So I have been missing from this blog for a little while and I am not really sure why. In fact, I am not sure what I have been doing with my time for the past couple of weeks. I guess that is the bliss of a break from school, you can waste time doing absolutely nothing. That is also the bummer of it, after a few weeks off from school I have nothing to show for it.
Well, not nothing exactly… I managed to beat the Legend of Zelda game that I borrowed from a friend. I know that killed some time. And, as an added bonus, if weird lizard-like monsters ever attack Castlewood I know exactly how to defeat them.
I think I spent the bulk of my time hibernating in my house, away from the snow and cold. That is the best part about winter, hiding from it under warm blankets with hot cocoa. It is also the perfect time for comfort food, the type that makes the whole house smell yummy. Last night I experimented with a new recipe, one that I call Chicken and Dumplings for Cheaters. It is pretty easy since the dumplings are made from refrigerated biscuit dough.
Chicken and Dumplings for Cheaters:
Ingredients
3 tablespoons butter
3 large potatoes, peeled and diced
1 medium onion, diced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
3 tablespoons of flour
3 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, chopped into chunks
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 cup of dry white wine
1 box of chicken broth (32oz.)
1 package of bacon bits
2 teaspoons poultry seasoning
3 cups half-and-half
1 package of refrigerated biscuit dough
Directions
Sauté potatoes, onions, garlic and carrots in butter for 10 minutes until onions are translucent. Add flour and mix thoroughly, coating the vegetables until there are no lumps. Add the chicken, wine and chicken broth with poultry seasoning and simmer for 30 minutes. The broth should thicken and the alcohol will cook off in this time. Add half and half and bacon bits and simmer for an additional ten minutes. Tear the biscuits in half and drop into pot; be careful not to crowd the dumplings, they will expand as they cook. Too many dumplings in the pot and they won’t cook properly. Cover the pot and simmer for 15 minutes, uncover and cook for another 15 minutes until the dumplings are cooked all the way through.
This recipe can also work in the crock-pot. Dump all of the ingredients in the crockpot except the half-and-half, bacon and dumplings. Cook on low all day and add the final three ingredients in the last 30 minutes of cooking.
Either way, try not to stir the mixture after the dumplings go in the pot or they will tear and break up. I recommend eating this in an old pair of sweatpants and a big pair of slipper socks. Comfy clothes always make comfort food taste a little bit better.
Around this time of year I tend to get a little nostalgic. While reveling in the traditional feasting festivities I reminisce on holiday’s past. Like the time my sister screwed up the pumpkin pie because she didn’t know how to work the oven. And then there was the following year, also known as the second time my sister screwed up the pumpkin pie and the year after that, the time my sister became the permanent designated salad maker.
One story sticks out in particular this time of year. It is a story that brings a smile to my face every time. Please note that the names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.
It was 1998 and I lived in a small town in the middle of America. I was on my own and simultaneously loving and hating every minute of it. Loving the fact that I could drink to my heart’s content, but hating the fact that I could rarely afford both food and beer; I was your typical early twenty-something. I surrounded myself with other angst ridden, blissfully bohemian and broke people. We were the outcasts and proud of it; we lived on the edge of society, flouting the rules and mores of the social order we dyed our hair in Technicolor shades, drank on a school night and got tattoos… Oh, and we all worked at the mall, truly gansta.
As retail lackeys many of my friends were not going to make it home for Thanksgiving, the day after being the traditional running of the consumers in malls all over America. (Take that Pamplona, you and your stupid bulls.) Our goofy band of friends decided not to let this bring us down and vowed to have the first (and last) “Island of Misfit Toys” Thanksgiving. (Yes, that was a Rudolph the Reindeer reference. One of my friends was a little Goth and had a passion for all things slightly creepy.) The party was going to be at our modest two bedroom apartment with efficiency kitchen. You can already see that this was a bad idea.
The small space was no problem to our ragtag bunch of friends; the five of us would happily eat anywhere. Then Anna, my roommate got a call from her mom who wanted to spend the holiday with her daughter and was willing to make the three hour drive to do so. A few hours later her father called, he didn’t want his little girl to be alone on Thanksgiving and he too would make the drive. Did I mention that her parents were very unhappily divorced and had not been in the same room for years? No biggie, we had plenty of food… and wine. What more would we need?
We spent Wednesday morning gleefully shopping for the feast. I was in charge of the mashed potatoes and the turkey. I had never cooked a turkey, but how hard could it be? Wednesday evening we were ready to go, with hours to spare… why not go out for a bit?
