Blue Plate Special

I used to have fun. I used to have LOTS of fun. Srsly. Like, any place I went ended up bringing a ridiculous amount of fun. Especially if it involved dancing, friends, and good food.

Now…I’m old. There is no fun to be had. Oh, it’s there if you’re 21 years old (or younger and have a fake ID) and a constitution of steel.

My friend and I made plans to have dinner. She will usually text me to see what I’m wearing, mostly because (it never fails) we will end up wearing the exact. same. outfit. I picked out an oxford and my favorite jeans. The oxford is so incredibly soft, light blue, and from Gap. The jeans are also Gap and I found them at a consignment shop. Much too long for me, but not when I wear my giant wedge boots. So, with the outfit on I felt it was missing something. I proceeded to try on a blazer. And then another blazer. And then every blazer I own. Nothing was working. I tried a sweater. No. I put on a belt. It was all bad. I decided to go with it because it was late. As I was about to walk out the door, I realized I felt like a 60-year-old professor; a man.

I went back in and changed into a black sequined skirt. Left on the boots. Added a black tee shirt. A black sweater. And my camoflague coat (black and grey with a hot pink liner). A complete 180 degree turn from what I’d started to wear. I walked out the door thinking Who am I, even?

Poor friend had been waiting for me forever at a new restaurant downtown. The owner has a second restaurant that I thoroughly enjoy. Sadly, this restaurant had nothing that they could adapt into a gluten free dish for me. After many questions, and my urging my friend to go ahead and eat, we left. The Shet Celiacs Say is no more annoying to anyone than myself. There are a handful of restaurants where I can eat and not pray for a swift death over the next few days.

As we were crossing the street, two girls came toward my friend and me. They were wearing the shortest dresses and the highest heels. No coats. Lots of hair and makeup. I looked down at my outfit and wondered if what I was wearing was age appropriate. It is a fact that I have never dressed like anyone I know, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten dressed asking, “What can I wear that will accentuate my lady garden.”

It was then I realized…I’m old. O-L-D. There is no denying it. After dinner, we went to a bar where there is a deejay and dancing.  This “club” possesses, hands-down, the worst deejay ever. Another sign that I am old is the amount of joy I felt when I discovered there was no cover. It seems there are no covers anywhere anymore. It almost makes me a little angry that these young people are so free to come and go as they please; no coats, barely dressed, drunk as hell. They should feel the punishment we felt 20 years ago trying to look in the window of clubs to see who was inside and was it worth it to pay the five/seven/ten dollar cover.

My friend and I suffered through a playlist of AC/DC followed by The Beach Boys followed by 69 Boyz and then The Isley Brothers “Shout.” I mean…really? Are we at a freaking wedding reception? What a HORRIBLE song! I have never in my life seen the appeal of this song. And especially do not when all the girls are wearing skirts that would make better belts as they’re getting a little bit softer now.

My friend looked over at a girl dancing and said, “Oh yeah. She’s gonna vomit later.” And I have to admit, it didn’t take me long to empathize with her. What a horrible feeling, but she was powering through. She could barely hold her head up, let alone focus, but her grip on her mixed drink wasn’t wavering. Several people started to walk up the two stairs past us and would then change their mind and go a different way. My friend even made the comment, “Ooh. Can’t do the stairs. Nope. No stairs for me. Too drunk.” After the fifth or sixth person opted to walk another way, I realized oh. mah. gawd. they. think. we’re. cops. We look old. The worst part is, we don’t feel like we look as old as they think we look. I knew I was old when I immediately recognized the deejay’s offering of duh duh duh duh duh dum dum as the beginning of a Queen tune. The whole place erupted in cheers and arms were flung in the air. I leaned over to my friend and said, “There is going to be a lot of embarrassment when all these kids realize this is not Ice Ice Baby.” And, thirty seconds later, there was a veil disappointment.

We went to another bar I used to frequent years ago with a friend. You had to be 24 years old to get in (if I recall). I was and would always get carded. My friend, who wasn’t even 21 years old would never get carded. They let her right in. The crowd is much younger now, and they are packed in the place like sardines. Those who try to squeeze through just end up stopping and standing in the way. I told a guy to think like a 20-year-old girl and push through. It was all coming back to me.

We left immediately and my friend asked the doorman where the “adults hang out.” He listed a few places prefacing it with “you might like,” and “this might be good for you.” Translation: old people hang out at these joints.

I’ve never been crazy about places where all you can do is stand around and drink. I need to be entertained. I prefer to dance with no drink. Nothing in my hands. Not a coat, not a purse. Twenty-somethings are a smart bunch, to leave their coat in the car, even though they would freeze when they left. And, where did the girls keep their IDs, money, and lipstick? In their pockets? Those dresses don’t look like they have pockets. How did I used to do this?

