Guest Post By Jenn Ripley
I always joke with my husband that he didn’t really know what he was getting when he married me. My weird quirks, rituals and obsessions were hidden under a very neatly presented façade that I maintained while we were dating. I wasn’t intentionally being subversive as I wooed him into loving me; there was just no way he could know my deep, dark OCD habits until he became my roommate.
Three years later and a lot of strange looks, frustrating conversations and slamming doors later, I have determined to abandon my life as a perfectionist, but it doesn’t come easy.
I’ll let you into my strange little world for a peek at some of my finest moments as I try to reform my pedantic tendencies.
The latest incident…my husband and I are standing in the kitchen hovered over our dishwasher. He had so “graciously” granted my request to help me unload the dishwasher. Note: I asked him to help. Our conversation went something like this:
“Thanks for helping me unload the dishwasher,” I said as I picked up the flatware carryall and begin putting away the flatware in a draw next to the dishwasher.
“No problem,” he replied while he continued minding his own business and stacking dishes in the cabinet above the counter.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he supplied as we both continued putting away various items.
Silently and secretly, I was watching him. In my head, I was thinking, “Oh man, he is stacking those dishes facing south. Stay cool, Jenn. It’s ok, the dishes can face the wrong way. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything!”
“You sure are good at stacking dishes, Boo,” I told him.
“I know,” he said with a little bit of sass as he began pulling bowls out of the dishwasher and stacking them on the countertop.
“Not again,” I was thinking. “He didn’t dry those bowls before he stacked them. Calm down. It’s ok. Note to self: come back in 5 minutes and dry the bowls.”
“The weather sure is nice today,” I remarked.
“Ya, I’m glad to see the sun came out.” He was moving on to the plastic cups pulling them out of the dishwasher and stacking them nonchalantly.
“Here we go. Oh crap! Oh no! He didn’t dry the cups,” my mind was reeling. “They’re going to stick together when people try to pull them apart and mildew is going to grow on them. Don’t say anything! Don’t say any…”
“Aren’t you going to dry those cups?!?!?!?!” I spewed. “I mean I told you that they will mildew if we don’t dry them and people will be grossed out when they come over and pick up a cup and find that it smells terrible and that its still damp like we just used it and put it back in the cabinet, and…”
I stopped myself.
“Sorry.”
Needless to say, it’s time to let that one go. I get better with each day. For example, last night, I resisted the temptation to straighten the magazines on the coffee table before I went to bed. I might have straightened them this morning.
My poor husband.
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Jenn Ripley is the writer, creator, and editor of The Trophy Generation (http://www.thetrophygeneration.com), a blog highlighting the fascinating people of generation Y, and their attempts to create success for themselves by following their passions and by using their unique gifts to stand out in an age of mass communication. She hopes to inspire others in her generation to take risks to pursue their dreams and to dispel the negative characterizations of her generation including a supposedly inherent laziness and sense of self-entitlement. Jenn also writes on occasion for compathos.com and plans to continue to do so.
As a child, sharing did not come easily to me. If I had access to my Kindergarten report card, I’m sure I would have poor marks next to “plays well with others.” You might look at this picture and see a sweet young thing and wonder how it’s possible that she could ever be anything but delightful and sunny.
Smiley Greg and Stormy Lola
But you would be wrong. From the get-go, I’ve been domineering, aggressive and suspicious. What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine. Do what I say, don’t ask questions, and maybe, just maybe, no one will get hurt.
Now, before you start to reconsider our friendship, I will say that I have mellowed out A LOT. I’m sure in what is the reverse of most people’s life cycles, I have gotten kinder and more mellow with age. Maybe it’s the yoga, maybe it’s pharmaceutical, or maybe I just genuinely love other people these days, but sharing — something that used to make me cuh-ray-zee — is now a joy and a blessing.
And so, when I was approached by Jenn Ripley to explore mutually guest blogging, I knew it was time to open up LolaKwrites to other voices on similar journeys.
