Meatballs

Saturday night we had plans to take dinner over to a friend's to celebrate their new home.  She has a four kids ranging from 16-25, all with significant others that are known to be present at even given time.  I wanted to make sure there was enough food to feed a crowd in case there was one in fact present.  I spent Saturday morning prepping as Riesling would allow and all of nap time making a huge crockpot of turkey meatballs and a pan of roasted vegetable pasta. 

The crockpot was on 'low' for about 3 hours and I had recently switched the setting to 'warm'.  Jim had just gotten home from work and we were getting cleaned up and organized to head out.  Out of nowhere the glass lid of the crockpot shattered!  Into my meatballs!  I was honestly dumbfounded for about 5 minutes, just starring at the disaster trying to decide a) what the hell happen and b) what do I do about dinner.  After the shock wore after it was decided that no one wants glass shards in their dinner and the entire batch was contaminated.  Luckily, I had set aside a much smaller batch to freeze and only one of her kids were home for dinner so I still managed to feed everyone with 2 meatballs to spare.  But, seriously Crock Pot how did this happen?!

The Night Chirper

You may recall that last month Jim and I were suffered from a rare form on insanity brought on by a crazy loud, annoying night chirp.  We did a lot of google searching and couldn't really come up with an exact species but there seemed to be a large population of people with complaints regarding crazy night chirping birds. In was really starting to disrupt our sleep (which is saying a lot since we sleep half the night with a rolling toddler punching us in the head), so the night following my post about it Jim decided to go on a hunt and capture mission.  I don't really know what his plan was in regards to catching a bird but the guy has no fear with that kind of stuff and was on a mission.

Yes you heard it right.  It was not a bird, it was a little tiny frog.  I don't think the video does it justice but the thing was so darn loud.  You could hear it all over our neighborhood.  Side Note: The reference to the beaver trapping expedition is a story for another day.  Pretty darn funny but possibly only to Jim and I.  Anyways....

We put some wet grass in the container and stuck it under the porch light for the night, since light seemed to stop the annoying noise.  After a bit of debate, the next day we dropped him off behind a gas station.  It's a pretty nice area with a little pond area, ducks, and other wildlife.  Plus it's far away from residential areas. Jim asked a few neighbors if they had noticed the sound (of course they had!) and relayed his heroic story.  He is the neighborhood superstar now. 

The Hot Pepper Story. Part II

Do you know about Jim's hot pepper story?  If not you definitely need to read it.  Knowing the characters involved certainly makes it a bit more humorous but a good laugh nonetheless. I think the whole experience, combined with Jim's existing distaste for spicy foods, really limited any desire to test or experiment with spicy or hot foods.  I've personally have never know Jim to be adventurous  beyond a few shakes of crushed red peppers on his pizza.

Last summer I spent most nights bed ridden with a terrible bouts of pregnancy induced vomiting and migraine headaches.  On occasion Jim would fill these lonely nights by having a few of his guy friends over for beer, dinner on the grill, and swimming.  One such evening his friend, Chris, made grilled jalapeno poppers.  The next morning Jim raved about how delicious they were and how sorry he was I was sick and missed out on enjoying them.  I was kind of surprised, knowing he wasn't really a hot & spicy kind of guy but he noted that they weren't that hot and he really enjoyed them.

Enjoyed them so much that he decided to grow four jalapeno plants in the garden this year.  He has been waiting with the adrenaline filled anticipation of a kid on Christmas Eve for his first crop of jalapenos. Sunday evening he finally was able to prepare his long awaited delicacy.....

First there was a little sweat along his brow. Then he started commented that his thumbs were burning (he had used bare thumbs to remove the seeds). The fresh jalapenos stuffed with blue cheese hit the the grill, his excitement causing him to temporarily forget that he has almost lost normal sensation in his thumbs.  He is salivating now (or is it more sweat?!).  Meanwhile I'm in the kitchen preparing the sweetest foods I can think of, sweet potato fries and a salad with raspberry vinaigrette.  I bring a fan onto the porch and blow it directly at Jim's chair.  We are plating up our food.  Jim is shirtless and increasing in sweat production.   He serves up two poppers for each of us.  I let him take the first bite, waiting only a few minutes I give mine a try.  Pretty good!  