At the doorman’s urging, we drove to another bar where they had live music and little else. We could see from the warm interior of my car, through the bar window, that this was not going to be much better. I said, “There is no one there. I can see a drummer and a keyboard player, but there isn’t a soul in there.” My friend said, “I can’t see anything.” I said, “There’s the bartender, on the right, doing nothing with his back to no one.” She said, “This is so disappointing. We might as well call it a night. All this ‘looking around’ has sobered me up.”

And that was it. I drove her back to her car and we went our separate ways.

Is this really what it’s all about now? Do I have to wait for someone to invite me to their wedding reception before I can go out dancing with a group of people my own age? Am I relegated to eating dinner at 5.30 p.m. on a Friday night? What do people my age do for fun? I am officially my parents. Square. Remembering how sorry I felt for them, sitting at home on a Friday night, in their recliners, watching TV and…talking to each other. My mother would ask, “Why are you just now going out when the everyone else is getting ready for bed.” She didn’t understand.

Or did she?

The next evening, I made dinner for my girlfriends (as I do at least twice a month). And it was so lovely. Sitting at home eating food I knew wouldn’t make me sick, drinking cheap drinks, listening to good music, and the laughter of our children.

I tried a new dish: Hearty Vegetable Soup (serves 4)

2T olive oil

1 large onion, diced

3 medium carrots, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced (I used the frozen Trader Joe’s portioned cubes)

2 C peeled butternut squash in 1/2″ cubes (I will not get married just so I can have someone with upper body strength to cut this sucker up for me)

1/4 tsp. allspice

pinch of cayenne pepper

4 sprigs of thyme

4 cups low-sodium chicken broth (or vegetable)

1 (14.5 oz) can of diced tomatoes

2 C lightly packed kale, ribs removed, coarsely chopped (I shredded by hand)

1 C chickpeas

Heat the oil in a large soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and carrot and cook until they begin to soften, stirring occasionally, about 6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute more. Add the butternut squash, allspice, salt and cayenne; stir to combine. Add the thyme, broth and tomatoes with their juice. Bring to a boil then reduce heat, cover and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the kale and the chickpeas, and cook 10 minutes more until the squash is tender and the kale has wilted. Pick out the thyme sprigs and discard before serving. (Adapted during cooking from Ellie Krieger recipe.)

Ah. Maze. Ing.

So, I Could Have Done That

How many snicker doodles are too many? Say six, because I ate five.

I didn’t start with five. I started with two. And then I ate them. And then I went back for two more and realized how stupid that was, and grabbed a third. They’re so good. They’re also really easy. I always think I’ve forgotten an ingredient. You have to let them cool completely or they will just crumble. (That was completely not on purpose).

I should, instead, be working out. But…no. I did help a friend move today. It was so heartwarming and just what I needed. I was feeling kind of sorry for myself. Next thing I knew, I was in my car driving to the meeting place for a little brigade. It was a completely selfish act to make me feel better, and it worked. There was a lot of love there.

For dinner, I made pork tenderloin. I could have just made a little something for my daughter, and eaten chips and salsa standing up at the counter. But I didn’t. Tenderloin was thawed, and it is always delicious. I brown it in honey and butter on medium heat, then I finish cooking it in a 375 degree oven.

I remove the tenderloin and add hot water from my kettle to the pan to loosen the browned bits. I reduce the sauce and pour it over the tenderloin. And tonight, I made mashed potatoes. Only two items, but it was plenty.  

My daughter said, “I love this honey chicken.” I could have corrected her, but…no.

I could also throw the rest of these away.

Happy New Year

I’m not really one to make resolutions. I don’t know why. I can usually think of a list of things to add to a list, but I just really like making lists…. Maybe one resolution could be Do not make too many lists, or more realistically Make prettier lists.

With the impending birthday, there are lots of things that come to mind that I could try to resolve. For one, I’m terrible at making decisions. I have no idea why. I’m a Capricorn/only child. I don’t have a favorite anything. I usually end up with shopper’s remorse (WHY DIDN’T I BUY THAT?!). Naming my child was the biggest decision I have ever made. So another could be Learn to make a decision and stick with it.

My mother would like for me to make a resolution to fall in love. Let’s move on.

I would like to Learn to sew.

I would like to finish my book I’ve been writing (for far too long), and start my next book. Write every day.

I want to be a more patient mommy. A more patient person. Be patient. (Again…Capricorn/only child/single mother.)

I want to be a better friend/daughter. Feel free to keep me honest. Be better.

I want to learn to be a better gluten free cook. Perhaps go raw for a few months. Eat less sugar. Be clean.

And I want to discover how I’m meant to spend the rest of my years. Find a purpose.

The other day, my friends and I instituted No Spend January. Less than twelve hours later, my vacuum cleaner broke, my Maintenance Required light lit up on James Spader (my vehicle), and my child came home with broken glasses (had to go buy Krazy Glue). Do not deprive oneself.