Jenn and I crossed paths in September (but she didn’t know it) when she wrote about my brother (read Jenn’s very cool, inspiring and insightful stories here: http://thetrophygeneration.com/). I read her story about Greg, loved it, then moved on with my life. I went to Guatemala with Greg in October and met his friend Carl, and recently started following Carl and Waking the World on Twitter. Carl/WtW Tweeted about talking with The Trophy Generation, I started following TTG on Twitter, Jenn followed me back, read my blog, and suggested we write on each other’s blogs, and I said “woo! Rock and roll!”
And now, here we are. I am sharing this space with Jenn and my… um… five readers. {Hi, Mom.}
I asked Jenn if she was working on learning anything, because that’s where my blog is going right now, and she said yes, definitely. So, we are going to peer into her life as she learns to kick her habit of being a staunch perfectionist. I’ve read her first post, and I think you’re really going to enjoy it. Although, as I told her after reading it, I’m feeling a bit paranoid wondering what tidy Roomie must think every time he walks into the kitchen and sees I’ve left a drawer open… again…
So, stay tuned for Jenn’s first post on LolaKwrites, and watch as I continue, ever so gracefully (*ahem*) to learn to share.
If 2009 shall henceforth be known as the year I fell in love with the back comb…
Photo credit: bbc.co.uk
…2010 will be my year of learning.
You’ve seen the cooking posts. Now, welcome to the next saga: Lola learns piano.
Often when asked, “so, what’s your story?” I sassily retort “well, I was born on a dark and stormy night…” And I thought about this as I drove to my first piano lesson this evening. A flash of lightening illuminated the sky, my windshield wipers clicking like a metronome. I wondered what tonight would hold for me, if I was driving towards a rebirth of sorts.
In an uncharacteristic move, I arrived about 12 minutes early. Leaving the wet, dark night behind me, I walked into the church (I’m taking lessons in the choir room) where a woman was playing a lively tune towards the back of the foyer. My heels weren’t particularly loud on the floor, so I accidentally sneaked up behind her. What was proper protocol? Do I wait until the piece was over? I didn’t want to scare her. So I stopped about six feet away and quietly waited. My teacher (I shall call her Ms. K.) turned around, and it was like we had known each other for ever.
We quickly ran through the basics, determined what I did and did not remember from my lessons as a young sprout (umm, nothing), and then got to the music-makin’. At one point, I yawned because I’m so exhausted, and she said, “oh, you must be tired, and I’m sure you haven’t eaten dinner yet. Don’t worry, we only have 14 minutes left.” How did 46 minutes go by so quickly?! I was so focused and so present throughout the entire lesson. My ADHD was squarely in check. It was amazing. I don’t remember the last time I felt that way. Normally, my brain is full of zooming darts I can barely catch, but while I sat at the piano, it was like I was suspended in space and time, and my thoughts never wandered once.
I was so excited to be playing music, that my lovely teacher’s criticisms were along the lines of advising me not to bounce in my seat and with my hands while playing “Camptown Races,” or to read the music rather than play by ear during “Ode to Joy.” She’s a great teacher. I can tell she spends time with kids and teenagers, though. We had a lot of discussions about whether this or that would “freak [me] out,” which I thought was hilarious and particularly endearing. But I’m not freaked out in any way; I am ready!
My favorite part was “Black Key Improvisation.” Ms. K. played a piece while I sat next to her and made up the harmony using only black keys. I seriously blew my own mind it sounded so good. When she finished, she turned to me and exclaimed “that was so good! You’re so brave! Most adult students won’t experiment that much!” I think this is the feeling of what happens when the song in my heart becomes audible. Interestingly, the tune of the song reminded me a little of the Charlie Brown theme song, and now that’s all I want to learn how to play.
At this point in my life, the things I’m good at are fairly well established, and while I accept and adore compliments of any kind, it’s exceptionally gratifying to be recognized for something in a brand new part of my life, to be told how great my ear is, how fun I am, how quickly I’m learning, and how good I’m going to be at playing the piano. A new part of me has been discovered, a new path is being forged. I am reborn.
This was bound to happen.
