First of all, it IS Friday, can you give me a big hoorrah?? I can absolutely guaranf***ingtee you I will NOT be up at 6:00 a.m. this weekend.
Any suggestions as to what I should make for brunch on Sunday? I want to do something a little out of the norm and make a meal that is healthier than what I’m accustomed to cooking on a Sunday morn.
I just had to fill out a health-related form that asked for my age, height, weight and then asked me if I were pregnant. “You have GOT to be joking” was not, oddly enough, an option. At any rate, filling out this form along with the pestering suggestions of a long-time friend has me scouring the Weight Watcher’s site today (hence the request for healthier Sunday Brunch suggestions). I lost a great deal of weight on WW when Darling Daughter was about 3 years old, and I’ve never gained it all back, although I’m getting close to that weight again and I don’t want to get any closer. Can you all bear to listen to me moan over my diet? I am considering a blog for just that purpose.
I don’t have much to say about Senator McCain’s acceptance speech last night, except that it, too, caused a skeptical raising of the eyebrows a time or two. I have to say, though, after seeing his mother any doubts I might have had about his age have been more or less soothed. The woman does not look 96 and is apparently still quite on the ball. He could very well hold two terms in office and come out, at 82, in good health and with all his marbles rolling around where they’re supposed to be.
I’m going to stay out of the middle of the whole Sarah Palin brouhaha, but I found The Dame Domain’s post about her admiration for the governor of Alaska quite thought-provoking.
I apologize (mostly to Midlife Slices) for the tardiness this post, but, well, between work and attempting to recover from the events that prompted this little essay…let’s just say that the hangover has kept me from writing coherently. (Yeah, yeah, I know - it’s not all that coherent to begin with. Leave me to my small vanities, will ya??)
See this? This is my world. For the most part, it’s a comfy world.
It should be. I earned it. Three of the kids are on their own, one of them is a junior in high school and an excellent student (not to mention in another state), leaving one child at home. This child is the sweetest and most sensitive of the kids in a lot of ways. While he often overfloweth with the teenage ‘tude, mostly when faced with a Saturday morning full of chores, for the most part he is just so damn good-natured that I write about him often, singing his praises.
Then I get thrown a curve ball. And beaned in the noggin with it, to boot.
I was sitting at the dining room table my desk the other evening, engrossed in a little project I have going on, just barely aware that Beloved and The Young One were carrying on in the other room, as they are wont to do, when I heard the boy wail, “But I don’t WANT to tell her!!”
This is usually not a good sign.
He slumped into the dining room, and with his head hanging, announced he had looked at p*rn on the internet. I don’t know what kind of an expression I had on my face, but it must not have been good because he burst in to tears and began wailing, “I’m sorry, Mom! I’m SO SORRY!!” I managed to collect myself enough to tell him not to cry, and that going to “those kinds of sites” could very well install malware on his computer. That idea seemed to upset him more than having to confess to me.
The boy is VERY attached to his computer. So much so that his father and I are in the process of building him a new one. Which is now going to have some state-of-the-art parental control software on it.
I’m not entirely certain how it all transpired because Beloved is handling the whole matter. Once I was duly confessed to, I was more or less taken out of the equation, a fact I’m fairly grateful for. The first time this sort of situation came about, when Oldest Son found and absconded with a fair portion of his father’s hardcore p*rn collection, I was left entirely on my own to deal with it (there’s a long, long story behind all of that; maybe I’ll tell it eventually, but the tone of this blog is fairly light and humorous and I certainly don’t want to ruin it by talking too much about…him).
It’s not that it was particularly difficult then to talk to my darling little baby boy who had somehow transformed overnight into a testosterone-laden adolescent who never came out of the bathroom about realistic expectations and how a great deal of p*rn (especially the kind his father was fond of) was demeaning to both men and women and how wonderful sex can be between two people who care for each other and here, babysit your little brother for 36 hours straight if you get it into your head to do something I’ll make sure you’ll live to regret later, but that was a long time ago. When I had a waistline and estrogen and my moods were something that resembled stable.
I believe part of Beloved’s approach to dealing with the situation consists of the occasional, strategically “abandoned” Playboy magazine, but it’s hard to tell since I was sitting in another room with my fingers in my ears singing “la la la la la la laaaaaa” over and over again.
