely and suddenly 130lbs. wasn’t enough. 125 would be better because, really, I was 5’5 and the doctor’s chart said 125 lbs. was the ideal weight for me so if I could just get down to that, then things would be alright, then I wouldn’t feel so frightened and I would like my body.

But when I reached 125 lbs., it was underwhelming. No peace, no self-love. So I went lower. My lowest weight was 115 lbs. and by the time I reached this number, I hated myself more than ever and food had become a cruel monster that shook my emotions with maniacal fear. Yet, I remember at one point during my stay at 115 lbs. my dad asking if I was anorexic…and I was proud of that.

In Feeding the Hungry Heart, Geneen Roth writes, “While the widespread desire to lose weight does not necessarily constitute an eating disorder, it does indicate the priorities in our culture. It indicates that young, vibrant, pulsatingly alive women are spending their energy trying to disappear.” I remember wanting to disappear. I remember thinking that the smaller I got, I better I must be.

Here’s where it breaks down, though: your problems will not disappear with a number on a scale. They will still be waiting for you when you step off that scale and back into life. And the “cool kids” who forget to eat—guess what? They’ve got problems, too. Maybe they don’t binge on moon pies and pork rinds, but if they haven’t dealt with their shit, they are avoiding it some other way with some other vice. They aren’t perfect because thinness doesn’t make you perfect.

The only way “thinness” will give you what you want is if you take a “whole healing” approach. Yes, being overweight is the indication of a deeper problem. That is true. So begin to delve into those problems, not out of guilt or self-loathing, but out of appreciation and self-love. We were created to live "whole" lives, not these fragmented puzzles where one piece weighs 125 lbs. and the other hates itself. Fix the problems on the inside as well as the outside and do it for your whole health, not just the appearance of your body or the number on a scale.

My Past, Present, and Future Through the Eyes of Food

2011-10-19T05:00:00.000-07:00

Thinking back through my life, I’ve realized I can categorize each major phase of my past based upon the ethnic foods I ate or cooked during that time. Strange, but true:

Childhood- Hawaiian/Chinese- My dad was born and raised in Hawaii so most of my childhood years were spent eating meals of my dad’s homemade teriyaki and rice, chicken curry stew, and char sui. Even after my parents split up, we’d spend many week nights at my dad’s apartment slurping up saimin while my mom worked 2nd shift at the airport. To this day, the first thing that signals I’ve arrived at my parents’ house is the wafting aroma of soy sauce and garlic I smell with the first step I take through their front door.

College- Italian- I don’t know that it’s really fair to label the pizza served at the Messiah College Falcon Express as truly “Italian” but I did eat an exorbitant amount of pepperoni pies and deliveries with “The Works” during my college years. Whenever I smell a Papa John’s Pizza, I’m immediately transported back to the fluorescent-lighted halls of the Miller/Hess dorm in Grantham, PA.

Early Marriage-Southern American- As a young domestic goddess, I really cut my “cooking” teeth by preparing the traditional American/Southern dishes that inspired me through the pages of magazines like "Taste of Home" and "Quick Cooking". Shawn and I ate lots of casseroles back then: meat, cheese, and rice combos with cheap ingredients and lots of leftovers. Nothing exotic or even that flavorful, but I took great pride in the fact that “I cooked it!”

England- Indian- When we moved to England, my culinary eyes were finally and fully opened to the vast array of flavors that existed out there in the great big world. And my love (and sometimes obsession) with Indian food began. The New Akash in Great Missenden drew me in with their pristine silver serving dishes, coddling wait staff, and Lamb Tikka Bhuna with Saag Aloo that convinced me I must have lived in the city of Bombay in another life.

And now I’ve hit a phase where there seems to be no dominant theme, either in the food or the purposes of my life. It’s a crossroads, I’m realizing, and it’s exciting, seeing my past mesh beautifully with my present, creating my future:

On Monday I am a girl again, marinating long slices of cold, marbled beef in my dad’s rich teriyaki sauce.

On Tuesday, I feel the care-free naivete of my college self as I roll out the soft, fragrant dough for my cheese pizza.

On Wednesday, I adopt the thrift and carefulness of my young married self, tears gliding down my cheeks as I chop candy-sweet onions for my chicken and rice casserole.

On Thursday, I feel adventurous yet wise, grinding the spices of my Lamb Vindaloo in my mortar and pestle, fragrances of cumin and ginger swirling through my kitchen.

And on Friday, I can be something altogether new…

Mai’s Mexican Casserole

1 lb. ground beef, cooked and drained
1 recipe of Mai’s crockpot refried beans, (but don’t mash up the beans once you’ve cooked and drained them and there's no need to save the liquid. The beans in their natural, cooked state are all you're after here.)
2, 10 oz. cans enchilada sauce (or by all means, use your own. If anyone out there has a good enchilada sauce recipe, I’d love to have it!)
1, 8 oz. can tomato sauce
1, 16 oz. pkg. of corn tortillas, torn into bite-size pieces
1 lb. of Mexican blend cheese
salsa, sour cream, and green onions for toppings

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9x13 inch pan.

Combine first 4 ingredients in a large saucepan and bring to a simmer, just to warm all the ingredients through. Meanwhile, layer half of torn tortillas in the bottom of the prepared pan. Spread half of meat/bean mixture over top of tortillas. Sprinkle half of cheese on top of meat/bean mixture. Repeat layers, ending with cheese.

Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until casserole is bubbly and cheese is melted. Serve with salsa, sour cream, and green onions.

So what about you? Can you categorize phases of your life the same way? What phase are you in now?

The Rise and Fall of The Queen of the Scale

2011-10-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

Since we’ve spent the last several weeks talking about the emotional side of eating, food, and body image, I’ve decided today to take a look at the one of the more tangible roadblocks on the path to a healthy weight and self-concept. ..

The Scale.

To some, those can be the two most terrifying words on planet Earth.

Most people (myself included) with weight and body image struggles, attribute far too much to what number flashes upon the tiny black screen of their bathroom scale. It’s a lottery, really. If the number is “right”, then I feel affirmed and every outfit looks fabulous and my arms look especially toned, and I imagine everyone is admiring my figure and ignoring the appearance of my 4 disheveled children as I herd them into the grocery store. I am the conqueror of food, it has no sway over me so I can eat as little or as much of it as I like because I am The Queen of the Scale.

And then the next day comes.

The scale reflects a different number this time. Sure, perhaps it’s only up a pound or two, but suddenly The Queen is usurped and she’s bumming around in over-sized sweats bemoaning how her thighs rub together, while eating all the leftover cereal in the kids’ breakfast dishes and envisioning herself 500lbs heavier and being lifted out of her bed by a team of 10 barrel-chested men and a gurney.

Scales suck.

I actually haven’t owned one for about 15 years. The only time I weigh myself is when I’m visiting my parents or at my in-laws’ house, so it’s usually 3 or 4 times a year. And each time I weigh myself, I am reminded of why I hate those little gadgets: they have far more power than they should. A machine should never tell me how to feel about myself yet every single time, it does.

So why do I feel compelled to weigh myself when the opportunity presents itself? (I have my own ideas of “why”, which I will share next week, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.)What’s your take on The Scale? Does it help or hurt you on your journey?

Feeling Sorry for My Gluten-Free Self

2011-10-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

A huge “thank you” to everyone out there who responded to my call for help a couple weeks ago when I began this gluten-free adventure that I’m on.

Today, I am sharing with you a specifically “gluten-filled” recipe because, frankly, I’m two weeks into this thing and I’m feeling rather sorry for myself. In the past two weeks, I’ve had to decline my dear friend Jess’s beautifully cheesy baked zita, my mother-in-law’s delicious homemade chicken noodle soup, my mother’s oreo ice-cream cake and 14+ nights of pretzels and cheese (my pre-gluten-free bedtime snack). The list could go on. It actually does go on in my mind, but I’ll have mercy on you.

But in all truthfulness, it hasn’t been nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I feel great, lighter really, and more clear-headed. I sleep like a log whereas before I would struggle to fall asleep and then wake up numerous times throughout the night. I don’t get headaches like a used to. And I don’t get the “after-lunch drowsies”. So really, passing up a piece of ice-cream cake feels like a small sacrifice for how much better I’m feeling.

Still, I miss my cake and cookies and bread and cereal (I’ve definitely had my fill of Corn Chex in the past two weeks). Tonight as Shawn and I sat at the table enjoying our “kids are in bed” snack, my desire for the pretzels he was eating was palpable; he felt frightened and rightly so. But then the moment passed and I was no longer a danger to myself or anyone else.

It’ll get easier.

Therefore, I present to you today one of my favorite fall desserts. Just a heads up: the icing for the cake requires a candy-thermometer and if I were you, I wouldn’t overlook this small detail. I tried to make the icing without one a couple weeks ago and I had more of a brown sugar cement than an icing.

Please, make and enjoy this cake…if only for me.

Fresh Apple Cake

2 cups sugar
1 ½ c. vegetable oil
4 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 ½ c. flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. salt
3 c. peeled and chopped apples
Caramel Glaze

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 12-cup fluted pan.
In a large bowl, beat sugar and oil at medium speed with an electric mixer until combined. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla.

In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt; sift. Gradually add to sugar mixture, beating until combined. Stir in apples.

Pour into prepared pan; bake for 1 hour to 1 hour and 10 minutes, or until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Let cool in pan for 10 minutes. Remove from pan and cool completely on a wire rack. Spoon warm Caramel Glaze over cake.

Caramel Glaze

1 ½ c. firmly packed brown sugar
½ c. butter
3 tsp. milk

In a small saucepan, combine brown sugar, butter, and milk. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat; cook until temperature reaches 234 degrees on a candy thermometer, stirring occasionally.

When I made this recipe a couple weeks ago, I put the batter into a 9x13 and 8x8 inch pans and it worked perfectly. Of course, if you take this route, you need to shorten the baking time, and keep in mind that the finished product won’t be quite as aesthetically pleasing, but believe me, your taste-buds won’t know the difference.

"Dealing with Your Crap" (Because I Don't Like To Use Profanity on Facebook)

2011-10-10T05:00:00.000-07:00

I know some people will look at a blog post like last Monday’s and say, “Yeah, right. Losing weight and getting control over my eating is a lot bigger deal than all that lovey-dovey, hippie talk.”