I decided to get back on the cooking horse today, diving back in with a recipe from one of my Christmas presents: John Ash’s “From the Earth to the Table.” I was thrilled to get this book for one reason, and that’s the scallop ceviche recipe, but I’ll address that when I tackle the recipe. As I cruised through the book, though, I realized quickly that it represented the deep end. No more Food Network “Recipe Level: Easy” dishes that have served as my crutch for the past few years. It was time to put on my big girl apron. But truthfully, I was intimidated.
The book is beautiful and inspiring, but at the same time, I need a stocked kitchen, a cup of coffee, and some chutzpah to make the most of these recipes. My only complaint (aside from the recipes being over my head) is that Chef Ash very clearly believes in eating seasonally. I think the book would be that much better if the recipes were divided into seasons in addition to their dish categories. Just my two cents, which is exactly what my opinion is worth in the kitchen.
In a move that might be considered sticking my baby toe in this deep end, I selected the very first recipe in the book, which just so happens to be in the salad section: Grilled Asparagus with Lemon Olive Oil and Pecorino Cheese (page 15). I like salads and I really like asparagus. However, Chef Ash at some point cautions that asparagus is a spring veggie. Well, back to my point about the dishes being segmented into seasons. And, hell, Central Market carries it, so I’m just going to go for it. One of his tasting notes recommends that, to make this more of an entrée, add some meats, good olives, and “maybe a sprinkling of some Fried Capers (page 33).” I check out page 33, and I think “okay, this sounds good; I can handle frying some capers in olive oil.”
I made my shopping list, and off I went to my friendly neighborhood grocery. I zoomed through the necessary sections and finally found myself standing in the olive oil aisle. Without using an ounce of hyperbole, I tell you that I stood in this aisle for 20 minutes. Twenty! There are so many oils, and so few of them are lemon-infused, and even fewer are under $20. And that’s kind of the bummer part of this experience: it is not inexpensive to stock your kitchen for the whims of your chef guides. Alas, with the help of Lee, resident Foodie, I picked the least expensive ($17). I’m going to jump ahead here and say that, wow, lemon olive oil smells delicious. I’m a convert. It was worth the cash.
Back at home, I start my water for some pasta (whole wheat linguine to be sautéed in olive oil, garlic and red pepper flakes, an easy dish as recommended by Gina Stipo, a chef who taught a class on Tuscan cuisine last week at Central Market), and then set out to fry some capers. Chef Ash said to “heat 1/2 inch of olive oil until it shimmers (350 degrees on a frying or candy thermometer).” I looked (not very hard) for such a thermometer at the market but didn’t see one, and I figured, hey, I can wing it.
Wrong.
The oil looked like it was shimmering to me, so I dropped in the capers, and my pan instantly turned into a frenetic oil jacuzzi. I panicked, immediately pulled the bubbling pan off the heat, and watched as the capers turned from a beautiful sage green to something more… meteoric…
This is what a fried caper should look like.
Photo credit TheKitchn.com
And here are my massacred capers.
Exhibit A is beauty and light. Exhibit B is, well, the opposite.
Fortunately, capers were but a mere suggestion, and my asparagus dish with my whole wheat linguine can be counted a success, with only a few points deducted for a house full of burnt caper smoke.
Next stop: a new dish and a thermometer for the kitchen.
When starting a new habit or making a life change, one must really keep up the consistent momentum for a period of time (I’ve heard 21 days and 40 days to develop a habit). But, as we all know, life gets in the way of our plans. The plans we make with the most sincere and best of intentions in a moment frustration, despair, passion, jubilation (or just standing in front of the mirror) are quickly pushed to the side when the reality of exhaustion and our daily schedules set in, when the demands of our families, friends and colleagues supersede our personal goals. It takes perseverance, a bit of selfishness, and real grit to ensure that you and your desired habit don’t end up at the bottom of the heap.
At some point, I always end up at the bottom of the heap. At some point, I say yes in stead of no. At some point, I put someone or something ahead of what I need. At some point, it’s just easier to give in.