Then a fire is set from Jim's stomach clear through to his mouth, pushing through every inch of his causing in the form of a smooth, glistening layer of perspiration. I think his eyes even started to water.  His is only mildly consoled by the surrounding food on his plate and the cold Corona in his hand.  I on the other hand am experiencing nothing.  A bit of heat in the back of my mouth but in a good and expected way.  Riesling and I proceed to giggle at Daddy as he hangs his head in defeat, claiming he can't bear to eat even a second one (he used 8 peppers, equally 16 poppers).  I tried a second in one gulp and was kicked in the a** by the sudden flames consuming my gut.  Apparently the first one was a trick!  I however refused to be defeated (and hated to see all those jalapenos go to waste) and after a short recovery period drudged forward.  

It turned out that not all of the jalapenos were of equal heat.  I'm not sure if Jim left some seeds behind in a few or it's just the nature of the beast.  After I gulped down a few more I convinced Jim to try again.  He agreed only if I sampled a bite of each one first.  He managed to eat several more, sweating buckets and guzzling beer and raspberry vinaigrette drenched salad in between.  It was seriously the funniest thing though.  He was totally suffering the whole time but wanted so badly to for those poppers to be as good as he remembered that he forced himself to keep eating them.  Riesling was in a cheery ole mood and seemed to realize that it was appropriate to laugh at him.  It was the best Sunday evening I've had in awhile!

If you're interested in trying them for yourself....

Grilled Jalapeno Poppers

Slice jalapeno lengthwise.  Remove seeds and ribbing (Jim recommends using gloves!). Stuff with blue cheese.  Spray aluminum foil with cooking spray and place jalapeno open side up.  Cook over medium heat ~5 minutes or until cheese is melted and pepper is slightly softened.  Enjoy at your own risk.   

Holiday Gala: Chiro Edition

The last time I hosted a holiday party was with my roommates and some close friends back in chiropractic school. It was quite the extravagant affair. Since everyone was always wearing sweats pants and rarely at their best during class time, we decided to make it mandatory to dress up nice and fancy. You know holiday dresses & sparkles for the ladies and a shirt and tie for all the men. We had it catered with little stuffed mushrooms and nice hors d'oeuvres. There was lots of wine, special holiday 'jungle juice' and even a bartender. Like I said, fancy! It was also the very special night of Jim's first proposal....

The story goes that at some point during the evening I was taking trash out to the garage where a group was gathered. Jim was amongst the gang. Jim was so amazed that not only was I hosting the party and wearing a skirt and heels, but I was also taking out the trash. He was so amazed in fact that he was moved to the point of asking for my hand in marriage. This of course was all in good, drunken fun because we weren't even dating then. It was in fact almost a year later before he pursued any romantic interests with me. We even have a terrible little video that night of us reenacting his proposal. I unfortunately can not figure out how to download it, so a few pictures of the evening will have to suffice.

Run Rabbit Run

About the time that I was in the worst of my pregnancy related nausea, vomiting, constipation, and severe fatigue Jim decided to become a vegetarian (actually he's eating seafood, so he's technically a pescetarian but I have a hard time remembering that word). Prior to this change of events, we were both already huge veggie eaters and probably ate a vegetarian meal 2-3 nights a week. And there have definitely been moments, while enjoying a particularly delicious vegetarian meal, that we have commented to one another that we should just take the leap and become vegetarians. It was never really anything more than conversation though. Until one day the bunnies pushed Jim over the edge...

Sometime in early August Jim was working in the garden. It was time to remove our lettuces and the early summer crops that were done for the year, till the soil, & prepare for it for the seed planting of a few fall crops. As he was he working away suddenly the soil let out a squealing yelp at which point Jim comes racing in the house screaming, ranting, and inquiring about my whereabouts. During this period I was a tad occupied with some long overdue bathroom "business" (sorry if this is TMI but Jim thinks it makes the story funnier).

"What's wrong?! Are you Ok?!"

"I tilled over a baby bunny! I need your help"

"What?! A bunny?! Where?! Did you kill it?!"

"I don't know!!! I don't know. In the garden. What are you doing?! I need your help!"