I understand that response. At first, I even second-guess myself, wondering if perhaps I’ve bought into some airy-fairy hubbub that doesn’t add up to more than a handful of pennies. Somehow I've forgotten the facts of my own story, but then I am quickly reminded of them in a rather unflattering way. Hence, the following:

Note: I have changed the names and details in the following account to protect those who are involved (mainly myself). I wouldn’t necessarily consider my current self to be an “emotional eater”, but the story below certainly reveals the chinks in my (or Jane’s, wink-wink) armor.

Jane is having a normal weekday afternoon, folding clothes and reheating leftovers for her 4 hungry children. After the kids are safely seated at the table with their mid-day snack, Jane decides to take a moment and browse around on the internet.

During her innocent perusing, she happens to see a picture of a friend’s new house on Facebook. The house is quaint and decorated perfectly with relaxing, yet sophisticated, color schemes and stylishly mismatched furniture. The next picture is of Jane’s beautiful friend sittng on the sugary sweet front porch of "said" house looking like a Ralph Lauren model with her sun-kissed highlights and appropriately-toned biceps, and Jane knows that her beloved friend has a ridiculously profitable Etsy business that she runs while homeschooling her delightfully well-mannered children and cooking Martha Stewart-esque meals for her dashing husband.

And suddenly Jane wants to eat. She wants to eat a lot and she wants to eat it now. She does not want to wait until the kids are in bed so she can slowly enjoy her pint of Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk Ice Cream. No, she wants to eat RIGHT NOW.

So she does.

She eats almost the entire pint of ice cream, as well as chips and salsa, until her belly aches from the excess. And while she was eating, yes, she did feel better, because Ben and Jerry’s tastes, well, really good. But when the high is over and the eating is done, the pain returns: Jane is reminded that she is not as perfect as her friend seems (the key word here) and Jane will never be that perfect. And you know what? That sucks.

Let me unpack a few things here for all the skeptics out there. Jane struggles with perfectionism and self-hatred just like a lot of people out there do. Now some people don’t go to food when their ugly demons rear their heads. No, instead they’ll go to shopping or sex or cheap romance novels or…the list could go on. What happens is that they don’t deal with the problem because they dull the pain with whatever vice they choose.

In the above scenario, Jane’s friend is not the problem; actually, Jane isn’t even the problem. The problem is the way Jane thinks about herself. She’s a good mom, she’s an adequate housekeeper, she’s a great cook, and she is, perhaps, even an above-average wife. But Jane thinks she should be perfect in all these categories. But instead of processing her feelings and changing the way she thinks and believes about herself, she eats.

I love how Marianne Williamson puts it in her book A Course in Weight Loss:

“With your system of psychological-waste removal on the blink…you’ve subconsciously tried to get rid of these thoughts and feelings by eating them. If I can’t process my sadness, perhaps I can eat my sadness. If I can’t process my anger, perhaps I can eat my anger. In the absence of an exit valve for what could be seen as your psychological sewage, your unprocessed thoughts and feelings have embedded themselves in your flesh-literally.”

So then when we try to fix ourselves, we only fix the symptom and not the problem: we diet so we’re not fat anymore or we cut up all our credit cards or we put blocks on the pornography sites, but we eventually go back because we haven’t dealt with the root.

I am not saying that the moment you deal with your shit that your addiction, like food or shopping or sex, will just evaporate. No, it won’t. You will still have to do the work to completely conquer it, but instead of looking up at the icy, razor cliff edges of Mt. Everest, you’ll be gazing up from the bottom of the 1-mile long incline from your house to the stop sign at the top of the hill. Sure, it’s not fun, but it’s manageable.

But here’s the million-dollar question: are you willing to do the work? Because dealing with your shit will require time and perhaps, as much as it might hurt your pride, some counseling, whether from a friend or a professional. It will require you to be alone with yourself, perhaps even give up a t.v. show or two. And it will require you to be honest about your past, your present, and your future.

Are you ready for that?

Self-Proclaimed Head Chef of the Apocalypse

2011-10-05T05:00:00.000-07:00

My sister-in-law recently laughed at me when I told her that I sometimes lay awake at night thinking of all the trash I’ve contributed and will contribute to landfills across the globe. So I try to do my part at alleviating this guilt by recycling everything under the sun and using recyclable plastic trash bags. It’s not much, but it’s something. And this need for “no waste” isn’t reserved to trash cans and recycling bins.

I absolutely abhor wasting food.

I’m not sure what way you lean on the issue of leftovers, but we, in our family, depend on them for probably 50% of a week’s meals. Leftovers just mesh well with my overwhelming need to live waste free. More than once I’ve stared at the darkened ceiling of my bedroom at 3:30am (fyi, sleeping doesn’t always come easy to me) mentally reviewing what food I have in the refrigerator and pondering how I can use it all up. Strange? Absolutely. But I’m telling you right now that if our country is truly on the verge of financial ruin, there is no other cook you would want in your kitchen (or around your campfire, if it comes to that) when that moment arrives. Waste not, want not.

Okay, so there are plenty of downsides to my little obsession (i.e. insomnia), but when you commit yourself to using up every last bite of leftovers, you start to get creative, and sometimes (but not always), you strike gold.

Here’s the scenario: Early last week I cooked one of our lady friends (aka, a chicken) in the crock pot just to have some meat around for the week. By the end of the week, I’d used that harvest of poultry to make chicken salad, cold chicken sandwiches, and chicken noodle soup, and still I had leftovers. Worry began to set in, and hence, the following conversation:

Waste Not: “You have to use up that chicken before it goes bad.”
Me: “I know. I know. Just let me think for a second.”
Waste Not: “You have one day, tops, before that starts to go bad.”
Me: “Would you just keep quiet for a second. Okay, so I have chicken, diced tomatoes…“
Waste Not: “The fate of that chicken lies in your hands and yours alone. You know the kids have had their fill of chicken, and Shawn can’t be depended on. What are you going to do? You’re running out of time.”
Me: “Honestly, just shut up, I’m getting there! I’ve got chicken, diced tomatoes, coconut milk … That’s it. A Curry in a Hurry!”
Waste Not: “I guess congratulations are in order, though I could have done without the 'shut up' part.”

So maybe it didn’t actually take place exactly like that, but close enough. And, truly, the curry that was born out of that imaginary conversation was spectacular. I’m usually one of those types who really loves to slave over a curry for several hours, toasting and grinding all the spices, making my own pastes. It boosts my self-esteem. But this recipe is quick, easy, and gives the same fantabulous results.

Mai’s Curry in a Hurry

2 tbsp. olive oil
1 tbsp. fresh ginger, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
½ c. onion, chopped
2 tsp. ground cumin
1 ½ tsp. hot curry powder
¼ tsp. ground red pepper
1, 14.5 oz. can petite-diced tomatoes, drained
1, 14 oz. can coconut milk
2 tbsp. red curry paste (you can usually find this in the Asian section of your supermarket)
1 tbsp. honey
1 ½ tsp. salt
1 ½ tsp. freshly ground pepper
2 c. leftover chopped chicken
Hot rice
Green onions to garnish

In a large pan, sauté ginger, garlic, and onion in olive oil over medium heat for 5 minutes. Add cumin, curry powder, and ground red pepper and sauté for an additional minute. Add tomatoes, coconut milk, and curry paste. Bring mixture to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Add honey, salt, and pepper. Cook for an additional 2 minutes then add chicken. Cook long enough to warm chicken. Serve over rice and top with green onions.

Until next week, my friends…but in the mean time, please tell me that there is at least one other person out there that suffers from this need to use every. single. last. ounce. of. every. single. thing. you. own. Do any of you have this same obsession?

Where True Weight Loss Begins

2011-10-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

Last week I shared about how disenchanted weight loss became for me once I had lost my extra weight. I exchanged that physical weight for the heavy load of fear and bitterness that now clung to me like spandex. Eventually I traded the bitterness towards others (for liking me only when I was skinny) for a hatred toward myself.

Unfortunately, the weight loss program I succeeded with, while certainly great at delivering the results I wanted (i.e. weight loss), definitely left me with some extra baggage in lieu of the fat it took away. Essentially, the program followed the basic principles of Intuitive Eating. Personally, I love this approach to weight loss because I think it is both effective and maintainable. The problem was that the program I followed combined the Intuitive Eating approach with a Christian worldview in a very destructive sort of way.

For instance, one of the main tenets of the program centered around eating when you are hungry and stopping when you are full. That, in and of itself, is a very sensible idea. But then when you combine that idea with the concept of sin, saying that “if you eat when you are not actually hungry or you overeat, you are sinning against God”, well, that creates a whole host of new problems. Now, if I overate, I no longer felt miserable about myself, but I also felt miserable about God, as I imagined him scowling down from his Charmin-y throne, shaking his head and wagging his finger at me. Suddenly, my spirituality was linked directly to the scale…and that, my friends, is NOT a good thing.

Whether I believed weight loss made me acceptable to my earthly father or my heavenly Father, I always found myself trying to earn love through my appearance. And that’s a concept, whether you are a Christian or not, that I think a lot of people can relate to. Weight loss is about someone or something other than ourselves.

About two and a half years ago, my fear of weight gain (yes, we’re talking almost 15 years after I actually lost my weight) had reached another frantic peak. I remember being out in Ohio visiting my parents with our 3 children and heavily-pregnant with our fourth. My mind was a flurry of worry about losing the “baby weight” I was gaining during my pregnancy, a constant chalkboard-scratching agitation in the background my mind. I’d had three children already and every time I had managed to lose the extra weight from my pregnancy within about 6 months. But still I worried till my nerves were frayed and I was short-tempered with my family.

Then, one day on a drive by myself, I found the quiet I needed to confront my fear. Arms hung over the steering wheel, tears streamed down my cheeks as I poured my worries out in a fumbling prayer: “What if I can’t do this,” I whimpered. “What if I just can’t lose the weight this time and I’m fat again? What if that sly little fat girl finds her way back into my life again? What will I do?”

I’m not one who gets many revelations from God. Honestly, I wish I got more. Looking back in my life, I can think of perhaps three or four different times when I felt certain that God had spoken something to me. No, not audibly (though I would love one of those sometime). These are simply thoughts given to my mind from a wisdom source far deeper than my own.

That day, God told me, “Maile, you are a delight to me right now and you were a delight to me as an overweight 16-year-old. If you never lost a pound, it wouldn’t matter to me because I simply cannot love you more than I already do. You are always acceptable to me.”

And that is the thought I want to convey to you today. No matter what size you are or intense your struggle with food is or fearful you are about your body…you are acceptable. You are loved. And that, I believe, is where true weight loss begins.

