Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts

Monday, May 10, 2010

Mother's Day 2010

Not only was yesterday Mother's Day, but it was also Mama Has a Cold Day. I am sure you are familiar with all the traditions of Mother's Day, but MHACD takes all those lovely rituals and cranks them up a notch...also there is the regal barking of the orders followed by pathetic sneezing and nose wiping.  Needless to say, three whole meals were prepared for me in an effort to minimize the whining and the moping. A list of household chores was completed and no one rolled their eyes at me.

I know. The husband is totally whipped, like non-dairy topping and he's all mine.

Seriously. I don't share well.

Late in the day, Violet began whispering urgently in her Daddy's ear about something.  They both got very excited and agreed that "it" was a good idea.


Don't you dare try and tell me that her idea was anything but a selfless act of love.  Those are not ravenous eyes. I swear, she is simply admiring a good plan brought to fruition.

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This week over at I Heart Faces, they are Celebrating Mothers.  I can think of no greater celebratory food than perfectly ripe, seasonal strawberries wrapped in warm milk chocolate. Really. Don't they just look like tiny red babies all snug in wombs made of chocolate? 



Monday, November 16, 2009

Fairy Cannibalism

Aaron and I have (for better or worse) chosen very distinct and somewhat cliche parental roles for ourselves.  I am in the trenches everyday, wiping the snot and maintaining just enough order to keep the house from combusting. He allows himself to be manhandled, nay physically abused, by our sweet cherub every single day. He also encourages her to torment me with a game only they find funny, called SMELL MY BUM.  I am the voice of reason, Aaron is the voice of  the absurd.  It works out just fine for us most of the time. In fact, when a firmer hand is needed, Mean Daddy is such a shock that Violet straightens up immediately. 

Four year olds are notorious for their completely nonsensical dietary quirks. Foods are routinely rejected and Violet reserves the right to stop eating a normally accepted food without cause. My efforts to strong arm her into eating have failed spectacularly.  So, I started using deception. For some time I have been sneaking a very thin slice of turkey into Violet's grilled cheese sandwiches. Aaron took issue with this at first and warned me that she would figure it out eventually.

Violet did find out, largely due to Aaron's sloppy execution of the aforementioned hot sandwich.  He knew the jig was up and said the first ridiculous thing that came to his mind.  He told Violet that the turkey was in fact ground up fairies, the eating of which gave one special, magical powers.  I left the room, not wanting to hear the shriek of injustice, or worse, the sound of regurgitation.  What happened instead was typical of the funny father/daughter relationship that Violet and Aaron share.  She was intrigued, even delighted that she was being given such enchanted food.  I am still a little uneasy about the idea of my little girl who enjoys pretending to be a fairy, turning around and committing acts of fairy cannibalism, but it's working.  I guess I should expect nothing less from a child who has proclaimed Halloween to be her favorite holiday and whose favorite show is a Discovery Channel cartoon called Growing Up Creepie.

Perhaps it's time to get her a copy of Lady Cottington's Pressed Fairy Book. Clearly, her sense of humor is more sophisticated than I thought.


Monday, October 12, 2009

Lunch is a Battlefield

Lately, I've been lacking in kitchen inspiration.  I used to watch hours of the Food Network and I looked forward to experimenting with new recipes and flavors, but now not so much.  Food is totally unappealing to me as an activity. Sure, I want to eat it, but I'm really tired of having to prepare it. I'm tired of trying to figure out how to cook within a reasonable budget while keeping three divergent  appetites happy. You see, although creativity is usually aided by loose guidelines, my list of dietary restrictions is so long that I feel trapped inside a box full of boneless chicken and steamed peas.

My husband is not supposed to eat red meat, dairy or other high fat foods. Aaron also needs to carefully monitor his balance of soluble and insoluble fiber. He has IBS. My daughter would gratefully eat fresh fruit and steamed veggies all day long with a side of buttered bread and a slice of cheese, but she's not so keen on anything that once had a face.  In fact, she's anti-protein in general.  No beans please.

Another problem is that my husband needs to eat plain starchy foods to help with his digestion. The child sees the rice or white bread and says, screw all of this other food, I want the carbs. Oh, and Aaron has borderline eating disorder type food issues to begin with, so some days it takes every ounce of my creativity to prevent him from gorging himself on cheeseburgers or pizza.  I don't expect Violet to have a handle on good food choices, but it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if her father did. Our biggest fights are over food, because no amount of suffering is too great to come between my Aaron and a quarter-pounder with cheese.  We only have one bathroom gentle readers, so when my husband has an IBS attack, the whole house pays for it.

Violet also suffers from garden variety childhood food anxieties, like food mixing and touching and not looking like she remembers it looking. Today I made soup. Soup makes for a stressful lunch because all the food is mixed together.  Even when I make an effort to ladle chunks of familiar veggies onto her plate Violet dissolves into terrified tears. This afternoon it was celery that had her in a tizzy. The celery was touching the carrots and the potatoes on her plate and she not only didn't want to eat them, but she was scared that she might eat them by accident unless she picked up each piece of vegetable with her fingers.

 Last week, I snapped. I opened a can of Spaghettios because I was just too tired to think about making something else. All kids love Spaghettios, right?  They are relatively nutritious and probably not habit forming. What harm is there in one can?

Violet refused them. She wouldn't even taste them. I made her sit in her chair for two hours; cold lumpy Os in front of her, because I was determined not to lose face.  When she fell asleep at the table I quietly emptied her bowl into the trash and then woke her up to congratulate her for eating her lunch like a good girl.  Her little face was so relieved and only slightly bewildered.  I'm sure she thought the naughty kitten had come to her rescue, but she wasn't about to let on.  I was embarrassed that I had punished her for what amounted to sound dietary judgment.  It was a banner day.