It turned out that Jim did not kill or even injure the cute, little baby bunny. Luckily he was only using a small hand tiller (that we actually scored trash picking) and apparently just grazed the little guy. It also turned out that there was a nest of 3 baby bunnies nestled up in the littlest hole and covered with straw. After much debate it was decided that the bunnies would be moved outside of the garden fence and nestled into a cozy little spot next to the fence, hoping that mommy bunny would find them. My vote was actually for leaving them where we found them but understandably Jim didn't want 3 hungry baby bunnies beginning to feast in our garden in the next few days or weeks.

The bunnies hung around the yard for about a week. Jim attempted to give them water with little success. Until one day he found them curled up together, dead.

Now you might be asking, "How does this equate to Jim declaring his daily diet free of meats and animal flesh?" And I guess the answer comes down to logic really.

Jim knew that the bunnies were too little to survive on their own without the mother. In his head the right thing would have been to put them out of their misery, more specifically drown them in a bucket. But alas, his kind hearted animal loving soul just couldn't do it. Instead the poor babes died a long miserable death by starvation. About a week after their demise, his epiphany struck. He could never have killed those bunnies. Given a gun or weapon of choice he would also be unable to kill a cow, a pig, or a chicken. He just wouldn't be able to go through with it under any set of circumstances. Why then should he expect another to do the killing for him?

Logic I tell you. Pure logic.

At the particular moment that Jim experienced this enlightenment I was surviving on peanut butter crackers and tea, leaving not one ounce of strength to extend any proper amount of attention to it. The house was stocked with plenty of fresh vegetables from our garden & our local CSA share and he was pretty much eating solo every night for almost 2 straight months. I could have cared less what the man was consuming. I had my own set of problems to deal with.

Slowly but surely my first trimester ended, I started eating real food again, regaining energy, and reclaiming my old identity. Which among many things, means lots of new recipes and culinary experimentation. Although I've decided not to exactly follow in Jim's footstep I am fully supporting his new dietary restrictions and only preparing vegetarian meals (with an occasional seafood addition) for the two of us.

You may have even taken note that the recent recipes I've posted are vegetarian friendly. I've also gone through all my existing recipe posts and added a vegetarian tag when applicable. Some posts do contain more than one recipe, but I included the tag even if it only applied to one. I figured that this really should be self explanatory. Actually I'm pretty sure that this doesn't matter at all because of the ten people that actually read this read none of them are vegetarians. And don't ask me how to accurately use these tags to search for things on my blog because I haven't the slightest clue. I'm guessing the search box might be helpful.

2002 Meatballs

It's spring here in Philadelphia which has brought along LOTS of rain and not so much sun. I could use a little of the reverse, but I won't complain. When there's a spec of sun shiny through I race outside and try to overdose on Vitamin D. When it's chilly and drizzling like today I putz around indoors and overdose on coffee.

With my extended family dealing with difficult times, I have been doing some serious cooking over the past two weeks. Comfort foods of course, particularly things that are easy to reheat. First round was meatballs and a vegetable pasta casserole.

As much cooking as I do now, it's hard to imagine that way back in 2002 I didn't even have a clue how to make meatballs. I was in college living in a crappy little basement level apartment and only knew how to make about 5 things, mostly involving the microwave. One cold wintery weekend the girls and I decided on a little dinner party. Meatballs seemed like the perfect choice, cheap enough to make a large amount to fill up all the guys and easy to pair with pasta and a salad. I think we called a half dozen grandmothers, mothers, aunts, and other knowledgeable relatives until we came up with this recipe:

I still use the same recipe (although I usually substitute ground turkey instead of ground beef) and they have been loved by many over the years.

The lovely Sara with our feast

Hi Sara. Miss you!!

I just noticed that the microwave in the background is the same one I finally trashed about 3 months ago. Thanks little microwave we had a good run.

Story Time (*edited)

It's Friday. There is sun shining. I'm wearing pink with strips and a nice little flower....

Which means it's story time!

Actually it means that I'm trying to trick myself into being cheerful and not dwell on the fact that it's still so very cold out and I'm starting to have the transparent, death walking skin tone. But, since no one wants to hear me whine about winter another second, I shall entertain you, as well as myself, with some tales of old.

(* My maiden name was Stidd. Because I realized the story doesn't make sense unless you know that, but that probably means you don't actually know me in which case most of what I say doesn't make sense.)