You Are Now Entering the Gluten-free Zone

2011-09-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, I've decided to go the ever-popular "gluten-free" route for the next week. I don't want to bore (or disgust) you with my reasons, but I've been advised that if gluten is my problem, I'll know it within a week of being g-free.

Seeing that I rate "cookies" as my second-favorite food on all the earth (right under ice-cream, the reigning king), the task of cutting all wheat and wheat-related products from my diet presents its challenges. Honestly, though, I'm faring pretty well. I'm entering day 4 and feeling good. I eat a lot of fruit, homemade granola (thank heaven above that oats don't contain gluten because I love me some granola), and eggs.

That being said, I am getting a little bored with the current menu and was hoping that some of you might be able to help me out with some fun, jazzy, gluten-free recipes. If you don't even know what gluten is, well, then just consider yourself exempt from this assignment; we'll catch you the next time around. But for all you gluten savvy folks, I'd love some new ideas!

Winning the Weight-Loss Battle While Losing the War

2011-09-26T05:00:00.000-07:00

In the last couple of weeks I’ve had a number of conversations with people both in person and over the internet, and the question I often hear is: why should I even lose weight?

As an overweight teenager, the motivation I needed to get serious about weight loss was my desire for romantic love.

Throughout my adolescent years, I tried a variety of diets. My mom battled weight issues from as far back as I could remember, so when my own weight started to trouble me, I’d simply join in whatever diet fad she latched onto. I ate lowfat everything. While I despised the taste of lowfat fig newtons and fat free frozen yogurt, I was told by all the diet gurus that such was the road to thinness. Eat less fat and you’ll be less fat. I guess neither them nor I was taking into account that eating an entire package of lowfat fig newtons can cause one to be fat as well. So while my fat intake probably wasn’t all that high, my calorie intake was through the roof because of the amount of food I was eating.

When the lowfat method didn’t seem to work, I tried exercise. I would walk around the block for 30 minutes everyday, running short stretches when I could muster up the motivation. I quickly tired of the monotony of that so I devised a little workout plan for myself: jumping jacks, sprints up and down the driveway, situps… But I stuck to the plan for 3 or 4 days before I fizzled out and decided an afternoon of Growing Pains reruns was a better use of my time.

Then came a fateful day in the winter of my junior year of high school. My mom came home with a new weight-loss plan someone had told her about and asked if I wanted to do it with her. She would pay to go to the group meetings while I could just do the program with her at home. At this point, I was 16 years old, 165 lbs., and hopeless. But I figured, “Hell, what do I have to lose?”

Actually, I did end up losing something: 35 pounds. Over the course of about 7 months I lost the weight I had battled ever since the age of 10. Finally at the age of 17 I weighed a respectable 130 pounds. And guess what- as soon as I lost the weight, I got exactly what I had wanted: my first boyfriend.

But you know what? In my heart I felt so much bitterness and fear. I was resentful that suddenly the boys who hadn’t taken a second glance my way were now fumbling over themselves to ask me out. I was still the same girl, just minus about 4 pant-sizes. However, at the same time, I liked the new attention and I knew that it would only stay as long as I kept the weight off. I was only as acceptable as the number on the scale made me. So what would happen if I couldn’t keep that number in line? That one, single fear gripped the very soul of me.

As I think back, I see how wrong my motivations were from the beginning. There is nothing inherently bad with wanting to lose weight so that you look better, but that sort of thinking leads to a “winning the battle while losing the war” scenario: so I’m a size 6, what now?

And that’s why I think diets don’t work. They put a cheap band-aid on the massive gaping wounds of your heart so that when the weight is gone, surprisingly your problems aren’t. You tire of sticking to the “rules” of your diet and go back to snuggling with Ben and Jerry every night in front of the boob tube, because, “Hey, I did the weight loss thing and it didn’t quite pan out like I had hoped,” until you catch your once-again-overweight-self staring back at you from your full-length mirror so you, yet again, vow to find the diet you can really stick with this time and the cycle starts all over again.

Or maybe I’m crazy. What do you think? Is it just about finding the right diet for you? Is it simply a rollercoaster that you will have to ride for the rest of your life? Or is there a way to tackle this nasty little beast for good?

THE Butterfinger Cookie Recipe

2011-09-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

I love cookies. I love chocolate. I love peanut butter.

The following recipe combines those three loves in a beautiful way. I would like nothing better than to take credit for creating this recipe, but alas, it is not mine. I found it tucked away on the back page of a Taste of Home magazine many years ago, and ever since that discovery, it has been an all-time favorite in our household. I now pass it on for you and your family to enjoy!

Butterfinger Cookies

5 full-size (not king-size) Butterfinger candy bars, crushed
½ c. butter, softened
¾ c. sugar
2/3 c. brown sugar, packed
2 egg whites
1 ¼ c. chunky peanut butter
1 ½ tsp. vanilla
1 c. flour
½ tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugars. Add egg whites; beat well. Blend in peanut butter and vanilla. Combine flour, baking soda, and salt; add to creamed mixture and mix well. Stir in crunched candy bars. Shape into 1 ½ inch balls and place on baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake for 10-12 minutes.

Why "French Women Don't Get Fat"

2011-09-19T05:35:00.000-07:00

This week my husband and I are running a pretzel and baked goods stands with my in-laws at a fair in Maryland. Talk about food issues…I’m only three days into this 8 day affair and I’m already looking forward to the detox my body will undergo next week!

Anyway, I wanted to give you all a link to an article/video that I found rather interesting. It’s about a book called “French Women Don’t Get Fat”. I’ve not read the book, but I find the premise rather intriguing.

Check out the link and let me know what you think…

The Tragedy of 5 Chickens Told in 4 Parts

2011-09-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

This past spring, my husband made the following proposal to me:

Husband: “I think we should try and raise some chickens this year.”
Me (voice laced with hesitancy): “Ya think? I dunno know…Sounds like a lot of work.”
Husband: “What do you mean? You feed ‘em and that’s it.”
Me: “Yeah, but what if they die on us?”
Husband: “Who cares? Then we’re out the $10 it costs to buy them and that’s it.”
Me: “But I hate failing at stuff…”
Husband: “Mai, they’re chickens. Not. A. Big. Deal.”

***

I gave in. We were scheduled to get the chickens in the end of May. Two days before their arrival, my husband informed me that our little baby chicks would have to live indoors WITH US until they got old enough to live outside.

Me: “Ha, ha. Very funny, babe.”
Husband: “No, I’m being serious.”
Me: “What?!!!!!!!”

At this point, I washed my hands of the whole business. I informed him that feeding and keeping the cages clean for our own children (just kidding about the cages) was quite enough for me to handle so he’d have to carry the load for our new arrivals. Cheerily, he agreed.

The chicks arrived two days later. I survived cohabitating with them for the required 4 weeks. Sure, they pooped on my kitchen floor EVERY time the kids took them out of their cage to play and they chirped a lot and one of them died in the night (my fears becoming reality) with its tiny little bird legs sticking straight up in the air in surrender, but the whole affair worked out well.

***

In late June we moved them out to their new chicken coop in the backyard: 4 laying hens, 5 to fatten up and kill, and 2 guinea fowl, which are cute as pie when they’re babies but are ugly as sin as they get older.

In the beginning of August we pronounced the death penalty over the 5 fatties who were squawking around our yard and bullying the other 6 ladies. I think they knew from the get-go that their days were numbered so they were hell bent on terrorizing those who would outlive them.

My husband and his dad manned up and butchered our feathered friends with the much-needed assistance of an Amish friend. I didn’t attend the execution.

But I did cook their remains.

***

It sounds awful. I often wonder about myself, as I’m seasoning up their deep pink and yellow breasts on my kitchen counter. “I didn’t love those birds; I didn’t even like them. But they were living, and we took their lives so we could have a little variety in our diets? Doesn’t seem right…” Those thoughts cross my mind, evaporate, and then I get back to cooking.

I had every intention of sharing my chicken noodle soup recipe with you today, but I’m suddenly feeling rather melancholy about the old girls and think I’ll postpone it for another day…and contemplate the virtues of vegetarianism.

Love in a Time of Obesity

2011-09-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Last week, my story left off with a “not-so-good” life-changing conversation. I knew I didn’t want to be fat. The solution seemed simple: stop over-eating and lose the extra weight.

But the problem was that I found such comfort in food. It was my happiness during one of the saddest times of my life. In order to lose weight and be “accepted” by my dad, I would have to “reject” all that glorious food that made me feel better when my insides felt so overwhelmed by sadness, emptiness, and hopelessness. I simply wasn’t prepared to reject that sort of friend, even for love of my father.

I have one memory of sitting in my fifth grade best friend’s closet with her, sharing a box of Girl Scout cookies. She was frail little thing, every feature as tiny and thin as a baby chick, divvying the Tagalongs between us, while I sat with my double-rolled belly and open-palmed hands, my eyes greedily watching her place a cookie into it: “One for you and one for me, one for you and one for me.” She stopped there, carefully sliding the plastic pack back into the box and placing it back on her closet shelf. A measly two cookies was all I got, and the truth was, I wanted to tear that entire box from her bony little fingers and devour the whole bunch in one shot. At the young age of 10, I began to recognize the difference between me and my thin friends. When it came to eating, they could stop; I couldn’t.

My close friendship with food continued on into my teenage years. In ninth grade, I wavered between a size 12 and 14, hovering around 155-160 pounds. I remember sitting in health class when I realized that I fell into the "obesity" category on the weight chart printed in my text book. The teacher continued on with her lecture while I sat in shocked despair, staring watery-eyed at the page in front of me.

Puberty descended while my weight (and acne) ascended. And with it came the desire for love, for the Cinderella story to be realized in my life. But while romance swept over the majority of my classmates, I was left standing in the stagnant air, not a hint of breeze around me. A fear crept into my heart: if I don’t lose weight, no boy will ever like me and I’ll never have my first kiss.

But the mantra of my heart continued: “If you are fat, you are unacceptable.” And what I saw in society and the media only solidified that concept. I certainly didn’t see any of the “90210” cast posing in magazines with chunky girlfriends. I wanted to live out a “Hairspray” kind of story, but it wasn’t reality. The fat girls like me were always hugging the gym walls during school dances, so what hope did I have of any boy ever wanting to be with me when I was 30 lbs. overweight with a nasty case of acne? Not exactly a winning combination. And thus I began a determined hunt for the “miracle diet” that would evaporate my extra weight, hopefully leading Prince Charming to my door.