And so Friday morning I was standing in my kitchen after yoga, quietly eating a bowl of Kashi Autumn Wheat cereal and a banana when I suddenly realized that five of my last seven meals were exactly what I was eating now: cereal. Instead of heating up soup or preparing a dinner from scratch, I came home two nights in a row to a cold bowl of cereal. Never before in my life have I done this exact thing. I’ve never been a cereal junky (except for a regrettable Fruity Pebbles binge my freshman year of college when I realized my parents no longer dictated what kind of cereal I could eat). In fact, I just started eating cereal again after not touching it for a solid three years. Is this what single girls do when there’s no one to come home to, to cook and share a meal with? I needed sustenance, and in my silent house, I succumbed to the path of least resistance. And it tasted SO good.
Some people say that cravings are your body’s way of telling you what you need, which makes sense if you go bonkers on raspberries, spinach, or some other nutrient-rich dish. But what if cereal is incredibly, deeply satisfying? What the heck does that mean? Am I feeding my soul, or am I just tired? Tired of cooking and cleaning up a monstrous mess? Tired from working too much and sleeping too little? Tired of eating alone? Probably all of the above. What I do know is that had I not used up all the milk yesterday morning, this bachelorette would have dined on cereal a few more times.
But I don’t want to give up on being a budding cook. Very soon, I will crawl back to the top of the heap; I will say no instead of yes. I will put myself first again.
In the meantime, I’m hoping that once in a blue moon, my girls Ina, Giada and Ellie will come home bone-tired to a dark and empty house. They’ll stand in front of their respective high-end refrigerators, door ajar, their bodies illuminated solely by its light, and feed their aching hearts with cold pizza.
You probably know where this is going.
I bought one cookie sheet, but it was too big.
I borrowed (stole) another cookie sheet from my mom, and, ta da! Too small.
Tonight was the night for homemade granola bar baking, part deux, and I was inordinately excited about my pilfered cookie sheet. A real cookie sheet that fits in my oven! Alas, two cups of granola, and one cup each of almonds and coconut make quite the pile of ingredients, but I muscled through and ended up with a mixture that was rather brown on the outsides and a bit squishy in the middle. However, I reasoned that this would probably all come out alright in the end.
I resolved to learn from first act. While the oats etc. were toasting, I prepped the honey mix and started chopping the fruit and so on. I’m positively bursting I’m so happy I timed this so beautifully. And, I set a series of timers to ensure that no matter how distracted I got, I would remember to check the granola bars to make sure I didn’t burn them this time.
The bars are cooling on my counter, and I’m anxiously awaiting the moment when I can flip over the pan and get to cutting. Considering my officemates scarfed my first batch, I’m feeling pretty confident that, given I executed round two with much more precision, my recipient will be pleased with her granola. Unless, of course, she hates granola. I never thought to ask.
I remember the first time I ever heard “tartine.” My office was having a birthday lunch to celebrate the Leos in the group, and we were sitting at a cozy table at a new restaurant down the street: Ellerbe Fine Foods. I was in the mood to be virtuous, so I requested that our waiter inquire as to the vegetarian dish of the day. He informed me that he could do that, but that there was a tartine on the menu as a vegetarian option. I asked what the heck is a tartine, and he told me, but I wasn’t sold, so I requested again that he go ask the chef what her vegetarian option of the day would be. He snippily replied, “well, I know it’s going to be the tartine.” I stared up into his hairy nostrils, skin burning a bit knowing he wasn’t being truthful, but nonetheless, I told him I shall try this salad atop a toast thingy. And oh, I am so glad I did. The roasted baby vegetables tossed in a light vinaigrette piled on crispy bread quickly became my favorite dish at Ellerbe’s, but, it being a a seasonal restaurant, the item is not currently on the menu. Ah well, there’s always spring.
In the meantime, while binging on the Food Network, I watched Ina demonstrate her version of a tartine, and I thought, holy moley, I must make this immediately. And soon, the opportunity arose: our office New Year’s party, which we celebrated with another PR firm. Our respective company presidents decided to hold the party at my boss’ home, and each staffer was to bring an appetizer. My first reaction was “sh*t, what do I make?!?” But then, I remembered my dear Miss Ina, and my plan was set.