I'm tired folks. So, very tired.  Ideas?

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Wardrobe Wednesday

We interrupt this regularly scheduled Wardrobe Wednesday to bring you cake.






I'm no great baker.  Generally, my goods are delicious or pretty and never the twain shall meet.  Today's endeavor is presentable and edible and that's about as much as I could hope for.

Because it is Aaron's birthday, there is absolutely no chocolate in this cake.  My husband refuses to eat fruit in it's healthy, raw state, but he sure does love it all pulverized and sugared in dessert form. So, I made strawberry-lemon layer cake with cream cheese icing.

FYI:  Trying to explain the skull-n-bones joke to a four year old is an exercise in futility.  She only understands sprinkles.  

This cake might have been 4 layers had Heathen Family Luck not intervened to destroy one layer as I attempted to remove it from the pan.  In the end I think that was probably for the best.  I'm already petitioning strangers on the street to come take some of this cake away.

Any blog readers in the Southwest Ohio area are welcome to come relieve me of my cakey burden.

*Oh, and lest you find me cruel and insensitive, Aaron will only be "old" for 34 days. On October 20, I will join him at the impossibly ancient age of 33. Seriously, neither of us feel a day over 31.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Egg Repurposing for the Mayonnaise Phobic

Mayonnaise scares the crap out of me.  I don't much care for the looks of ketchup either, but mayo is the one that really gets my gag reflex humming. In general, I am leery of any shiny, white, sauce-like substance. You never know when it might be mayonnaise and for some reason people think it is perfectly acceptable to lie about the mayonnaise content of a dish just to get you to try it, hoping you will leap your feet and  proclaim, "I was wrong! Mayonnaise is the food of the Gods. Please may I have some more?"



I may have some unresolved issues from my childhood...



The day after Easter, all anyone can talk about is egg salad and deviled eggs.  I mean, what else does one do with 2 dozen brightly colored hard boiled eggs?  In fact, this week is actually National Egg Salad Week.  I will be staying in doors with the shades drawn, lest I glimspe salad dripping zombies wandering up and down my street looking for stray eggs.


Here's my mayonnaise free solution to the Post-Easter egg crisis:

1.  Send your husband (cabana boy, butler, teenage child- whatever) to the grocery store to purchase pickled beets.  He will call you several times to say he cannot find them. Persevere. Pickled beets are usually located with the canned vegetables and not with the dill pickles.  Do not give in to your husband's tears. He will find the beets.



2.  Peel the eggs.  This will be difficult, what with all the distress calls from your husband at the grocery store.

 
Do all the bluish ones first because the shells will look pretty on the yellow counter top when you photograph them.
 
3.  Convince small child to try a hard boiled egg while you exasperatingly patiently wait for your jars of beets.
4.  When the husband finally arrives from his grocer's odyssey, dump everything into a lidded bowl. If you have ginormous food service jars lying around, they work even better. 
 
5.  Leave the eggs and beets in the refrigerator for  a whole day.  Do not be tempted to cut into one after 2 hours just so you can photograph it for your blog.  It won't be totally pink yet, and therefore not nearly as tasty.
Just Say No to Mayo!


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The Parent Bloggers Network wants to know what you are doing with all those left over Incredible Edible Eggs.   Go! You might win a prize!

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Unappetizing

I never intended to make Poop Cakes.

It just sort of happened.

Aaron wanted me to bake some cupcakes for him, even though it was 70 degrees and sunny, but whatever.  I doctored up a can of chocolate frosting with some peanut butter and powdered sugar.  I loath applying icing with a spatula, so I made a makeshift piping bag.

Apparently, I invented confectionery shit .



They tasted good and the addition of some painstakingly applied chocolate sprinkles made them look less like turd cakes.   Violet had a bit of a nervous breakdown when she was refused a second helping, but rules are rules.  One feces themed desert, per person, per day is quite enough.

Tomorrow is another day.
From Heathen Family Revival

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Summer Crack



Perhaps you've seen me? I'm the juice stained woman waiting for the farmer's market to open on Saturday morning. I'm strung out on nectarines and cherries. There are fruit fibers stuck between my teeth and I my sweat smells like pie.

I can quit any time I want. Really, I can.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

A Letter to My Mother

Dear Mom,

As a child, I believed with my entire soul that you had an ever expanding list of rules. A list that included bizarre, nonsensical commandments, designed for your own personal amusement and our general chagrin. It is 20 years later and I have my own child and my own household to run. It is through this lens, that I am able to the see wisdom of one very persistent edict of yours. Curiously enough, it is not my child who has brought me around to your side Mother, but my husband. The issue is the opening of foodstuffs. When I was a girl, you strictly forbade the opening of any UNopened packages, particularly cardboard boxes and milk cartons. I believed this to be a simple show of power on your part. It was a way for you to control what we ate and when or perhaps to conserve resources given your distaste for going to the store more than once a month. I now know the truth. It has nothing to do with eating, but more to do with packaging itself. I have found myself flying into a rage over a cereal box, so poorly accessed that the it is no longer fit to contain the remains of the product. Worse, I find these boxes and bags and cartons put back in their place without any effort to remedy the leakage of food. So, it is with some shame that I say to you; "You were right Mom".
*This statement should in no way be construed as an admission that you were right at any other time or that you will be right in the future. This statement is neither retro-active, nor future-active. It is simply an expression of my feeling on this one, very specific and somewhat insignificant issue of food preservation.

Your loving daughter

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