I hope this year is the most amazing yet, for myself and my child; and for you. And remember, tomorrow is another day. Hopefully.

5 Things You’d Take on a Deserted Island

As an only child, I can go days and days without speaking to another human. That never happens now that I am a single mom. And that’s fine. Today, my child woke from 12 hours of sleeping (which also never happens) and continued to jump and talk all the day long. I have to admit, it was awful. That famous question about the five things you’d take on a deserted island. As an only child, that sounds FREAKING AMAZING. I wouldn’t take a damned thing! That is the whole point: deserted. Nada. Just me and my thoughts; me sleeping, waking up WHEN I WANT TO WAKE. Oh man. Delightful.

But if I had to cave and pick something, one of those five things would be a pot to make soup in (on the off chance I can procure a fire). I love soup. I could live off of it. Throw any old thing in there. One of the best soups I ever made was for a second date. I had leftover chicken and little else. I found a can of chickpeas and a can of diced tomatoes in the pantry. And one lonely carton of chicken broth. I combined everything in a pot and, after I portioned our servings into bowls, I put a dollop of cottage cheese in the middle. My date was flabbergasted. “Why would you do that? What made you do that?” I think I said something really romantic like,  “Um…it is about to expire.” He informed me that he and his father are the only two people he’d ever known to put cottage cheese in their soup. And that soup was divine. I was proud of my little poor woman’s concoction.

Tonight, I made a soup that trumped that one. I amazed myself. It was from Emeril’s daughters’ gluten free cookbook. A type of tortilla soup with turkey and beans and veggies, it smelled just as good as it looked. It was light and filling. I paired it with their jalapeño cornbread. I forgot to set the timer, but grabbed it in time.

I forgot to take an after pic, so I’ll do that tomorrow on Tumblr (because I’m having it for dinner tomorrow, too. And probably lunch.). This was before I added the broth and water.

The top rack has two chicken breasts in a glass pan. I always make chicken and rice with edamame for my child and her friend. Well, I once tried to change it up a bit and it wasn’t well-received. So, now I stick to what is requested.

This is the best gluten free cornbread I’ve ever had. Better than any store-bought mix. Made with a gluten free flour mix I blend and keep in the refrigerator, and corn meal, green onions, and jalapeños. The texture was perfect, and kept its taste even after dipping it in the soup. Lots left over, and years ago…I used to make cornbread in my cast iron and then eat it for dinner a few nights (and breakfast, and lunch…) with sour cream and heated salsa on top (I love salsa heated in the skillet).

And for dessert (since I made the apple/chocolate/walnut/cinnamon crisp thingy without the girls here and they weren’t too happy about that), I repeated this delicious creation. And I learned, if you refrigerate the leftovers and let a slice come to room temperature, all that brown sugar turns into a dreamy caramel sauce.

What’s Cooking

There have been a few times lately where I’ve royally screwed up in the kitchen. My friends and I have decided that I need to write a cookbook called, “When You Eff Up the Original Recipe, Here’s How You Can Fix It,”…or something of that nature. 

Just a few weeks ago, I forgot to add the flour to the pumpkin muffins. Cooked pretty much a pumpkin pie in paper muffin cups. Took out the steaming hot pumpkin, added it to the flour, put it back in the oven. Mixed together the topping and saw that I was supposed to put the topping on the muffins before baking. Added topping. Baked muffins AGAIN. Somehow they were “a 10,” as my friend informed me. I made them a couple days later the correct way, alone in my kitchen. Nothing to distract me. 

Tonight, I was assembling the ingredients for bean soup and noticed that I had purchased a can of spicy chili beans that the recipe did not call for. This is why I hate groceries. I can never reach the top shelf, and as I’ve mentioned before I refuse to wear stilettos to Kroger. I usually luck out and some tall man (or woman) will come down the aisle and I can get them to reach the things I cannot. When my daughter was a baby, I would put her on my shoulders to reach the high shelves. She’s way too big for that now. 

Nevertheless, the soup turned out to be quite delicious. I started with a mirepoix (and garlic). 

Then added the ham, beans, broth, thyme, and salt and pepper. I even got to use my immersion blender I haven’t used in years. I actually forgot how to attach it to the base. 

 

I made a salad with romaine and homemade dressing (olive oil, mustard, OJ, garlic powder, salt and pepper, and red wine vinegar), and homemade gluten free croutons. YUM. I’m going to start putting those suckers on everything! 

My child and her friend requested mashed potatoes, chicken, and edamame. No complaints there. And for dessert, caramel apples with peanuts. OMG Thrilling. Followed by 45 minutes of dishwashing. 

Totally worth it. 

 

 

Nice spatula indentions, yes?

And the quote of the day came from my dear daughter, who on the way to the grocery said, “I’m wearing my pearls, mom; just like Julia [Child].” 

I’ve done good work here.