Did you know that the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving is the biggest bar night of the year? This is because all of the eligible bar-going twenty-somethings have nothing more to do the next day but get up and binge eat, and then nap and then binge eat again. This is your average hangover cure anyway so the plan is pretty solid. That is, unless, you plan on cooking the next day. We were beginning to see the error in our little misfit holiday. There was no canceling though, since parents were involved. We decided to do the responsible thing… and go out, but only for a little bit. After all, we had to be up REALLY early to cook the turkey.
At the risk of making a long story even longer I will just give you a synopsis of the evening. We ended up at an epic party; there was a hello kitty back pack stocked with gin & tonics, a twister board, a Ouija board and 311 blasting on a CD player. I vaguely recall jello shots and a room filled with black lights. (It was the nineties, don’t judge.) Needless to say we did not make it home early.
We got home at five-thirty in the morning. Anna stumbled into her room and passed out in immediately. I debated staying up for the two hours before the turkey had to be in the oven and decided it was the best plan. After all, I could sleep after the bird was in the oven. I decided to review the recipe and directions on the turkey. Did you know that you have to remove things from INSIDE of the turkey? Did you know that this is one thousand times worse when a hangover is setting in? By the way, there is a reason that your body tries to sleep when you are drunk, the beginning of a hangover is WAY worse than it is after sleeping for a bit. I managed to get the turkey prepped and in the oven, and flopped into bed.
I had only just begun to drift off when I heard a crashing from the bathroom. I rushed to the closed door and asked Anna if she was ok. A muffled yes was all I heard before stumbled back to bed.
At noon I awoke to a banging on the front door, it was Anna’s mom. She was an hour early. I quickly threw on some clothes and picked up empties from last night on the way to the door. There she stood, with an armful of pies and a frown on her face. “I thought you guys would be up by now,” she said looking around. “Where’s Anna?”
I told her she woke up early to help with the turkey and was taking a little nap. I was silently congratulating myself for my quick thinking when Anna’s mom told me a story that stopped me in my tracks. She told me that she was so glad we were cooking this year, since in the years past Anna has made a habit of going out the night before Thanksgiving, getting wasted and ruining the meal the next day. I won’t go into the gory details, but needless to say Anna’ mom was pleased we took the initiative to cook this Thanksgiving in lieu of reveling the night before. I smiled and nodded. After all, who was I to ruin Thanksgiving for her?
I thought my ruse had worked until Anna’s mom decided to use the restroom. Remember that crashing sound I heard earlier? Flash back to Anna’s evening. First of all, cheap gin is never a good idea. Did I not mention we were broke? The cheap stuff was all we could afford. Anna, after sleeping for a bit, recognized that the bathroom was a safer place to be. Let’s just say she started to get a little queasy. As she sprinted to the bathroom she realized she was going to be there for a while and grabbed her feather pillow. On the way she tripped over her dog, an adorable little mutt that Anna loved more than life. In her effort to not hurt the dog she stumbled on her pillow ripping it open. She fell into the bathtub. In her attempt to break her fall she grabbed onto anything she could on the way down, in this case it was a full bottle of shampoo. The pressure of her weight popped the lid off and spewed the sticky substance all over.
Back to her mom opening the bathroom door… to a tarred (or should I say shampooed) and feathered Anna on the ground. Feathers were smeared on the mirror and hanging from the toilet tank. Anna looked like a half-plucked chicken asleep on the floor. Cue Anna’s Dad at the front door. Needless to say, neither was very pleased with us.
Anna’s mom helped clean the bathroom, after helping to clean Anna, which took several showers since the shampoo and feathers were tough to get out the first time around. Her dad assisted with dinner and with the clean up, and all in all it wasn’t too bad of a holiday especially after we had our after dinner naps. Anna even managed to choke down a few bites turkey before returning to bed.
I guess this story comes to mind because, believe it or not, it reminds me of what I am thankful for. I am thankful for my capricious youth and the good times that I have had. I am thankful that I made some very bad decisions including the three months I had purple hair. I am also very thankful that those times in my life are over. I am thankful that I can afford to have my hair done in normal and fairly natural colors. I am thankful that I can afford to drink decent red wine, even if it is only in moderation. I am thankful for my family even as I am cursing them for tracking mud through my house.
In the past few weeks I have been invited to several Thanksgiving Eve parties, all of which I respectfully declined. I am happy to stay at home and bake my husband’s favorite pumpkin cheesecake for tomorrow. I am happy to let someone else take care of the turkey. I am happy to watch my daughter play contentedly while I putter around the kitchen. I am happy to drink a glass (or three) of really good red wine. No cheap gin allowed.
So to end this Thanksgiving Story:
And she said with a grin as she poured another glass,
Happy Thanksgiving to all, lets binge eat en masse!
P.S. Did I mention I am really thankful for red wine?