A Case of the Flaming Stidds

It was the eve of my second trimester of chiropractic school and I was settling into a new house rented with several of my classmates. There was a welcome dinner on campus for the incoming class and I had volunteered to be mentor to help guide a new student through the strange and unusual path they had chosen. The house was very close to campus and a group of fellow mentors had gathered ahead of time to catch up on happenings over break and relax before heading over to the dinner. Laughter and chattered filled the living room.

I leaned forward over the pink pedestal sink brushing my teeth vigorously. My short mushroom cut curls hair tousled lightly over my face. I leaned further forward to move it away from my eyes. Spit, rinse, tap the brush over the edge of the sink in a routine pattern. A strange scent started to filtrate my nostrils. Standing erect, now staring directly into the mirror with flames bursting from the crown of my head. Screams developed from my gut before I even realized what was really happening. A crowd quickly gathered with hands and shirt sleeves covering their mouths to avoid inhaling the terrible smell of burning hair. Tears were streaming down my face as a patted away at the scorch area and chunks of curly, seared locks fell to the floor.

There had been a candle lit by my roommate on the ledge of the sink. As I was leaning forward my hair had fallen just enough to catch the edge of the flame. As luck would have it, the small bald and fire seared patch was easily covered by the rest of my thick, crazy curls. Expression of shock, terror, and disgust quickly transformed to grins of laughter.

Dinner came and went. The trimester instantly in full swing. An intense course schedule that allowed for no warm up period. The days consumed with hour after hour of lecture. Lectures filled with all the same classmates. The same faces that you survived the tortures of the previous trimester. The same people that you study with, each lunch with, and spend Thursday nights drinking $2 beers with at the one local bar. A crowd that clearly knows your business, like it or not. As class president, my business seemed even more available to the public, if that was possible.

As luck would further have it, several weeks into the trimester I was noted to be exiting classes on a frequent and urgent basis. Urgency that lead me to bounds of blood work, dietary changes, a gastroenterologist with a funny accent, stool samples, a colonoscopy, and a large group of people taking note of it all. Somewhere along the line a clever friend and fellow classmate recalled the night, only a few months before, when he stood at the doorway of the pink tile bathroom, gagging over the smell of burning hair. And it was born. An urgent need to relieve ones bowels otherwise known as 'a case of the Flaming Stidds'

What I know about crackheads.

I know what I know. It's nothing scientifically proven. It's not meant to be judgemental or racists. What I know is from directly interacting and observing hundreds of patients of lower socioeconomic status over the past 2+ years; from working in an office that is set in an "Ok" area, but don't go to the gas station 2 blocks over; and of course from watching The Wire.

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If you an explanation about crackheads read here before proceeding.

(Even if you are familiar with crackheads you should still check out the Urban Dictionary
definition above because it's freakin' hilarious!)

If you're wondering why I know anything about crackheads refer to my prior post here for more details.
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General crackhead characteristics include jittery or itching type behavior, the need for hygiene and/or dental care, the ability to urinate anywhere without concern for who is watching, and an inability to respond to basic reasoning of any kind. I have latex gloves and a private employee only bathroom, but find that lack of reasoning or logic has no solution. I typically go with repetition of the same simple phrase, followed by walking away.

I have divided the general population of crackheads into three subtypes.

Enraged

They typically start out calm, although I have learned to pick out their effort of appearing calm vs. actually being calm. Within minutes or seconds they can be provoked into outright fits of rage and vulgarity. Most commonly they are provoke by my lack of ability to prescrip medication, mainly narcotics. It is not uncommon for this to escalate to accusations of racism.

Desperate

With tendoncies toward irrational and impulsive behaviors, the desperate crackheads refuse to take no for an answer. They tend to come back to my office several times before leaving the facility to inquire again. It is not uncommon for some crying, sobbing, a pleas or grave despair to take place. On rare occasions they end with a spat of violent or aggressive behavior but much more subdued than the enraged group. They are calmed easily with free coffee and soft pretzels.

And last but not least...
The Loony Bin

This requires little to no explanation. Some crackheads just lose their mind after awhile from all the drugs and living on the streets. Most of the crazy folks are homeless. They have no shame or cares about their obvious addiction or maybe they're just too loony to care.

