That’s all about to change though, with the launch of my new mini-blog, “It Was a Very Good Meal“.  My goal there is to start getting through the 112 recipes I have bookmarked, and document the journey along the way, to let you know which recipes on food blogs I think are worth your time and effort.

For my own recipes, I sometimes post them over at my EverythingMom.com blog — and I recently shared my “Best Ever Roast Chicken” over there.  Check it out, try it, and let me know what you think!

I laugh and laugh every time I watch this.  SHE CRACKS ME UP!

———–

Around 7:30 last night, an earth-shattering craving struck me. Not for pickles, which rest conveniently in my fridge, nor saltines, which I wisely keep near my desk; not even for the grapes and oranges in my fruit bin, nor the Pop-Tarts snuggled into a dark corner of a cabinet.

Not for those, but for Cheetos. Nasty, neon-orange, CRUNCHY SALTY NOMNOMNOM Cheetos.

I begged my husband to get me some, but he was playing Diablo2, which means he was completely oblivious to my pleas, as there were monsters that needed to be struck down. Clearly I have been too pleasant of a pregnant woman, because I feel like he should have feared the wrath of God smiting him when his wife falls at his feet, rests her head on his knee, and cries about needing Cheetos (no, I am not too proud to beg). I will say that he dug $1.52 out of his pocket, gave it to me, and said, “Then go buy some, hun.”

This, unfortunately, meant I needed to get dressed, which is a trial when all the sudden none of your pants will button at the waist yet you’re hardly showing except for the constant thrill of OH MY GOD MY UTERUS IS GROWING that makes you stand in front of the mirror at least three times a day to see if it’s poking out any further (note: last week, when I pulled my belly chub up, there was a slight curve; now, when I don’t pull it up, there is a pronounced one; this is a source of constant joy, as are my massive, beautiful, and SO FKING TENDER IT HURTS boobies).

Anyhow, I got dressed and went to the store. Cheetos were on sale — for $2.49, goddammit — and so I agonized over which bag of 88 cent potato chips I would buy (sour cream and onion means my husband may steal from me, salt and vinegar means I may end up with a numb tongue, bbq means no numb tongue and no stealing but also no satisfaction). I settled for s&v, which were opened as soon as I arrived home and plopped down on the couch to watch So You Think You Can Dance, which is one of my favourite shows right now (I can’t help it). And then the chihuahua army came; between yelling at them to get away and listening to my husband roast monsters, I had to turn the TV up louder than I like. And then I commenced eating.

Now, at this point, let me just mention that other than a few delicious bags of Gardetto’s that got in my way while I was in the US, and a drunken handful or two of Cheetos at a friend’s birthday party, I have (happily) abstained from the “potato chip aisle” category of junk food for approximately eight months. But this was a craving that refused to be ignored (unlike yesterday’s craving for banana bread which conveniently disappeared when the sky opened up and decided to piss on our town).

At some point between dances, I looked down at the bag and realized I had consumed half of its contents. It also struck me that baby is not yet satisfied with the amount my body had taken in, and so I kept eating. Then I looked down again and thought, you know, not only is this unhealthy and disgusting and utterly AMERICAN of me to be shovelling potato chips down my gullet while watching competition-based reality TV, but maybe I’ll want some tomorrow with an egg salad sandwich and a pickle for lunch, so I should stop.

Thank God I didn’t eat any more. Thank. God. Because half an hour later I felt so sick it was like someone had taken my intestines, tied them in knots, and let their chihuahuas fight over them. I couldn’t sit up. Watching TV became an exercise in patience, waiting for the commercials so I could race to the washroom. All I have to say is this:

MOMMY’S BELLY DOES NOT LIKE POTATO CHIPS and I will not be fooled into this manipulation again. If baby wants vinegar, I’ll eat a pickle. If baby wants salt, I’ll eat saltines. If baby wants something crispy and salty, I’ll eat homemade hash browns, or maybe I’ll get really saucy and just have a granola bar instead (how do you like THAT?) Or maybe I’ll buy sunflower seeds.

What I will NOT do, though, is consume any more potato chips, nor will I fall for the “I want Cheetos” craving. Because I am an unhappy mommy that just wants to go snuggle with daddy, but is too bloated and keeps burping up a disturbing vinegary potato taste to possibly be a good sleeping companion.

This really isn’t a terribly interesting story, but since I got some comments about it…

I ordered the loaded nachos.  Which really, I mean, I must be crazy, because 1) I have a baby in my lap 2) they’re messy when eaten as finger food and pretentious if you use utensils 3) the portion is not made to be eaten by one person, even a breastfeeding mommy.  But I do love me some nachos, so I ignored all of those things and went for them.  Oh, and a Smirnoff Ice because really, don’t I deserve one on a beautiful day while sitting on a  patio?

Maia was amazing throughout most of the meal, although she got hungry once our food arrived and so out popped my boobie.  I had figured she would want to eat and had only taken two sips of the Smirnoff in anticipation.  Next to us was a little boy that was maybe two years old, and he was fascinated by Maia nursing.  He had no idea what she was doing and kept staring, which didn’t bother me at all… I thought it was kinda sweet!