Looking back, I feel so sorry for that girl...

When did you first discover the direness of your weight situation? What have been your motivations to lose weight in the past or even right now?

The Pancake of the Gods

2011-09-07T05:00:00.000-07:00

I toyed with using a much racier title for this post but I was afraid I might cross a moral line so I restrained myself and took the deity route. I’m a big believer in the concept of heaven and I’m willing to put a pretty hefty wager on the idea that these very pancakes will be served in the receiving area just past the pearly gates.

I usually like to wax poetic a little bit before I delve into the featured recipe, but really, this recipe needs no such introduction. It’s simply “other-worldly”. I took one bite and declared, for each and every resident in my house to hear, “These are hands-down the best pancakes I have ever placed in my mouth.”

Need I say more?

Okay, actually, I do. These pancakes aren’t Aunt Jemima, folks. You don’t get this kind of beauty by dumping a cup of flour in a bowl and adding water. You will, I’m afraid, have to whip egg whites and (brace yourself) fold those egg whites into the batter. I know, I know. You’ve already decided to throw in the towel and wait for St. Peter to hand one to you in the afterlife. Really, that’s up to you. But while you bemoan a little egg white folding for the next 50 years (let’s hope you’ve actually got that long), the rest of us will be enjoying a small piece of heaven here on earth.

If you’ve decided you are up for this task but have no idea how to fold any type of food, let along egg whites, just check out this link. (Even if you do know how fold, you really should watch this video because the chef in it is a hoot.)

Alright, alright, now onto the recipe.

Pumpkin Pancakes aka Pancakes of the Gods

1 c. buttermilk
1 c. cooked and pureed pumpkin (I used fresh pumpkin here but feel free to use canned. Just a make sure it’s pure pumpkin and not pumpkin pie mix. And if you are using canned pumpkin you may want to add a little extra buttermilk just to thin it out.)
4 large eggs, separated
¼ c. maple sugar (I guess these pancakes are starting to sound a little high maintenance now. I just happen to have a slight obsession with maple sugar at the moment and that’s why I used it. Regular white sugar will work just fine here. Buuutttt…if you can get your hands on some maple sugar for this, you won’t regret it.)
¼ c. melted butter
1 c. flour
1 ½ tsp. pumpkin pie spice
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
Chopped walnuts and pure maple syrup for topping

Whisk buttermilk, pumpkin, egg yolks, sugar and vanilla in a large bowl to blend; whisk in melted butter. Whisk flour, pumpkin pie spice, baking soda, baking powder, and salt in medium bowl to blend. Add dry ingredients to buttermilk mixture and whisk to combine.

Beat egg whites in medium bowl until soft peaks form. (I know the guy on the instructional video whips the egg whites by hand, but don't feel like you have to. No need to be a hero here. Do yourself a favor and just get out the trusty old hand mixer.) Fold whites into batter.

Pour batter by 1/3 cupfuls on hot griddle, cooking each side till golden brown, about 1 ½ minutes. Top with walnuts and syrup.

In the words of a famous country gospel song: “If that don’t make you wanna go to heaven, I don’t know what does.”

Is Your Body Acceptable?

2011-09-05T05:00:00.000-07:00

First of all, I want to say a huge “thank you” to everyone who participated in the conversation last week as I launched this new topic. And a special thanks to those of you who shared a part of your story—I appreciate your vulnerability and transparency. I offer you today’s post in the same spirit.

I must begin my story today with a very important clarification. The story below displays my dad in a not-so-favorable light, therefore I think it’s absolutely necessary to tell you that I highly esteem my father, and he is, in all honesty, one of the most loving and giving people I know. At the time of this story, he was going through a very difficult and painful period in his life and in many ways wasn’t “himself” or the man I know him as today.

At the same time, I felt it was important to name him in this story because I believe parents and other influential adults need to be extremely careful about the words they speak into the lives of their children. They will have lifelong ramifications, either good or bad.

Okay, enough of the pomp and circumstance, let’s get to the nitty gritty.

As I wrote about last Monday, by the age of 7 I’d already firmly established myself in the role of an emotional eater. So when my parents’ marriage split up when I was in fifth grade, I dealt with it by, you guessed it, eating.
I had always been a “daddy’s girl” so when my dad left, I felt a loss that my 10 year old mind couldn’t cope with. Simply put, I missed him terribly. So I ate to fill that loss but it just kept leaking out the bottom of my soul and my only solution was to keep feeding it.

Then one day, during a weekend visit with my dad, my eating issue got compounded about a hundred fold. I remember sitting at a small table in the middle of a Pizza Hut, eating lunch with him, when he said to me, “You know, you’re gonna have to stop eating so much. You’re getting fat.”

And suddenly and irrevocably the floodgates opened. Up until that point, I was definitely aware that I was chubbier than my other friends, but it didn’t define me. I still liked me despite my extra rolls. But when my dad said “you’re getting fat,” what started as the loss of his regular presence in my life evolved into complete and total rejection by him. My heart had translated his above comment into: “If you are fat, you are unacceptable.” I know he didn’t mean for me to interpret his words that way, but I did all the same.

Over twenty years later, I still struggle with the self-loathing that began on that day.

What was the “moment” that created the body concept that you have today? Do you find your body “acceptable”?

How Volunteering at a Food Pantry Aided My Discovery of the Best Tasting Laxative

2011-08-31T05:00:00.000-07:00

Every first and third Thursday of the month I have the privilege of spending my afternoon at the Jars of Hope Food Pantry in Gap, PA cooking up some goodies for the folks who come to use the pantry. What I’m doing there isn’t saving lives or curing AIDS or wiping out any of the serious injustices plaguing our world today. Nope, it’s just me hanging out with some people who are in a rough spot and need a little encouragement…and food.

My goal in cooking for them is to show them how to use some of the items they will get at the pantry that day to make a tasty, semi-healthy meal or snack. Example: they get figs, I show them how to make homemade fig bars (okay, so those aren’t actually healthy but everyone needs a treat now and then); they get ground turkey, cranberry sauce, and zuchinni, I make them a recipe for sweet and sour turkey with veggies.

I really love it. There is an element of “Iron Chef” about it that keeps it a challenge, especially when Heather (the director of the pantry) hands me a bag of prunes and says “Can you do make a recipe with these?” But the challenge isn’t what gets my pots and pans over there twice a month; it’s the people I meet that brings me back.

I can walk in those doors frustrated with the pile of laundry I have sitting at home or the orange-tinted rings forming in my neglected toilet bowls or the stinky attitude of my 8 year old, but when I start talking to people as they sample my recipes while waiting to be called into the pantry, suddenly none of those other things matter. I have the honor of hearing another human being’s story, of sharing in their life, if only for 5 minutes; that feeds my soul like no smorgasboard can.

The side benefit is that I occasionally hit a recipe that becomes a favorite in my household as well as the homes of those we serve at the pantry. One of those recipes I’ve included below, and yes, my dear friends, it’s got prunes in it.

Secret Ingredient Chocolate Chip Cookies

12 prunes, pureed in a food processor or blender with 3 tbsp. hot water
3 tbsp. butter, softened
¾ c. white sugar
¾ c. brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. whole wheat flour
1 ½ c. white flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 ½ c. chocolate chips

In a large mixing bowl, beat together pureed plums, butter, sugars, eggs, and vanilla. Add flours, baking soda, and salt to plum mixture and beat to combine. Stir in chocolate chips. Bake in a 375 degree oven for 8-10 minutes.

My kids LOVE these cookies. But I will warn you to use caution when consuming them; our household usage of toilet paper goes up considerably when these babies are around. On the flip side, if you’re feeling a little stopped up, dig in.

If any of you fellow cooks out there live in the vicinity of Gap, PA and would like to get involved in the cooking demos I do at the pantry, please contact me at maileshawn@yahoo.com. It’s a great outreach and I get to serve with an awesome group of volunteers; we’d love to have you join us!

Little Debbie and The Ugly Side of My Relationship with Food

2011-08-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Everyone’s journey with food starts somewhere different; mine started on the curb outside my childhood home eating my third pack of Little Debbie Peanut Butter Bars. That’s the first memory I have of someone pointing out my problem with food. I was devouring bar number six (because everyone knows each pack contains two bars-yum, yum) while a neighborhood brawl was taking place.

No, my hometown wasn’t Harlem or inner-city Philadelphia. I grew up in the tame little town of Troy, OH in a very middle-class neighborhood. But it just so happened that evening that newbies on the cul-de-sac, two gutsy and foul-mouthed sisters, started a little war with the rest of the kids on the street. I don’t remember the exact divisions, who sided with who, and whether or not there were any significant casualities (ie, bloody noses or bruised egos), but I do recall standing on the curb watching it with Little Debbie keeping me company all the while. That night, after the street lights turned on and beckoned us home to teeth brushing and bedtime, my mom intercepted me in the kitchen and confronted me with Deb’s half empty box.

“Maile, from now on, one pack. That’s it. Or else I won’t have these around the house anymore.”

I still feel a twinge of guilt when I walk down the snack aisle in the grocery and catch a glimpse of that signature box out of the corner of my eye. It’s probably been a decade since I’ve eaten one of those bars, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t taste nearly as good as it did when I was balancing on the concrete, fingers covered in chocolate, watching the drama of teenage girls unfold before my eyes. Because even back then, at the age 7, it was more than peanut butter covered in chocolate. It was safety. It was security. It was the one thing I could control in the midst of all the things I couldn’t.

Looking back now, I see it clearly. I, like many people, turned to food to ground me when everything around me was shifting and changing. Of course, I was 7, but new neighbors, my mom’s new job, my best friend moving to a neighborhood across town, all those things left me unsettled and the only way I knew how to make myself at ease again, if only for a moment, was to eat, and to eat a lot.

This is something new for my blog: reflections on my relationship with food. Having a food blog, I understand that food is a highly charged subject for a lot of people: we love it and hate it, sometimes both at the same time. From now on I will be devoting Mondays to talking about my journey/struggle with food and body-image. I’m not sure why I’m doing this, but somehow it feels important to my healing… and perhaps to yours. I’d love to have you join the conversation.

What’s your earliest memory of food? Is it tinged with guilt or joy?