I arrived at Paige’s house, bread, goat cheese, arugula, and sliced tomatoes in tow. Most everyone else brought dips or pre-assembled items, but I proceeded to take over the kitchen (as I do), to make my contribution. I asked Paige if I could borrow her toaster, but she offered her broiler instead.
Lola: Ummmm… how do you use a broiler?
So, to make my appetizer, my boss had to show me how to use a broiler, which, to be honest, I’m kind of in love with now. It’s so cool! Who knew you could just turn the dial to broil, put the rack on the top row, keep the door ajar, and then, bingo— toast! Oh, let me never know a day when I do not learn something new, for that would be a sad day.
As I assembled the Arugula and Goat Cheese tartines, the party goers kept filtering past the kitchen, peeking over my shoulder to watch the show. I do imagine watching me make a mess in the kitchen is something of a sight to behold. And as I placed the tartines on the table, I watched in delight as they disappeared before my eyes. These suckers are GOOD. And such a wonderful party trick!
On the TV episode, once Ina put the cheese, tomatoes and arugula on the toast, she put the tartines back under the broiler for a moment. This tip is not in the online recipe, but I suggest you follow suit. However, don’t wander away from the oven because that arugula burns quickly. So, I just stand there with my face up to the cracked door, impatiently (per usual) waiting for the arugula to wilt down.
After the party I stopped by my parents’ house to watch the BCS Championship and to show off my new dish. This go-around, I put salt and pepper on the cheese before putting the veggies on top. Ina doesn’t do this, but I think it’s a nice touch. Mom and Dad were uber-impressed and gobbled up their share with pride. Taking advantage of my mom’s happy tummy, I decided I’d politely ask to take her cookie sheet home with me since the one I purchased previously was a wee bit too big for my oven. And since I was on a tartine roll, I made the tartines as an appetizer for some girlfriends the next night. Once again, clean plates all around. Huzzah!
Accompanying the tartines, I offered my Friday guests a mix of garlic(mmmm)-marinated olives and olives with chile peppers, as well as harvati with dill cheese and crackers. For the main course, I made one of my go-to soups from my favorite TV nutritionist, Ellie Krieger. I’ve made this soup probably five times or so, and it is truly a simple dish to make, and really tasty, and, apparently, healthy. Since it’s pretty basic, I’ve put my own spin on the recipe each time I’ve made it. This time, instead of using a can of tomatoes, I put in two cans of mild Rotel, which actually made it a teensy bit too spicy. Fortunately, we all had stuffy noses and too much wine, so the zest was a welcome touch by the time we got around to finally eating dinner. The girls devoured the soup, and I glowed from the vino and accomplishment.
I came home tonight, my je ne sais quoi a little limp after a long day and a sinus infection, and I cooked up some comfort, heating leftover vegetable lentil soup, and making what I decided is a sophisticated grilled cheese. Ma, look at me now! Instead of Campbell’s condensed tomato variety, I’m soothing my soul with my very own homemade soup, and an open-faced grilled cheese made of goat cheese and tomato. Don’t get me wrong. I love me some Velveeta —probably way more than I should, actually — but damn, I felt so smug standing in my kitchen, eating my snooty comfort food. I can only assume my waiter at Ellerbe’s once had a similar experience, and if so, he is now forgiven.
Novice tip: for the tartines, I sliced the tomatoes the night before to cut down on prep time at the party. Ditto for the soup; I did all my chopping Thursday night since that’s the most time consuming part of the process. I just stored all the veggies in Tupperware so all I had to do was open them up and toss in the veggies. I highly recommend that you do this as well if you’re going to be entertaining.
Some people don’t like garlic. I’m not friends with those people.
Perhaps it would be easier to dislike garlic and its pungent perfume, but though I won’t be dabbing it on my wrists and behind my ears anytime soon, I. Love. Garlic. In fact, I’m pretty sure I love everything about it. I love the taste. I love the smell that lingers in the kitchen. The fact that it’s good for you just makes it easier to adore. And my most favorite part about garlic? The smell of my fingers after chopping it. I’ll be at work the next day, thinking hard about some strategy or other, chin cradled in hand, and “oh, what’s that?” Yes, I just surreptitiously sniffed my fingers, and I liked it.