The holidays are upon us and I am starting to notice the signs of the season. I first noticed it in the grocery store. The festive lights, the holiday songs and my personal favorite, the gift boxes of liquor; nothing says happy holidays like a fifth of Jack Daniels with matching holly-ringed shot glasses.
So flush with holiday stimulation I wandered around the market. It was as I finished my shopping I was particularly inspired today. It was not in a good way. I thought I would channel my frustration Dr. Seuss style.
A poem for the crabby lady in the grocery store today:
On a blustery cold afternoon in November
A grocery list in mind, you tried to remember
The flour, the eggs, the coffee and milk
The sugar, the yams and things of that ilk
All your shopping to do, to prepare for the feast
The potatoes, the gravy the rolls made with yeast
There is one thing you forgot when you left your home
Walked in from the car and talked on the phone
That thing you forgot was your patience and manners
As you rudely cut me off on your way to the scanners
You chattered and whined as you talked on your cell
Putting everyone around you through an insufferable hell
As you unloaded your cart overflowing with food
Oblivious to the fact that you were being quite rude
The aisle clearly stated twenty items or less
Your cart load of groceries caused the checker distress
The holiday time should be happy, festive and fun
But with that attitude of yours there is sure to be none
The moral of this poem I don’t want you to ditch
Next time you go shopping don’t be such a…
Jerk.
This is a family blog after all.
It’s Monday. Shocking news, I know. Surprisingly I don’t always dread Mondays, particularly when they usher in a week chock full of fun activities. (Think Thanksgiving week or season premiere week… Most of my fun activities involve food, wine and relaxing on the couch, but I digress) Other Mondays should come with their own warning labels. These are the Monday’s were you wake up to find your beagle has helped himself to the trashcan, but first he had to dump the contents all over your freshly mopped floor… including the coffee grounds you had dumped in there the night before. Nothing says crappy Monday morning like waking up to coffee grounds on your feet. That’s right, I am usually well out of bed and moving around before I consider myself awake, but again we are moving off topic.
This Monday morning was somewhere in between. Not quite bad or good, this morning was teetering on the edge and could really go either way. I decided to tip the scales in my favor. My go-to, guaranteed to make the morning a little happier French toast recipe. I don’t share this recipe lightly, since it has enough sugar to power a small child for several days but it is well worth the extra calories.
My French toast mood-booster recipe:
(Better than Prozac and without that pesky insurance co-pay)
Nutritional Information: If you have to ask, then don’t make it. This is unhealthy, that’s what makes it taste good.
Ingredients:
- A loaf of French bread (I am not sure what the technical term for the long skinny loaves are called, but the ones that my toddler or my husband would try to use in a sword fight. I have seen the glint in their eyes; I know what they are thinking.)
- 2 tablespoons of flour
- 4 eggs
- 1 cup of milk
- 1/3 cup of sugar
- ½ teaspoon of pumpkin pie spice (cinnamon and nutmeg will do if you don’t have this)
- 1 teaspoon of vanilla
- 1 tablespoon of Grand Marnier and a pinch of orange zest (This is optional and is best reserved for mornings when you need a little more mood adjustment. By the way, did you know you could COOK with liquor? What a concept. Now I don’t look like a lush with a stocked liquor cabinet, I am just a gourmet chef.)
- Powdered sugar for dusting (for those mornings you want to make it look pretty. On other mornings you just want to binge eat the carbs as quickly as possible you can skip this. I don’t judge, do what you need.)
Slice the bread into 1 inch slices. (Put your ruler down! This isn’t exact. The thicker the bread the longer it takes to soak up the mixture, but don’t slice it too thin or the bread will fall apart when you try to transfer it to the pan. Just test it out and see what works for you.) Pour the flour in a 9×13 pan; add the eggs and milk whisking while you do so the flour doesn’t get lumpy. Add the sugar, spices and vanilla. Place the slices of bread in the egg mixture and soak for about a minute. Flip it over and let the other side soak for up to 30 minutes. (On a Monday morning I took a power shower and got dressed. The longer it soaks the custardier the French toast will be. I swear custardier is word, spell check approved it and it is my new favorite word today. Custardier, Custardier…)
Heat up a skillet or griddle to medium low heat and spray it with a little Pam or butter. Cook on each side for three to four minutes. Sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve with syrup and butter. Delish!
If you need a French toast mood adjustment and you don’t have time to make it on a Monday morning you can also make this ahead of time. When the toast has cooled put in a freezer safe Tupperware container and line each layer with waxed paper. You can just pop the frozen pieces out of the freezer and into the microwave for a quickie breakfast.
Aren’t you in a better mood already? Now, don’t turn around but you have mess to clean in the kitchen. Pass the Grand Marnier.
a life just ordinary 