Lament of the Coffee Intolerant

2011-06-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

photo © 2007 Brad | more info (via: Wylio)
Much to my own dismay, my body has some sort of weird revulsion to coffee. That is, my body from the neck down because from the neck up, I am all about that sweet brew. I adore the smell of it. Sometimes, if just by chance as I’m reaching for the Saran wrap up in my cupboard, I happen to notice the bag of coffee sitting so serenely up there, I’ll pull it down, unroll the top, and just take a deep inhale of that nutty aroma.

Problem is that when I succumb to my desire for a cup (or a Venti Mocha Frappucino), things down south do just that: go south. I get flu symptoms and other stuff that I’m not comfortable talking about on a food blog. It’s all around a nasty business. And decaf doesn’t fair much better inside my delicate digestive tract. So, sadly, I have to pass on the after dinner coffee while everyone around me cradles their warm mugs, discreetly sipping and smiling, and being all content with their lives.

But occasionally, I take a gamble. I make sure my belly is fortified with a full meal, grab for the decaf, and say a quick prayer. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But I consider if a worthwhile agony to endure if the following recipe is the culprit. This one is simply a must for any outdoor gathering you are having this summer. Happy Digestion!(spoken with the slightest hint of sarcasm)

Mai’s Iced Latte

8 cups brewed and cooled decaf coffee (Of course you know that regular coffee can be substituted here but this recipe is for all the sensitive types like myself.)

1, 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk (BTW, this recipe is not figure-friendly.)

1 tbsp. vanilla

2-4 c. chocolate milk, depending on how milky you like your lattes (So I have the wonderful benefit of living very close to a dairy that makes the most outrageously amazing chocolate milk known to humankind. Seriously, this stuff is staggering in its deliciousness. Unless you live in Lancaster, PA, you do not have access to this milk, and for that, I pity you. Substitute as best you can.)

Lots of ice

Very simple. Mix all ingredients together, pour over ice, drink, and repeat. Because repeating is inevitable.

Thirty-Three Years and 4 Children Later, I Appreciate My Mom

2011-05-05T05:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, my husband Shawn walked into our bedroom, chuckling as he relayed to me a conversation between him and our 7-year old son, Cade. Now please keep in mind that I homeschool Cade as well as our 6-year old daughter, Lucy. Also keep in mind that probably about twice a week, I walk into Shawn’s office, eyes brimming with tears, and resolutely announce, “I can’t do this [homeschooling] anymore; it’s too much. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Hence the conversation between Shawn and Cade:

Cade: One of my friends at baseball doesn’t like going to school, but his mom doesn’t know about homeschooling.

Shawn: Buddy, homeschooling is a lot of work.

Cade: Mom doesn’t think so.

My response: uncontrollable laughter.

But isn’t that just like a child to think that all this “being a mom” stuff is really rip-roaring easy fun. Don’t get me wrong. It is fun. But it is not easy fun.

It’s hard work. Of course, I never realized this fact till I had kids of my own.

Never once, in my eighteen years as a resident under my mother’s roof, did I ponder the number of laundry loads she did in a day. I never marveled at the fact that there was always, always food in the fridge, meals ready at my finger tips. I didn’t wonder if there were other things she might want to do at 9 in the evening rather than running the vacuum and loading the dishwasher.

Those were just things a mother did.

And now they are the things that I do.

I didn’t think enough about my mom when I was a child, but now I think about her all the time, while I’m folding laundry and changing dirty diapers and tidying up the kitchen. I think that it would be nice if she was right here standing beside me, like when I was a little girl, and I could thank her for doing each of those chores a million times over for me.

Mom, you are and have always been a spectacular mother, sacrificing in ways that I will never know or understand. I love you more than words.

I hope all you moms out there have a wonderful Mother’s Day!

We ALWAYS Scream for Ice Cream

2011-05-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

Ice cream is, hands down, my favorite dessert of all time. Cookies are a close second in case you wanted to know or are ever invited to a birthday party for me and don't know what to bring. And in the realm of ice cream, there is one that reigns above all others: homemade ice cream.

Growing up, we always drank 1% or skim milk. So when I opened up the fridge and spotted the red cap on the top of a gallon of whole milk, I instantly knew homemade ice cream was somewhere on the horizon.

Sure enough, come Saturday afternoon, our big electric ice cream maker would find it's way to the kitchen counter. My mom would fumble through drawers and folders until she discovered a tattered index card with our family's beloved recipe on it, and then the process began.

In a white tupperware bowl, she would beat milk, sugar, sweetened condensed milk, and vanilla with her hand mixer. Of course, my brothers and I always fought over who got to lick the beaters and who got to the lick the bowl, the consummate prize. Meanwhile, my mom would pour the milky concoction into the metal canister of the ice cream maker, slide the canister into it's post in the middle of the ice bucket, and carefully begin layering the ice and rock salt around it. At last she would place the automatic churner on top of the canister and lock it into place, nodding to my brothers or myself to turn on the machine.

And then that heavenly hellish sound began.

The noise of an electric ice cream maker falls somewhere between nails scraping down a chalkboard and a jet engine. Without fail, every time we would make homemade ice cream, my mom would relay the story of when she was a kid and they would make homemade ice cream in an old, hand-crank machine. And somehow the physical labor of it all made the best ice cream a person could imagine, or so my mom said. I kind of think we endured a labor of our own, listening to the endless whining and grating of our electic machine, my brothers and I taking turns stirring the salty ice in the bucket with a long wooden stick.

Always, the wait seemed endless. I'd play Barbies for a while, then dash back to the kitchen to check if it was time.

Nope.

I'd ride my bike around the cul-de-sac a couple times, ditch my Huffy in the front yard, and run through the front door, yelling, "Mom, is it ready yet?!"

Nope.

So, I'd sit, elbows propped on the counter, chin on my upturned palms, and simply wait till at last the churning sounded more strained as the dasher in the canister struggled to turn through the icy cream.

"It's ready," Mom would announce, and my brothers and I would scramble to the
cupboard, each grabbing a pastel tupperware bowl, and then hover around the machine as my mom lifted the motor contraption off the top of the canister and slowy revealed the white slushy contents within. Like little orphans from a scene in "Oliver", we held our bowls high and my mom scooped a large pillowy mound for each of us.

Looking back, I think the end product of all this work and desire was probably closer to "ice milk" than "ice cream", but we loved it as if Haagen Daz had set up shop in our kitchen. It was all the sweetness of summer and childhood in an edible form.

I want to give my kids the same experience as I had, but modernity has gotten in my way. We've got one of those big, laborious electric ice cream makers somewhere in our garage, but it's so much easier to just use my little Kitchen-Aid attachment that does the same job. There's no ice or salt involved, no jet engines screaming in our ears for an hour, but the smiles and delight are just the same when I reveal the fruit of our little bit of labor to the kids. Sure, the memories will be a bit different for them, but I think the feeling will be exactly the same.

We love to try lots of different kinds of ice cream around our house and you can click here for a link to one of our favorite recipes so far. (Yes, it is coffee ice cream, and yes, I did feed this to my children, including my 3-year old. Is that irresponsible parenting? Probably so.)

Pizza for the Common Folk

2011-04-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

I am a lot of things, but I am not a connoisseur of pizza. Really, I’ll eat it however it comes. I know a lot of people out there aren’t like me. They want it New York style or they don’t want it at all. I suppose all the Chicago-ites (I’m really not sure what you are supposed to call them) would claim that a pizza isn’t a pizza if it doesn’t have an inch-thick crust with lots and lots of meat on top. Put either of those pizzas in front of me and I’d eat it with a big smile on my face. Heck, put a piece of Papa John’s in front of me and I wouldn’t utter a word of complaint.

Therefore, if you are a pizza snob, you may just want to bypass the recipe below. But if you do, well, I feel sorrow for you, as I do for anyone who’s prejudices keep them from enjoying the great experiences available to them, in this case, a splendid piece of pizza.

For the rest of you, these recipes aren’t rocket science. Don’t get intimidated by making your own crust and pizza sauce if you haven’t in the past. Sure, it takes a little more time, but it’s worth the flavor you get at the end. This pizza usually takes me about 1 hr and 30 minutes to make, that’s including an hour for the dough to rise and 15 minutes for the pizza to bake. So really, you’re talking about 15 minutes of hard labor here, and honey, if you can’t give me 15 minutes, well, to put it bluntly, you need more sleep or more sex in your life. Actually, probably both.

Mai’s Cheese Pizza

Pizza Dough:

1 tbsp. active dry yeast
1 c. warm water (I think they suggest 105 degrees but don’t go scrambling for a thermometer if you don’t have one setting by the sink. I trust you to figure it out. If it feels warm to you, go with it.)
3 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 tsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 c. flour (I use bread flour but feel free to use all-purpose)

In a large bowl, mix the yeast and water and let it set for 5 minutes. Then add the remaining ingredients and mix. If you have a stand mixer, use your dough hook and let the machine do all the work for you. You won’t have to knead this by hand at all. Just keep the mixer going for about 5 minutes or until the dough looks soft and pliable, then put the dough in an oiled bowl and cover with a damp towel till it’s doubled in size, about an hour.

If you don’t have a stand mixer, use a wooden spoon or, better yet, your hands and get mixing. Once all the ingredients are incorporated, put the dough on a lightly floured surface and knead for about 5 minutes. Then put the dough in a lightly oiled bowl and cover it with a damp towel till it’s doubled in size, about an hour.

Once the dough is doubled, you have two choices. You can either divide the dough and make two smaller pizzas or keep it as is and make one huge one. I usually keep the dough together and make a big rectangular shaped pizza that fits perfectly on one of my baking stones. The choice is up to you. Either way, flop the dough out onto a floured surface and roll it out to your preferred shape and size. I wish I knew how to stretch the dough with just my fists like those short Italian guys do at the pizza joint down the road from us. It looks so macho and artistic at the same time. Oh, well. Then, put your dough on a baking sheet or stone and start adding your toppings.

Pizza Sauce:

1, 6oz. can tomato paste
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. garlic powder
½ tsp. onion powder
2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
¾ c. chicken broth
¼ chopped fresh basil

Put all the ingredients in a bowl and stir to combine. If you like your sauce thicker or thinner, adjust the chicken broth measurement accordingly. Spread the sauce over the pizza dough.