We have our own office crackhead, Sweeps. In the past he would sweep the cigrattes, used condoms, and dirty needles in our parking lot for a few dollars. It was really a win-win situation because my staff doesn't want to deal with it and Sweeps needs money for crack. Eventually the manager put a stop to the whole thing, for god knows what reason, but Sweeps still comes around. He's always volunteering his assistance in washing your car or inquiring about any extra boots or shoes we might have just lying around the office. Someone stole his sleeping bag once or he forgot where he left it. He wasn't sure but either way he was cold, so one of the guys brought him in an old winter coat. We leave him leftover pretzels from the day wrapped in plastic out by the dumpster. Sometimes they're gone by the next morning, but sometimes Sweeps goes missing for weeks at a time. You never know if he OD or just elsewhere. He makes a lot of money dancing outside of a tatoo shop to lure in customers, so he hangs around there a lot. I saw him this morning on the corner wearing a Statue of Liberty costume dancing around with a sign for a tax accountant. He's a resourceful man.

And that's what's I know about crackheads...

ShowGirl

Today my worst nightmare came true.

I opened up my gym back after a nice 45 minute cardio work out and started through my routine. I quickly realized I was missing an essential item....my bra!!

At some point in my life this probably wouldn't have been such a big deal. A day of free spirit, hippie loving and dancing through a field of wild daisy. Heck, on most weekends I'm bra-less 75% of the time.... But spending the next 9 hours wearing my doctor hat??!!

I quickly assessed my options....
(Keep in mind that I live a hour away and I'm suppose to be at the office in less than a hour, so stopping back at the house is out of the question.)

1) Wear the sports bra I worked out in. The gross, sweaty, unsupportive square piece fabric all balled up in my gym bag, just didn't seem viable at this point.

2) Go to work with no bra on and hope no one notices. Maybe I could hide it by wearing my white jacket all day...

3) Find the closest Target/Walmart and buy a new, which would most likely result in me being late for work.

I rushed through my shower and out of the gym with no make up, no hair fixin', and no bra, opting for #3. First things first. Where is the closest Target/Walmart? I send a ridiculous text message to my receptionist. no response. I call her until she's annoyed enough to pick up. She's laughing. "Get yourself a bra girl!"

and I did. Three actually. Fearing that one wouldn't right and I had no time for trying on. I chose a neutral cotton one by Gilligan & O'Malley. It's rather nice actually.

Sizzlin'

It's been one sizzlin' hot summer!

"The world's hottest June on record followed the hottest May, April and March, making the first half of 2010 the warmest such period since 1880, when record-keeping began, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration." ~Philly.com, July 16, 2010

"Tuesday's oppressive heat climbed to 102 at Philadephia International Airport, marking the third time in 44 years temps hit 102 or higher." NBC Philadelphia, July 7, 2010

"Oppressive heat travels up and down the east cost for another weekend...High temperatures coupled with heat indices that reach in the triple digits, many are calling it the hottest summer that they have ever experienced. Weather officials say that this summer will indeed be one for the record books." V101.9, July 24, 2010

I really don't mind the heat so much, in limited doses that is. I actually rather enjoy a few hours of sweaty labor work on the weekends (followed by a nice dip in the pool!). It somehow makes me feel more accomplished. Slaving away on landscaping, exercising, or enjoying a day poolside is one thing, but being hot, sticky, gross, and sweaty while wearing business attire, no fun.

It makes for unhappy people.

Specifically an unhappy Jim. His tale can be found here.

Overexposed

Today...

Introducing Naked Lady

Going to the gym before work and then showering and getting ready for work in the locker room can be a challenge.

Lugging around all the crap that is just unfortunate necessity for any professional women:
makeup
haircare products
blow dryer
flat iron
neatly pressed work attire
And complete all the required hygiene and beautification steps in a shared space.

In general I don't have a problem if you want to be naked in the locker room.
If you don't care I don't care.

Personally, I prefer a light short robe that I picked up at Marshall's. It's small and thin enough to fit in my gym bag. It hangs easily on the hook outside of the shower stale and keeps me covered up until I'm ready to switch over to my work clothes.

Naked lady does not use a robe.
or a towel.
or shower shoes.

In fact most of the time she doesn't even shower. She uses the crappy brown paper towels and does some kind of 'sponge bath' in the sink. If she does shower. She prefers to drip dry.

Really?
I mentioned that this was a shared space. We're talking about the locker room at the gym. Not a hotel room or some kind of private spa.