Lentil Vegetable Soup calls for three cloves of garlic, but I added four. I almost always add at least one more clove than is called for. And then I chopped the yellow onions. The kitchen is starting to smell ever so savory. Now, on to the leeks. And then I pause. These are not leeks. These are white bulb onions, or so says the farmer’s tag wrapped around the green stems.
This is a white bulb onion:
Photo credit: HarvestWizard.com
This is a leek:
Photo credit: BonApetite.com
So, on this blog post, you (and by you, I mean me, the amateur) might think leeks and white bulb onions look a lot a like. Well, they kinda do, but what you can’t see here is the size difference. White bulb onions are dainty little things, only a smidge larger than a chive or green onion (she says like she knows what the freak she’s talking about). Leeks are hefty and much larger.
I watched Ina Garten’s show. I watched her cut the leek and demonstrate how she recommended I, her sweet innocent viewer, cut the damn thing. And then I marched into Central Market and stood in front of the greens for five minutes trying to figure out which were the leeks. I shoulder most of the blame, but really, Central Market, mark your leeks better. Seriously, though, even if I hadn’t seen the episode, I would have needed only a modicum of logic to determine that the green thingy with white ends in my hand was not in fact a leek but instead a white bulb onion. See, Miss Ina is smart. She very clearly indicated that four cups of chopped leeks is ALSO three whole leeks (just the white bits). So, when examining the puny white onion compared to the recipe at hand, I SHOULD have deduced that there was NO way three of these little guys would make four cups of anything.
But.
I didn’t.
Never fear, yet another reason I prefer cooking over baking. I decided that in cooking, a little boo boo like leeks versus white bulb onions is like using a synonym. It’s all good. It still tastes lovely and is on the right track. But in baking, if, say, you were to accidentally purchase baking soda instead of baking powder, you might have a real disaster on your hands. I actually have no idea what I’m talking about, but I’m guessing this would be the case.
In the end, the soup is so delicious, white bulb onions and regular green lentils (they were out of French green lentils) and all.
And my fingers smell awesome.
Robert Burns’s poem To a Mouse should be amended to “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men ‘an optimistic cooks / Gang aft agley.” I’ve yet to tackle the Vegetable Lentil Soup, but that’s mainly due to the logistics of the size of our fridge; I can bring the soup to boil, but I’ve no room to store it. Hopefully I’ll have a chance to try my hand at green lentils tomorrow night, though, before my week (and life) gets away from me.
Here’s a quick recap of my conquests since Saturday night. I thought about snapping pics of the finished product as well as the disaster I make of our kitchen, but if you know anything about food, you know it’s a booger to photograph, so I shall use my words instead.
- Herbed Quinoa: Sooooo good. Please make this. I followed the recipe really closely, and I suppose my only recommendation is that if you’re going to squeeze the lemons Giada-style (squeezing with one hand while the other catches the lemon seeds), you’re going to be fishing around your chicken stock for errant seeds (*ahem*). Perhaps a juicer or other method might be more sanitary…
- Caramelized Onion and Grapefruit Salad: Making this recipe is me being adventurous and trying new tastes to broaden my healthy eating horizon. I don’t love grapefruit. In fact, I don’t recall the last time I ate one before today. But, I’m willing to try something new to break out of my salad rut (mixed greens, tomatoes, blah blah). [Note: I used red grapefruit because the store didn't have pink.] Further, I really dislike liquorice, and the recipe calls for fennel, which, in case you don’t know, tastes very liquorice-y. However, I figured for $2 I can give the fennel a whirl. I tasted a piece. It was OKAY, so, to be brave, I popped a few slivers into the salad. It’s much more inoffensive all mixed in, so next time I’ll use more. Well, a tiny bit more. And I will be making this salad a lot. I caramelized the onions the night before and stored them in the fridge, and they add such wonderful flavor. This salad is super-healthy (the only fat is olive oil, I think), and wow, so delish. I can’t wait to have it for lunch Monday!