Pizza Topping:

¼ c. parmesan, freshly grated
¾ c. smoked gouda, freshly grated
1 lb. fresh mozzarella, freshly grated
Freshly ground black pepper

If you have a food processor, simply put the grater attachment on and fire away. This will take you all of about 5 minutes. If you don’t have a food processor or some other easy way of grating, my heart goes out to you because I absolutely loath grating things by hand. I’m not sure why. I don’t think my mom tethered me to the kitchen counter with a box grater and a 10 lb. bag of carrots when I was a child, but I may just be blocking out the memory. I do hate it, so if you detest it as much as I do and you have no access to a machine powered grater, then I give you permission to purchase pre-grated versions of the above cheeses. If you don’t detest hand grating or if it brings you copious amounts of pleasure, consider yourself one of the lucky ones, and then get grating.

Sprinkle your cheeses over the sauce, grind some pepper on top, and stick the pizza into a 425 degree oven for 15 minutes. I like to let my pizza set for a good 15 minutes or so once it's out of the oven so it can firm up and lose some of that molten heat. Then, enjoy!

Do You Have Some Lamb to Offer? (A Call for Recipes!)

2011-04-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago, while we lived in Virginia, our friends, Starr and Sean, hosted an Easter dinner at their house for those of their friends who, like them, didn't have family in the area with whom they could spend the holiday. I remember waking up that Easter morning feeling melancholy and nostalgic, missing my family and remembering the giddiness of being a child on Easter morning, skittering through the house, checking behind the sofa and the open front door, hoping to be the first to score their basket of goodies.

But by the end of that day at Starr and Sean's house, after that perfectly herbed lamb that shall be forever etched in my tastebuds' memory, after the light and easy conversation that only occurs with dear friends, after the achey cheeks and side cramps from laughing too hard, I realized that some friends are family and we were blessed to have such "family" around us.

This year we have the blessing of spending Easter with Shawn's family. Ever since that dinner at Starr and Sean's, I've had this conviction that no Easter dinner is quite complete without lamb somewhere in the mix. So this year I've volunteered to shock and awe the family with a lamb roast. Mind you, I've never done one before; my expectations aren't high. Therefore, if you have any recipes that you would like to share, I would be more than grateful.

I wish you all a very safe and happy Easter; we'll see you back here Monday!

Chocolate Overdose

2011-04-20T05:00:00.000-07:00

I know I'm on a bit of a cookbook reviewing rampage, but ever since this "kids-the-kitchen" experiment, I've found myself pulling a lot of my old favorites, like Nigella Lawson's Nigella Express, off the bookshelf, hoping to entice Cade or Lucy with them.

And I know I've also talked a lot about Nigella Lawson, but any woman whose cookbook features a picture of two Chocolate DOA Cookies (that's my affectionate name for them) with a tall glass of chocolate milk is not only a person to admire, but a person to love.

Cade chose to make these cookies a couple of weeks ago and let me give you a bit of advice beforehand: you will want to double this recipe. Your good sense will tell you not to, it will say that having any extra of these around will inevitably result in something very, very bad, but go ahead and just ignore your good sense and heed my wisdom. And then leave your thank you's in the comments below.

So here you are. Ms. Lawson actually borrowed this recipe from another chef named Elinor Klivans, whose cookbook Big Fat Cookies looks downright edible. Enjoy!

http://www.cookstr.com/recipes/totally-chocolate-chocolate-chip-cookies

A Picture Worth a Thousand Licks

2011-04-19T05:00:00.000-07:00

I know why you’re here. I know you saw this picture of a cookie to the right over there and wanted to lick your computer screen. I know because that’s exactly how I felt when I put it on there. But lucky me, I have one of these beauties sitting in a Tupperware on my kitchen counter right this very minute, waiting of me to come eat it. Beware your heart, my dear reader, jealousy is a nasty, nasty business.

Okay, I’m done teasing. But I’ll keep my words few because I sense the tension here. You’re like one of those crazed German Shepherds snarling and foaming at the end of its tether, desperately scratching the air and straining towards it’s prize. Only a moment longer, I promise.

Cade actually chose this recipe for one of our desserts last week. I’ll admit, I wasn’t all that pumped about his choice. As I said yesterday, it’s not that pumpkiny time of year and I tend to enjoy foods most when their cooked within their season. Let’s just say, I didn’t struggle to pack away three of these the night Cade made them. I would have ate three more but the children were watching.

The recipe itself comes from one of my favorite baking cookbooks out there. It’s called The Great American Bake Sale Cookbook and has the recipe for virtually ever bake sale favorite ever made from Peanut Butter Blossoms (aka Hershey Kiss Cookies) to Pecan Tassies (aka Bite-sized Pecan Pies). But that’s only where it begins because they expand the collection with rarities like Honey Roasted Peanut Butter Cookies and Country Fair Caramel Apple Cakes. The crowning glory of this cookbook is their “Salad-bar Bread”. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’m telling you now: You have never had a better carrot bread than this one; don’t attempt to persuade me or anyone else otherwise because it’s simply not true.

And if you aren’t convinced by now, then let me tell you that you can buy a used copy of it on Amazon for a penny. No more excuses.

Now, without further ado, the recipe.

Great Pumpkin Cookies

Cookies:
1 c. butter, softened
½ c. white sugar
½ c. packed brown sugar
1 c. canned or fresh pumpkin (if you’re using fresh, make sure you squeeze out as much moisture from it as possible before adding to the batter)
1 egg
1 tsp. vanilla
2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. pumpkin pie spice
¼ tsp. salt
¾ c. chopped walnuts (optional)

Penuche Glaze:
3 tbsp. butter
½ c. packed dark brown sugar
¼ c. milk
½ to 2 c. powdered sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

For the cookies, cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Blend in pumpkin, egg, and vanilla. Mix in flour, soda, baking powder, pumpkin pie spice, salt, and nuts. Drop by tablespoonfuls 3-inches apart on ungreased baking sheets. Bake 10-12 minutes until golden around the edges. Lift warm cookies from baking sheet with spatula, and transfer to racks. Cool about 30 minutes, then spread with glaze.

For the glaze, heat butter and brown sugar in medium saucepan until bubbly. Cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute until slightly thickened. Beat in milk. Blend in enough powdered sugar to make glaze a smooth, spreadable consistency.

My War on Freezer Burn

2011-04-18T05:00:00.000-07:00

I know it’s a little past the pumpkin season, but nonetheless, pumpkin will be starring in both today’s and tomorrow’s recipes.

Here’s the deal: I hate freezer burn.

It’s probably because this nemesis of mine has been the primary cause in the premature deaths of dozens of gallons of ice cream in my lifetime. Granted, ice cream in my house doesn’t often stick around long enough to put it at such risk, but inevitably there comes a day when my comfy jeans morph into my tight jeans and, therefore, I make this covenant with myself to abstain from my nighttime bowl of ice cream. For about 3 weeks, I succeed.

All the while, this unsuspecting ½ gallon of Chocolate Peanut Butter Swirl patiently waits for me to return for my nocturnal visit and with each passing day, and a silent death sneaks under the cardboard lid, and slowly, ever so slowly begins to crystallize the sweet, pillowy surface of my ice cream. And with this glassy exterior comes a flavor, deep within, that’s hard to describe. It’s the subtle yet overwhelming taste of a winter overstaying its welcome: stale cold. So when, at the end of 3 weeks, I crumble under the weight of my sweet tooth and hungrily pry off the lid to my peanut buttery escape, I find my ice cream is dead.

I hate death, the death of anyone or anything (but really just ice cream because the death of prejudice and evil and stuff like that I’m cool with).

“What on earth does this have to do with pumpkin?” you ask.

Well, last fall, I cooked and pureed a couple of pumpkins and stuck the goods in my freezer. Since I’m kind of anal about the whole “icy death” thing, I like to use freezer stuff up within 6 months. It just so happens that recently Shawn and I had lunch in this artsy little café that served a kickin’ Thai Pumpkin Curry. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to recreate it, and so I finally have. I loved the results so much, that I’m sharing it with you, proving yet again that good can come out of evil.

(On a side-note: Once again I’m doing the step-by-step picture thing. I guess I’m doing it because I just so happened to have my camera nearby when I was making this. And it’s kind of like an Easter present, too. So enjoy.)

Mai’s Spicy Pumpkin Curry Soup

1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
2 green onions, white and light green sections only
2 garlic cloves
8-10 Thai red chilies
½ tsp. turmeric
1 tbsp. red curry powder
1 can coconut milk
2 c. fresh or thawed frozen pumpkin (I didn’t squeeze all the extra moisture out of mine so I’m imagining this would equal about 1 can of canned pumpkin, but if you’re using canned, you may want to add a little sugar along with it.)
2 ½ c. vegetable stock
½ c. fresh cilantro (a small handful—no need to be precise here)
salt and pepper to taste

This is a “dump it” recipe at its finest. Heat your oil in a large pot.

Put the onions, garlic, and chilies in a food processor and pulse it up a couple times till it’s chopped up enough for your liking.

Dump all of this into the pot and stir, just to get everything sizzling.

Now toss in the turmeric and curry powder. Scoot it around the pan for about 30 seconds so the flavors start to release and get toasty.

Now add your pumpkin,

coconut milk,

and veggie stock.

Let it simmer for about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, pulse the cilantro just enough for a rough chop; if you overdo it here, you’ll have cilantro paste.

Sprinkle cilantro on top, add salt and pepper to your liking, and serve with crusty bread, or better yet, Mai’s Crazy Good Wheat Bread.

Tomorrow, I'm putting another cookbook and a Pumpkin Cookie recipe on your list of "must-haves".

Keeping A Promise

2011-04-15T05:00:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday night, Lucy was feeling rather badly about herself because the whole dinner table was gushing over the meal Cade had just prepared for us, and I think she felt everyone had forgotten about her delicious meal earlier in the week. So I pulled her onto my lap and wrapped my arms around her bony little shoulders and quietly told her how I was so proud of the recipes she had made this week that I actually put them on my blog for everyone in the world to see. This immediately cheered her up and she went back to her dinner a bit more fortified.

Little did I know, but her brother had been listening to our conversation. So later in the evening as I was cleaning up the kitchen, he came up to me and casually asked, “Mom, do you think one of my recipes from tonight could be on your blog one day?”

I wanted to cry and laugh and sink into a pool of sadness all at the same moment.

Kids are forever needing our approval and we simply are inadequately equipped to fully satisfy that eternal hunger in them. Sometimes being a parent breaks my heart.

With that melancholy harangue behind us, I am today making good on my promise to Cade that “of course I will put your recipes on my blog because they were so delicious”. However, the following is not a recipe to be over looked as simply a mother humoring her 7-year old.

This recipe was flippin’ awesome.