When she finished nursing, she got grabby.  Of course.  I mean, a plate of nachos is pretty colourful.  You know what else is colourful?

Guacamole.

Despite me stopping her from grabbing it at least three times, she finally darted her hand around mine with a finesse that would have made a mongoose proud, grabbed that guacamole, and threw it all over herself.  On her shirt.  On her jeans.  On MY jeans.  I had to laugh, because I tell you, she was determined to get that stuff, and she got it (although I dread what this stubbornness indicates for later in our life… maybe it’ll manifest as a drive to succeed rather than a drive to get around Mommy and Daddy’s rules.  One can hope, right?).

Once we had cleaned it up, Chris took her and went to go sit by his dad so I could eat and they could bond.  That’s when I snapped the above picture.

Then Chris asked me to pass his beer over. It was an Alexander Keith’s Pale Ale … keyword being “was”.

Clearly, after twenty-six years and five months of life, I should know how to pick up a glass.  Yet I break one at least weekly, which is why we have plastic cups in the house for me… seriously… a phenomenon explained by the fact that I SLAPPED THE BEER GLASS with the back of my hand, sending a torrent of beer across the table and into my father-in-law’s lap.

Fortunately, he laughed.  Chris scowled.  I picked up the glass, which retained barely half an inch of liquid, and set it in front of Chris with all the dignity I could muster.  “Here’s your beer, honey,” I said.

But deep down inside I wanted to spill the rest on him because really, how is it that he’s the only one who ended up escaping from food or drink getting spilled on his clothing?

Oh, booze.  You and I had a funny beginning.  And by funny, I mean terrifying.

You see, on my 17th birthday, I filled a travel coffee mug with Hot Damn! cinnamon Schnapps, which I had sampled once while working at Dunkin’ Donuts when my 19 year old manager brought in a few shots (there were a lot of reasons I loved that job…)

Filling a travel mug with alcohol is not, in and of itself, a horrible thing. However, bringing it to school is.  Drinking it during French class at 10am is.  Waving your arms in the air to answer every question in English class while your classmates hiss at you, “TATIANA, DON’T TALK, YOU’RE DRUNK” is.  Being so drunk that you go to your English teacher 20 minutes before school lets out and sobbing to him that you are so sorry that you were drunk during his class is definitely and unequivocally a horrible thing.

My poor English teacher.  He was a very straight-laced, very Christian, very cute man.  He didn’t know what to do.  He didn’t want to report me to the administration, because he liked me and I was obviously quite repentant for what I’d done, but he also  valued his job, so… to the administration it was.

The administrator in question was Mr. PolishG, a round, awesome Polish dude with glasses.  Every student loved him when he was happy, and feared him when he was angry.  He was astonished to see me enter his office for this offense.

Well, eventually my mother showed up, and she talked to Mr. PolishG in Polish since it’s her native tongue, and fortunately this bonding experience lowered my punishment to the absolute minimum: a 5 day suspension.

So Mom drives me home, and it’s my birthday, and we get to the house and people sing Happy Birthday to me, and I blow out the candles on my cake and I think I got to open my presents, and then I was sent to my room FOR THE REST OF MY NATURAL LIFE.

Not really, since obviously I’m still alive and I’m no longer in my room, but point being… it was a pretty interesting introduction to booze.

These days, my drinking is much less eventful.  I waver between vodka & cranberry juice or amaretto & cola being my favourite mixed drink.  I love mojitos when they’re properly made, even if I can’t figure out how to keep the mint from floating to the top of the glass and interfering with every sip when I mix them myselves.  I have fantasies about margaritas, but not the frozen/slushy ones, and they must have lots of salt.

I daydream about doing lemon drop shots.  I toss a tsp of sugar in with my vodka and ice in a cocktail shaker, then strain it into a shot glass.  Shoot the vodka and sugar, then bite down into a lemon wedge that has been dipped in sugar on both sides.  Delish.  I used to do these after work when I was a bartender — I had a particular customer who would buy me a whole row of shots if I let him.  Don’t worry, I took a cab home!

Honestly though, I end up drinking wine most of the time.  I’ve finally found one I quite enjoy — Vineland Estates 2007 Dry Riesling — and what makes me happiest about this is that they’re an Ontario vineyard.  I really like to eat and buy locally whenever possible.

So… how do you feel about booze?

Grilled Portabella Cap “Burgers” with Veggie Compote
Time to table: 20-60 minutes marinating time, 25 minutes cooking
Ingredients:
2 medium portabella mushroom caps.
5 stalks asparagus.
1 thin slice of red onion.
1/2 a small yellow tomato.
1/2 tsp garlic powder.
1 crusty bun (I used a ciabatta roll).
Olive oil.
Balsamic vinegar.
Red pepper flakes.
Salt & pepper.