I don't really understand her cleansing methods, but again, not really my problem.

Where the problems comes into the scenario is when your nakedness starts to have a direct impact on me.

First incident
Me: leaning over my gym bag which is on the bench between the lockers.
Naked Lady: walks over to her locker and bends forward. directly in front of my face.

Yes. that's right. Naked Lady's butt (more specifically the crack of her ass) in my face.
Traumatized. It's taken me months to even talk about it.

Second incident
Me: Walking to the shower wearing my cute little robe, carrying my towel, shampoo, etc.
Naked Lady: Burst out from behind a shower curtain and walks right into me.

Third incdient
Me: Applying makeup and fixing my hair. Again, wearing robe.
Naked Lady: Crowds my space, although the whole mirrored area is open and starts a conversation about her cellulite. Making sure to point out all her worst areas, contorting and bending her legs as needed to make sure I get the best view.

I now avoid Naked Lady whenever possible. I literally dread seeing her in the gym. I try to time her workouts so I can either be done before she makes it to the locker room or spend another 20 mins on the treadmill hoping she'll be on her way out, even it means being late for work.

I just can't say enough about how uncomfortable I am with Naked Lady.
There's just somethings worth avoiding.

Who are the people in your neighborhood.....

People come and go.
Our friends and family may be near or far.
Some relationships just fizzle out without reason or cause.
Some stay forever strong through miles and miles.
And there are the people you don't really know but encounter frequently or even daily
your favorite coffee spot.
the grocery store cashier.
the guy who's always on the treadmill next to the one you like best.

To steer myself away from dwelling on all the half way, partially unfinished business on the home front, I'll be spending the next few days highlighting a few folks in my 'neighborhood."

Today...

Introducing George.

George is tall and thin.
His hair is freshly graying.
He is a somewhat temporary addition to our life.
Jim and I feel extremely lucky to have stumble upon George.

He is the man transforming my kitchen ceiling.

Trusting someone else with your home...and your money is a giant leap of faith. We shopped around, got several estimates, chatted it over with friends, and finally decided on George. He had done some work on the house prior to settlement.

He has 30+ yrs of experience.
He's an advocate of hard work.
He's no doubt Republican.
He thinks Jim and I should go to church with him and his wife.

He developed an instant kinship for Jim. Offering to "show him anything he wants to know how to do?" What? Show us how to do the work that we could pay you to do?

Through years of working 7 days a week and making smart investments in rental properties, he's doing contract and electrical work because he loves it. Not because he needs it.
It's comforting to know. No short cuts. No scams.

Did I mention he's a firm believer in hard work?

Jim and George chatted politics, books, and real estate.
George and I chatted about family, future plans, and what the heck I should do with my pink bathroom.
He's conversations are not rushed but not intense.

I can't say enough good things.
There's just something to like about him.

a love affair.

A patient brought me this chocolate cake last week. Layers of moist chocolate cake and chocolate mousse and a hard chocolate icing. It was a tad bit crazy last week trying to unpack and get life in order at the new house, while continuing with bazillion project we had started over the weekend. I was smart enough to unpack the essentials first, which of course includes the Bailey's.

Coffee with Bailey's... AND chocolate cake! A dream come true.

I don't remember the exact moment I had coffee with Bailey's , but I do know when I started loving them. In the fall of 2003 I started waitressing at Emile's, a family owned restaurant in upstate NY. I had quite a bit of waitressing experience when I started. Mostly chain restaurants that use a system of limited table assignments and overlapping shifts, so that the staff is largest during prime dinning times on the weekends. It's common in these types of restaurants for some of the service staff to leaver earlier in the night, when things start to die down and a small group stays to close the night.

Emile's was famous it's prime rib and the salad bar. Patrons loved it. For me and the other gals, it meant more work; setting up, filling and cleaning throughout the night, and putting it all away at the end of the night. This, combined with the way the restaurant was set up, led to a pooled tip system. All the waitresses put their tips together at the end of the night and it was divided equally. This meant that everyone stayed the entire night.

This also meant at the end of the night we all gathered at the bar for an after work drink. The bartender was usually Karen (I found her picture on the website, so I guess she's still there.)

via

My drink was coffee with Bailey's. I worked there almost every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night for over a year. I had a coffee with Bailey's at the end of every shift. We've been in love every since.