Blog Archives
Mother of the Year: Rice pudding
courtesy popularsmokers.com
I’m not one for PTA meetings, and truth be told, whenever the candy/magazine/little crappy knickknack drives are on I just write a check and leave the order form blank. I’ve slept through more holiday pageants than I can remember and once even nodded off during a particularly torturous curriculum night. There is, however, one area of motherhood where I excel; it’s the sick day, with its hot lemonade, pharmacy forays and bland, sugary treats.
So without further ado, here it is: my take on rice pudding the easy way. It has a pleasantly glue-y consistency that the unwell find soothing, can be made from ingredients on hand, and has a binding quality that frequently comes in handy during these little detours from the path of wellness.
Say yes to cherries!
Photo courtesy of ©www.CocktailTimes.com
I love cherries, but let’s be honest, the pits are a real issue. Now, I’m willing to commit to some lingual gymnastics when eating fresh ones, and actually that’s a skill set that can come in handy. Hypothetically speaking, say you’re having a pleasant evening in a bar but realize you’re a bit short on cash and suspect your cards will go all code red if swiped even one more time. Quite often, I have heard, the ability to tie that maraschino cherry stem from your Manhattan into a knot using only the tongue can be parlayed into a side bet that yields adequate funding for another round. In my younger days, I might have seen or heard of such behavior, but these days, well, anyway, let’s move on.
Buy 'em by the sack!
So, recently I was visiting Costco with a friend (and mooching off her card to buy industrial size boxes of fabric softener and Cheerios, I’ll admit) and I stumbled upon these huge bags of dried cherries. I had been buying them at the gourmet grocery for upwards of $20 a pound, but here they were at Costco (and at various sites on the web) for less than $10 a pound. And they taste as good as the high end ones. Happy day!
Let me tell you, dried cherries are the greatest things to have on hand. Tart, sweet, chewy and delicious. You can put them in your oatmeal, add them to brownies or chocolate chip cookies or apple pie, toss them in salads, or just pop a handful in your mouth when you need a little something sweet.
Cherry!
Happy Thanksgiving: Embrace the can
Cranberry sauce as God intended
In these, the final precious moments of calm before the storm, I am taking on the ultimate Thanksgiving taboo. And I’m not talking about what happened in the powder room last year after Uncle Fred found the cooking sherry and Vaseline even after I hid them behind the sofa, grotesquely fascinating though that story most certainly is. In this case, the love that dare not speak its name involves your guests and cranberry sauce.
Let’s all just come clean, shall we? Of course we should prefer homemade cranberry sauce, and every year I make some interesting version of it – with apricots and toasted almonds, orange marmalade and Grand Marnier, or some such – which arrives at the table looking festive and appetizing, then sits right there for the entire meal. Eventually some sympathetic soul, usually me, makes a token gesture and takes a spoonful, but let’s be honest, ninety-five percent of the stuff just loiters in the bowl until the meal is over and it’s scraped down the dispose-all.
courtesy freshcutcook.blogspot.com
When it comes to fruity sides, what really moves is the peeling-free, heavily-sugared Ocean Spray from the can. Everybody loves it, and the only real question is whether you prefer a middle slice or the one that comes imprinted with the bottom of the can. I like the end.
So listen, save yourself some trouble this year and just go with the flow. Shove the bag of cranberries in the freezer (they keep forever) and dust off the can opener. The sanity you save may be your own.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé! Well almost.
courtesy Alliance Française of Portland
Well BFD. You know I’m no wine snob. Not even close. In fact, I’m entirely willing to admit I don’t know enough or have an adequately sophisticated palate to get uppity about my wine preferences. In truth, there’s very little I won’t drink, but in recent years I have drawn a line in the sand when it comes to Beaujolais Nouveau, that’s right a line in the sand, my friends. I’m like the Colonel Qaddafi of immature wine. Why, you ask. Why? The labels are so festive and there’s a big PR push every November. Well, I’ll tell you.
For me, Beaujolais Nouveau is the wine equivalent of Coors Light. I mean really, why would you want Coors to be any lighter than it already is? That’s like saying you want light water. In my opinion, the new Beaujolais tastes like a dumbed-down merlot – and what’s the appeal of that? You could just throw some vodka into a glass of Welch’s grape juice for the same effect.
Note the new screw top!
So what’s all the ruckus about every year? No idea. I suppose it might be that it’s an easy way for a bunch of French wine makers to squeeze $10-$12 bucks a bottle out of you on a quick turnaround. I do know the new Beau doesn’t taste like much, and I can think of plenty of wines at that price that don’t make me feel like sucking my thumb when I drink them.
Still interested? Well it’s your liver not mine – mine’s already quite limber. If you want to know more, here’s a good primer on all the wines from Beaujolais.
Go ahead and drink up, pilgrim. But if it’s new, do give it a little chill before you pour it.
Green bean casserole. NOT!
courtesy Wikipedia
OK I’ll admit it, I’ve never actually eaten green bean casserole. It was served at one memorable event I attended, but I just couldn’t bring myself to raise fork to mouth. Is there really any question as to why? Which is not to say that I have never indulged in a tasty casserole. Growing up in the 70s (alright it was the 60s, but I’m sure I could pass), I encountered all manner of miracle quick meals, such as tuna casserole, corn chowder and American Chop Suey (really, that’s what it was called), which was nothing more than elbow macaroni, ground beef and spaghetti sauce baked in a dish with some parmesan on top. Sort of a Wasp-y riff on spaghetti and meatballs.
Kitchen Slattern 