- Homemade Granola Bars: I’ll know tomorrow if they’re any good. But man, they sure smelled awesome. However, I remain less than confident until the taste test (upon slicing) tomorrow morning. Fingers (the ones I haven’t burnt yet) crossed!
So here we are. No guarantees that I’ll keep up the updates, but I’m confident I’ll be keeping up the cooking. I have lots of herbs leftover from the quinoa, so I’m thinking I’m going to make an herbed omelet tomorrow morning.
Weird. I feel like a need a signature sign-off like “Bon apetite!” or “Yummo!” but none are coming to mind. I suppose that, along with the granola bars, is TBD.
—- UPDATE —-
The granola bars taste REALLY good, but, I think I need to make them again before I’m comfortable about giving them away as a gift. This is a common occurrence with baking for me. With cooking, I often can hit the ball out of the park on the first try. With baking, I almost always have to try the recipe twice before successful completion. I should just start buying double the ingredients in anticipation of this. Ugh. Anyway, the bars turned out a bit hard, which is because I should have taken them out of the oven as soon as they were “golden brown” as the directions suggested rather than sticking to the “25-30 minutes” in the oven. I guess I was more comfortable following the objective directions rather than subjective. In the end, the bars are more brown than golden. So, I did what any normal person would do. I brought them to the office! My office mates looooove goodies. Actually, I think this is pretty common in any office setting, but in any rate, my colleagues are happily munching the granola bars. My friend will just have to continue to wait for her healthy holiday treat!
Eggs: Last night (earlier in this post) I mentioned I would use the leftover herbs to make eggs this morning. WOW! So good! This idea was actually inspired by a menu item at Martha’s in Hermosa Beach, CA. I took thyme, Italian flat leaf parsley, scallions, and basil, chopped up the herbs, whipped up the eggs, and dropped in a slice of Laughing Cow cheese. What a decadent, luxurious and dignified start to my day! I think I’m going to be keeping these herbs on hand from now on. That is how scrambled eggs should always be eaten!
As I write this, I quickly remember that I infinitely prefer cooking to baking. In cooking, improvisation is forgiven if not encouraged. In baking, if you mix things out of order, you end up with putty instead of cookies, and that’s speaking from experience.
So tonight, I’m baking homemade granola bars as I mentioned in my earlier post, and I’ve decided that on my culinary tour of self-discovery, I’ll share novice tips. If you’ve ever held any accomplishment in the kitchen, you’ll surely think me a fool, but just in case I can save you from similar missteps, here’s novice tip #1 of the evening:
1. Not all baking dishes are guaranteed to fit in your oven.
That’s right. I greased up my cookie sheet, dropped on the oats, almonds and coconut, and, like trying to put on jeans the day after Thanksgiving, the sheet was too big for the oven. Who knew?! I didn’t, that’s for sure. So, I guess you should know how big your oven is prior to stocking up on kitchen tools. I’m giving myself a small free pass though; this is only the second time I’ve turned on our oven…
2. The recipe called for 2/3 cup of honey. This may or may not be exactly 8oz (I’ll look it up later) — the size of the honey bear I bought for the occasion — but honey being very sticky, I recommend you have more than you think you’ll need since all 8oz weren’t going to be coming out of this honey bear any time this evening. Fortunately, I like honey, so I had extra on hand, but even if you fill up your 2/3 cup precisely, you’re still not going to get it all into the saucepan unless you follow EXPERT TIP #1 (from one Ina Garten, Barefoot Contessa): boil the inside of your measuring cup first to keep the honey from sticking to the cup. HOWEVER, my cup was plastic, so I decided to not follow this wise advice.
3. Read the recipe and instructions all the way through at least once rather than starting at the top and working your way down. I’ve found this particularly important in baking. For instance, don’t start mixing together ingredients while only reading the ingredients section. I recommend reading the ingredients THEN the directions, and THEN getting to work. *sigh*
So now my bars are baking, and I have a massive mess (per usual) to clean. Baking is funny. It’s all rush rush rush to get the ingredients mixed in at just the right moment, and then… 25 minutes to clean up. Maybe I like this after all.