And it comes from a cookbook that I highly suggest you adding to your library: Nigella Express. It’s one of the latest (if not the latest) installments of culinary poetry by Ms. Nigella Lawson. I would, of course, recommend any of her cookbooks, but I like this one for its attention to superb flavor while being economical with your time. No doubt, I will be forwarding along more links in the future to other recipes by her, but for now, I give you…

Noodle Soup for Needy People

And now I have kept my promise to Cade. I will sleep well tonight.

Have a great weekend!

Warning: Weight Gain Ahead

2011-04-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

In one of the comments on Tuesday’s post, my friend Kim expressed some concern about possible weight gain with the “kids in the kitchen” experiment. If you are in some turmoil about whether such a thing would happen, please let me put your mind at ease.

You will, most assuredly and without a doubt, gain weight during this experiment.

In addition, you will eat far more helpings than you are actually hungry for and gulp down multiple cookies when your stomach wants just the one. Basically, you’ll give yourself permission to gorge guiltlessly all in the name of boosting your child’s self-esteem.

“No, I won’t,” I hear you whisper under your breath.

Yes, you will. Why?

Because when you begin to lay your fork down in surrender to a pleasantly content belly, they will look at you with those large, needy eyes, silently whimpering, “You didn’t really like it after all. I knew you were just acting or else you would have cleaned your plate like you always do at Red Robin when they give you those huge burgers the size of your head and a bushel basket full of fries and you eat every last bite and moan and complain about how full you are but then you say it was so worth it because it tasted so good. The plate of pasta I gave you was barely the size of your right hand and you’re not even close to finishing that. I knew I was a crappy cook.”

And so you will pick up your fork again, saying “Whew, I just needed to give my arm a rest because my bicep was aching from all that eating! Honey, can send the pot this direction because I want to load up my plate; it’s looking barren.” And their eyes will soften and fill with love, and your bulging mid-section will seem such a small sacrifice for the great acceptance they feel at that moment.

Honestly, though, the whole experiment is truly a labor of love in many ways. Please don’t imagine the Smucker kitchen is all fun and giggles each night as we cook together. More than once I have uttered “could you watch what you’re doing and stop making such a mess” or “you’re the one who picked out this recipe so you’re the one who has to stand at the stove stirring it for 15 minutes so I really don’t care if you arm does fall off.” I’m no Ma Ingalls, especially at the end of a day full of whiney babies, more loads of laundry than I care to disclose, and 4 hours of homeschooling. But still, they love it…and so do I.

In honor of the approaching Easter holiday, I thought I’d pass this recipe your way. Lucy chose to make this on Monday after her Primavera Pasta. It’s not mind-boggling in it’s complexity or sophistication. It’s basically butter, sugar, and M&M’s…so just be prepared to eat at least half a dozen.

Consider yourself warned.

Lucy’s M&M Easter Cookies (adapted from The Great American Bake Sale Cookbook)

14 tbsp. butter, softened (you’re looking at 2 tbsp. shy of 2 sticks)
¾ c. packed brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 egg
1 ¾ c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 ½ c. Easter-themed M&M’s

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, cream the butter and sugar. Then add the vanilla and egg. Next, mix in the flour, baking soda, and salt. Stir in the M&M’s. Drop large spoonfuls (I’m talking heaping tablespoons) onto greased (or Teflon-covered) baking sheet. On a complete side-note, if you do a lot of baking and do not have one of these Teflon sheets I’m talking about, please forgo your morning latte from Starbucks for about three days and then use the money to purchase one. Okay, back to the business at hand…

Bake cookies for 12-14 minutes or until the edges begin to turn golden brown. The centers might still be a bit doughy, but no worries, my baker-friend; they will firm up once out of the oven. Just let them set on the sheet for a couple of minutes before you move them to a rack to cool.

They’re cute. They’re buttery. And they contain chocolate. Time to get on your stretchy pants, folks.

If I Make into Heaven, I Hope Le Creuset is Waiting There for Me

2011-04-13T05:37:00.000-07:00

Every Thursday I sit the kids down at our dining room table with about 6-12 cooking magazines or cookbooks and they begin their weekly search for their prized recipes. You have to understand, should someone sit me down in front of two Jamie Oliver cookbooks, a Nigella Lawson, and 3 months worth of Bon Appetit and say, “You must look through these and pick out at least 4 recipes so I can pay for all the groceries for each recipe and set aside time for you , and you alone, to cook them”, I would weep from the pure joy of it all. That is heaven to me. I imagine that one day, when I die, there will not be streets of gold or mansions of splendor waiting for me. No, it will be a kitchen, with an eternity of counter space, a Viking gas range, Le Creuset cookware, and a Whole Foods next door.

My kids, however, find the experience of searching for recipes a little less spectacular than me. For the first 30 seconds, they really dive into the cookbooks, turning the pages hastily, looking for pictures of dishes that catch their eye. About a minute into it, they call for another cookbook. Mind you, they have Nigella Express sitting in front of them, a 300+ page dictionary of culinary gems, but they’ve tired of it and want something new. No, I can’t relate, but I can toss them another book because I have lots and lots of them. And after about the 3rd or 4th book, they find what they are looking for: Sauteed Shrimp with a Fruit Platter, Camembert Pasta, Moraccan Lamb Chili, or Pea Soup.

Yeah, I said Pea Soup. That’s Lucy’s choice for later this week. I don’t usually do this, but I actually tried to intervene with the process on this one. “Luce, are you sure that’s what you want to pick? I mean, we could get another cookbook down if you want?” But she stuck to her guns.

For the most part, their choices have been at the very least, good, and some have been superb. Today’s recipe is one of my favorites so far. It happens to come from a cookbook No Cook Pasta Sauces that I reviewed last summer. We didn’t follow that recipe to the“T”, kind of made up our own, but the result was delicious.

Lucy’s Primavera Pasta

2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
2 tbsp. softened butter
2 garlic cloves, crushed
½ c. freshly grated Romano cheese plus extra for serving
4 plum tomatoes, seeded and diced (or if your kids don’t like chunks, whizz them in the food processor a couple of times)
½ c. frozen green peas, set at room temp for about 30 minutes
1 tbsp. basil paste or ¼ c. freshly chopped basil
1 tsp. salt
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
½ lb. whole wheat egg noodles

Put all ingredients, minus the noodles, in a large metal or glass mixing bowl. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add noodles and cook according to package directions. While noodles are boiling, place mixing bowl with sauce ingredients over the pot. Leave it there long enough to melt the butter and cheese, making a thickish sauce. When noodles are finished, toss with sauce and serve with extra Romano.

Very easy. Super-kid friendly (most everything she did herself, including chopping the tomatoes). And ultra-quick (kitchen to table in less than 30).

And tune in tomorrow when I discuss inevitable weight gain and Lucy’s Easter M&M Cookies!

Kids in the Kitchen: Gift from Heaven or Hell?

2011-04-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

Let me paint a scene for you:
In a dimly lit kitchen, a bedraggled young woman hunches over a steaming pot of soup while being serenaded by the cries of her 1-year old son as he struggles in her arms, hungry more for sleep than for food.
As she shushes the baby and stirs the pot, her 3 year old daughter tugs innocently at the mother’s pant leg and proudly announces “Mama, I made a pee pee in my undies,” the evidence of this truth in a pale yellow pool at the little girl’s feet. The mother groans, sets the pot off the heat, and begins the task of cleaning up her daughter with a still screaming toddler on her hip.
Ten minutes later, the mother calls all 4 children to the table and sets the warm bowls of soup before her four hungry children. As she turns from the table, heading towards the chore of washing the dishes from the meal preparation, she hears her oldest son shout out, “Mama, I don’t like this! Can’t I have something else?” and the plea is echoed by each of the younger children either in word or in deed, bowls being pushed away accompanied by faces of sheer disgust.
The mother stops mid stride and in a calm and controlled tone, says “No, you may not have something else to eat and if those bowls are not licked clean in the two seconds it takes me to turn around, I will go straight to my bedroom, find each of your birth certificates, burn them, then load you all in the car, and return you to the hospital from whence you came. Do…you…understand…me?”

Obviously, the woman showcased above is NOT me. I would never, ever even entertain the thought of saying such a thing to any child. Coincidentally, I happen to have 4 little lovelies living in my house called “my children”. Most of the time, I think they are divine, the most wonderfully diverse and delicious creations ever given to a mother.

And then dinnertime comes…and I want a refund.

That is, until about 3 weeks ago. I finally decided to try out this age old advice: “If you let your kids cook it, they’ll eat it.” When I first heard the idea, I thought, “Obviously, these people don’t actually have any children”. When I stumbled across the idea yet again, I thought, “Obviously, these people don’t have my children”.

Truthfully, I’m giving my kids a bit of a bad rap here. If I was a raw vegan foodist, I would have hit the jackpot with my kids. They’ll eat bowls of sliced peppers, apples, and strawberries faster than I can cut them. But if you cook the peppers or the apples, forget about it. And they were getting to the point where they turned their noses up to absolutely everything I set before them that wasn’t spaghetti or chili, and I simply could not stomach another bowl of either. I was burnt out.

So I decided to put my two oldest kids in charge of cooking. The first week they each picked a dinner recipe and a dessert recipe that they wanted to make. My seven-year old, Cade, of course, chose a new kind of cinnamon-laced chili (so adventurous) and Mocha Latte Ice Cream (he’s addicted to coffee and he’s only 7—thanks MeMe) while my 6-year old, Lucy, chose Red Beans and Rice (chili-esque, I know) and Valentine’s Lemon cut-out cookies (they both HATE lemon-flavored anything but I guess she was mesmerized by the heart-shape).

However, the outcome of this little experiment amazed both my husband and I. First of all, the kids took such pride in their creations. When it came time to set the table for their dinner, they declined any help we gave them and they insisted on serving everyone their meals. When Lucy tried to put cups of water on the table, Cade actually said, “Don’t worry about it, Luce. I’ll take care of everything. You just sit down and relax.” Wow. I’m still speechless.

Second of all, they ate food, with relish might I add, that they would not have touched, let alone consumed, if I had made it. My kids are notorious for hating mushrooms, but the night that Lucy made her meal with big chunks of mushrooms dotted among the beans and rice, they eagerly munched each one, proclaiming “Aren’t those mushrooms yummy, Mama!”