–

1. Clean portabella caps top and bottom with a damp paper towel.

2. Mix balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and garlic powder in a shallow dish; brush caps on both sides with this marinade.  Put in fridge for 20-60 minutes, depending on how hungry you are.

3. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

4. Dice your tomato, red onion, and asparagus.  I used a yellow tomato for a colour contrast and red onion for its flavour, but a red tomato and a white or yellow onion would work just fine.

5. Season the veggies with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes before wrapping them in tinfoil and putting in oven to roast for 20 minutes.

6.  5 minutes before the vegetables are done, put portabella caps on a hot grill.  I used our George Foreman one.  Also, slice your roll and put on the oven rack, cut side facing up, and swap oven to broil.

7. Remove everything from oven.  Open the foil vegetable packet, being careful of the escaping steam, and place your mushrooms on the bun.

8. Top mushrooms with veggie compote, and the top half of the bun.  Slice in half and serve!

This would be awesome with a thick, melty slice of mozzarella but alas, we did not have any.

familyrecipeparentingcookingfood

She wasn’t too sure about it at first:

But once we got there, she was really happy to look up at the tree we were sitting under:

Joss thought my sandwich looked tasty:

For that matter, so did Buffy:

Of course, Maia didn’t quite understand why I kept whipping out the camera and taking pictures of her when I should have been eating:

When I finished eating, I figured I needed to take a few shots of us together, although this definitely looks like a “Holy crap Mom, couldn’t you have put on some makeup?” face:

So I decided to embarrass her even more:

Eventually she lost interest in me and just wanted to look at the tree again:

As we were about to head home, she kept putting her feet up as if she wanted me to take a picture of them, so I obliged (Jinxy, this one makes me think of you & Lily!):

All in all, a successful, fun picnic!

Actually, I’m not a cork hater in general.  But you know, sometimes, you’ve had a day where you see a cork in your bottle of wine and for some reason it’s like a punch to the gut, like oh God why can’t my life just have a twisty cap for once?!

Know what I’m sayin’?

PS: If you’re in Ontario, check out WineAlign.com.  You can browse wines by price point and type, as well as read reviews from “professionals” and others!  I totally forgot about this site tonight, but next time… I am all over it.

Fried Eggs with warm Spring Asparagus, Mushroom, and Bacon Salad
Time to table: 15 minutes
Ingredients:
5 stalks of asparagus.  It’s in season right now; look for firm stalks with tightly closed, purplish tips.
3-5 mushrooms.  Your choice on variety/amount; I used white button mushrooms.
2 eggs.
1 strip of bacon.
Grated parmesan cheese.
Butter.
Olive oil.
Black pepper.

–

1. If your mushrooms are not already washed & sliced, do so now.  I slice my mushrooms (and onions) after trips to the grocery store so I always have some on hand and ready to go. Mushrooms should be cleaned with a damp paper towel & stored in an airtight container (or Ziploc baggie!) with a paper towel in it.

2. Start heating your skillet, dry, over medium heat.

3.  Wash & prep the asparagus.  Asparagus has a natural breaking point in its lower third; hold the stalk loosely and bend until it naturally snaps.  The bottom of the stalk can be discarded; the rest is tender and good for eating.  I went for thin, long slices.

3.  Add butter to your hot skillet, followed quickly by your asparagus.  Toss to coat.

4. While the asparagus cooks, slice your strip of bacon in half.  After about a minute, add the bacon to the pan.

5.  When the asparagus has begun to brown, mix it around and make room in the pan to add your mushrooms.

6. When all of the items in your skillet are done, heap the veggies on your serving plate.  Set the bacon aside to drain.

7.  Add olive oil to pan, crack eggs into it.  Pepper the eggs.  I did not use salt at all in this dish because the bacon and parmesan are both naturally salty flavours.

8.  While the eggs cook, crumble the bacon.  Along with a generous amount of parmesan cheese,  mix with your vegetables.

9.  Top with eggs.  ENJOY!

familyrecipeparentingcookingfood

Hopefully I could squeeze in an eyebrow threading with that too.  At our old place, I went to this beautician where threading was $3, but everyone around here wants like $15 to shape my brows.  Ridiculous!  Maybe that’s why my eyebrows are wild things that haven’t had any tending to since, oh… last May?

Knowing me, though, if I had $50 FOR MYSELF (as in, I had to spend it on me), I’d buy food.  Not pre-made, not at a restaurant, but I’d go into a grocery store and pick up those little indulgent items I usually pass.  Organic produce.   A nice bottle of balsamic vinegar, not whatever’s on special.  A savoury loaf of fresh-baked bread as well as a loaf of sweet cranberry & pumpkin seed, with a sharp cheese to pair with the former and a creamy spreadable cheese for the latter.  Maybe some specialty salt.  A nice portion of salmon.  And I’d probably buy a bottle of that juice that’s in the produce section that costs like $7 apiece, but has all sorts of cool fruit and veggie flavours in it.

Then I’d eat that food while my antsy baby squirmed in my arms.  Sigh!
food