Lastly, they were so encouraging and respectful of each other, even when they didn’t like something. They always told the cook that their meal was wonderful, even if their face had the opposite response. After each meal, they took a vote, “if you think this recipe is a keeper, raise your hand!” and inevitably everyone raised their hands and that night’s chef would beam with pride.

Now we are in the midst of our 4th week and we have no plans of stopping. Just last night as Lucy and I were cooking her meal together, she turned to me and said, “I love cooking with you, Mama. It’s so much fun.” Too cute.

So I’d love to hear from any of you out there that may have similar (or opposite) experiences with including your kids in cooking! And tomorrow I’m going to share one of my favorite "kid-cooked" meals so far!

The Black or White Issues of Life: The Fig

2011-04-11T05:00:00.000-07:00

Living in this postmodern era of ours, we've begun to think of things far more in a shade of gray rather than black or white like our modernist forefathers. But I think there are still some subjects that evoke polarized opinions in 99% of folks out there and the one I'm talking about specifically today is the one, the only...fig.

I love figs. That's not surprising because anyone would be hardpressed to find a food that I don't enjoy, as long as it's not black pudding (honestly, though, I've never tasted it but the mere thought of ingesting curdled pig's blood is unsettling on so many levels) or any fruit with the suffix "-melon" (and this one I simply can't explain--there is just something about my tastebuds that refuse to blossom in the presence of this rinded beauty--I want to love it but I simply can't).

But I'm willing to argue that if you don't love figs, you probably hate them. With that in mind, I proceed to the following recipe knowing that I will possibly alienate some of my readership for today, but I'm willing to take that chance because, well, it's a great recipe and those fig-lovers out there deserve to have it.

You know that I'm a compulsive label reader and ever since I read the ingredients on a package of Fig Newtons, I can no longer enjoy them with a clean conscience. They've got all the bad boys in there, including the notorious high fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oil. So there I was without a Newton to nibble, and then I stumbled upon this recipe, the answer to my craving.

Disclaimer: These are by no means "healthy". They are healthier because they don't have some of the bad stuff in them, but they're still made with white flour and refined sugar. I imagine you could recreate them into something ultra-healthy with some wholewheat flour and honey, but that wasn't what I was looking for. I just wanted a non-lethal Fig Newton and that's exactly what these are.

Mai's "Arguably Non-Lethal" Fig Bars

6 tbsp. cold butter, cut in pieces
1 c. plus 2 tbsp. flour
1/2 c. plus 2 tbsp. sugar
1 1/2 c. dried figs
1/2 c. Simply Lemonade (Here's the deal: if you don't have this brand of lemonade, then you have to find one, or make your own, that only contains, water, lemon juice and sugar. You absolutely cannot use the stuff that comes in the plastic gallons at the gas station. Don't ask me why, just trust me on this one...Okay, so the reason is that those cheapo lemonades have all the bad stuff in them that the packaged Newtons have so if you use them, then really what's the purpose. Alright, I'm done preaching.)
1/4 c. water

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Line a 8x8 inch pan with a sheet of foil with enough overhang on two sides to lift the bars out when they've cooled. Butter the foil.

In a food processor, blend 1 c. flour, 1/2 c. sugar and butter chunks until you have a coarse looking mixture. Press half of this mixture into the foil-lined pan and set the remaining crumbs in a bowl to the side.

Back at the food processor, blend together the figs, lemonade, water, and remaining 2tbsp. each of flour and sugar. Keep pureeing this mixture until it forms a thickish paste. Spread this paste on the crumb base in your pan and then sprinkle remaining crumbs on top of the fig paste.

Bake bars for 30-35 minutes, or until beginning to brown. Cool completely in pan, then, using the foil overhang, remove the whole square from the pan and cut into bars. Makes 16 bars.

A Belated Christmas Gift

2011-04-06T05:00:00.000-07:00

The other recipe I want to share with you from my winter in trenches requires a bit of a rewind on the holiday calendar. I know that Easter is fast approaching and thoughts of Christmas are far (and for some, thankfully) behind us, but this recipe was birthed out of that season. Just hang with me here because the recipe at the end of it is so so so worth it.

Christmas has always been, and I presume always will be, my favorite holiday. And there is even more to love about Christmas now that I have children of my own: the light footfalls approaching our bed early on Christmas morning, coming to announce that Santa came and the presents are waiting; the bridled eagerness as we read the nativity story, their sleepy eyes scanning each gift, trying to determine which ones are theirs; the spray of shredded wrapping paper as the treasures are revealed, accompanied by a near scream of “Mama, look what I got!” Children make Christmas.

But presents to yours truly certainly don’t put a damper on the occasion. There is still a bit of a kid nestled inside this grown up body. And while my husband hasn’t had a stellar record for gift-giving in the past, he completely outdid himself this past Christmas and it came in two words: immersion blender. For some this may seem a bit anti-climactic, others may utter a hearty “right on!” Either way, let me assure you that I was more than pleased and immediately began looking for things to puree.

However, my searching efforts came to a quick halt as soon as the Christmas morning munchies mustered their first attack. Perhaps I am strange in this, but hunger seems all the more intensified on Christmas morning. Maybe it’s all that adrenaline pumping and present unwrapping, but by about 8:15am I was ready to tuck into a 20 oz. steak or 6 egg omelette. I went the sweet route instead and made a batch of these delectable cinnamon rolls, which were received with rousing cheers from the romping, ravenous natives as they abandoned their new toys and rushed the breakfast table. Hence, a Christmas morning tradition was born in the Smucker household.

Oh, and one more thing…Pillsbury, eat your heart out—you couldn’t touch these babies with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole (had to do a shout out to “The Grinch”).

(So I’ve decided to do a sneaky little trick that several of you have been urging me to do. I’ve photographed each step in the prep of these rolls. Please, don’t expect this kind of attention to detail with each recipe from here on out. In fact, don’t ever expect it again and then you might be pleasantly surprised again one day. Kind of like Christmas morning.)

Mai’s Buttermilk Cinnamon Rolls

2 c. flour

1 tbsp. baking powder

1 tsp. salt

¼ tsp. baking soda

¾ c. buttermilk

¼ c. vegetable oil

6 tbsp. butter, room temperature

½ c. white sugar

¼ c. brown sugar

1 tsp. cinnamon

Preheat oven to 400 degrees and butter a 9-inch round cake pan.

In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, salt, and baking soda. In a glass measuring jug, combine buttermilk and oil.

Pour buttermilk mixture into flour mixture and stir just till everything is nice and wet. Don’t overmix here or you won’t have the wonderfully flaky texture that makes my heart flutter right now just thinking about it. Turn your dough onto a generously floured surface and flour your rolling pin as well.

Gently pat the dough into a rectangle and start rolling until you’ve got a 15x8 inch rectangle.

Spread your softened butter over the entire surface of the dough except for about a ½ inch border around the edge. In a small dish, combine sugars and cinnamon. Sprinkle this concoction evenly over the butter.

Then roll up the dough, starting with the long side, giving yourself a long log. Pinch the seam. Then cut off 1 ½ inch slices.

Place them cut side down in your greased pan. Bake in the oven for about 30 minutes or until a light golden brown.

Eat them about 10 minutes after you take them out of the oven: not too hot to scald your tongue with the molten hot sugar filling but still warm and flaky and sublimely delicious. It is my belief that these rolls need no obnoxious addition otherwise known as icing. But if you daren’t dream of eating a cinnamon roll without drizzled sugar on top, then by all means whisk up some powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla to satisfy your obscene sweet tooth. And a very Merry and very belated Christmas to you all!

Out of Hibernation

2011-04-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’m back.

Folks, the truth is that I haven’t written for 4 ½ months because I had so little to actually write about this winter. My menus were monotonous to say the least. I can’t, with any amount of self-respect, tell you how many times I made chili. Sad thing is, my kids just kept eating it.

I hate to pass the buck here, but that crazy winter weather zapped the creativity right out of my DNA. I think a lot of it centered around the fact that going to the grocery required a Herculean effort just to get to the car let alone the actual store.

See, we live down a ¼ mile gravel lane in the country and we don’t own a car with 4-wheel drive. Stupid, really, but it is what it is. Add on top of that the fact that we have a sizeable little hill in front of our house that turns into some sort of unearthly demon mountain once it’s covered with snow or ice. Really, it’s like having Mt. Everest between your front door and your minivan, and every time I even thought about running out to the store to whip up something fun and creative in the kitchen, the demon mountain immediately suffocated the idea.

Ah, but spring is here (I hope) and while our home in the country can be rather daunting in the winter, I can’t think of a better place to be in the spring. So my creative wheels are turning again, thus my fingers have begun their typing.

Yet I can’t deny the fact that the muse did strike a couple of times this winter, lending some recipes that will most definitely go in the Smucker Family Cookbook. The one I’m going to share with you today is one of my favorites and by far one of the easiest recipes I’ve ever made.

I know I have in the past decried convenience foods for all the harmful things they add to our diets and, henceforth, our bodies. So perhaps you could call the following recipe kind of hypocritical because it does rely on one little glorious tube of a bright green concoction that I affectionately call “basil paste”. You find it in the produce section, usually close to the area where fresh herbs are sold. No, this is not a fresh herb, I know. But on the tube it says that “it’s made from organic basil” so that makes me feel a little better about myself.

Okay, enough self-berating and onto the recipe:

Mai’s Pasta Sauce

1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

½ c. finely chopped onions

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 tbsp. basil paste (if there isn’t a foot of snow outside my door and Mt. Everest to climb, I’d use 2-3 tbsp. chopped, fresh basil instead of the paste here.)

1, 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes (I’d go for the best quality here. I like to get the cans with the exotic sounding names like “Cento” or “Furmanos” but then I usually see on the back of the can that it’s actually packaged in some remote town in Indiana. Oh, well, it still sounds cooler than “Hunts”.)

1 tsp. coarse salt

1 tbsp. raw sugar

A couple turns of freshly crushed pepper

Heat the oil in a saucepan. Saute your onions and garlic for about a minute or so, just till things start smelling good. Add your paste, scoot it around the pan with the onions and garlic, then add the tomatoes, salt, sugar, and pepper. At that point, I let it simmer for about 15 minutes or so, just to marry the flavors a bit. Then give it a taste and adjust the seasonings as you like.

Honestly, I love this sauce. I haven’t bought a jar of spaghetti sauce for probably 6 months now. The flavor is so fresh and lively, and when I set a bowl of pasta with this sauce on it in front of my kids for lunch, they absolutely devour it with huge smiles on their messy little faces. Need I say more.