I hope everyone in the States is having a lovely holiday weekend, and everyone else is having a good Monday. I’ve been so grateful for a 3-day weekend, and we’ve done very little in the way of work work - just housework and yardwork. Today I’m baking, mostly cheddar bread and brownies at They Young One’s request for his school lunches this week. And my Southwest Spoon Bread for brunch today, which has become one of Beloved’s favorite dishes.
True to his word, Beloved took me down to Amish country Saturday. We took a lot of back roads that we hadn’t traveled before, so we saw a lot of scenery we hadn’t seen before, and a lot more buggies. First, though, we went to visit Smucker’s. Yes, the Smucker’s jam and jelly people; their company was founded in Orville, Ohio (”Reddenbacher must be right down the road,” observed Beloved) in the late 19th century and they have a storefront/museum you can visit and - of course - buy things.
We now call it Smucker’s Authentic Jam and Jelly Tourist Trap, becasue there wasn’t a darn thing in there that you couldn’t get in a regular grocery store (unless you count the flannel pajamas I saw one elderly lady purchasing), and the museum part was bland and stuck in the back of the building.
Oh, well; at least we can say we’ve been there now.
After that came the back roads, and because they were back roads, you tend to see a lot of this. We take a great deal of care around the Amish buggies; most of these people, especially on Saturdays when they do their marketing and run their errands, have their children with them and it really pisses us off when other vehicles - especially big 18-wheelers - go speeding down the roads there, especialy over hills when you can come up behind a buggy very quickly.
We soon found ourselves at Lehman’s Hardware, which is always fun and fascinating, no matter how often we go there. I didn’t get any pictures, it was just so crowded, but an older Amish couple set up “shop” out in the large gravel parking lot out back of the store, selling the most beautiful split wood, hand-crafted baskets, as well as homemade cookies and jams. The Amish are usually friendly but reserved, but this couple was downright outgoing. The man ambled right over when he saw us looking at some tall, oval baskets with lids and leather handles (we were considering one for a laundry hamper) and started showing us how the lids fit, since they were obviously hand-carved. The woman cheerfully asked us where we were from and chattered away. The baskets weren’t cheap, so we went on in to the store where I bought 3 Beverly Lewis novels, a new flour sifter and some popcorn seasoning.
We bought the basket on the way out. Because we’re gullible easy that way.
Next we did some more winding around back roads we hadn’t traveled before, taking a lot of pictures and playing a lot of Cow Rummy. Before I knew it, Beloved was taking a back road, trying to get around the traffic into downtown Berlin. I think he took my assertion that he probably wouldn’t want to go there as a personal challenge…in fact, I know he did. I like that about him. And the next I knew, we were here. Yes, that’s Beloved, being the very, very good sport he is.
Here are just a few of the very beautiful quilts sold here. All of them are handmade by the local Amish women.
And you know that old saying “Lust for Ask and ye shall receive?” Look at what I got.
Yup, that’s our bed and my new quilt. Here’s a closeup.
I love it! It makes that hideous furniture in our bedroom (no, I didn’t pick it out - it was Beloved’s before I met him) almost bearable.
The only thing is, now I feel compelled to make the damn bed every day.
When I got into the kitchen to cook brunch this morning, I still had no idea what I was going to cook. I had eggs, bacon, cheese - all the usual stuff - and knew that I could make cheese grits or spoon bread and no one would complain. But I wanted to do something different and post the recipe so I began taking stock of what was laying around. I spied a bag of ripe bananas we’d picked up on sale at the store yesterday, and thought “Hmmm…banana bread” before I realized I had no baking soda. Then I thought about the white bread sitting on the counter and remembered I had some honey in the pantry as well as some maple syrup.
So we had grilled bananas over French toast. It’s hard to believe that anyone could be lukewarm about this dish, but - you guessed it - The Young One managed to be. He refused the bananas and syrup and ate the toast plain. The nice thing about this French toast, though, is that it’s pretty good plain or with just a dusting of powdered sugar. Topped with the grilled bananas and just a drizzle of pure maple syrup and accompanied by some crisp bacon, it’s simply sublime.
French Toast with Grilled Bananas
serves 3 as a main dish or 6 as a side dish
Grilled Bananas
2 - 3 large ripe bananas
3 - 4 tablespoons honey
Ground cinnamon, optional
Peel the bananas and cut into long, diagonal slices. Heat the honey in the microwave or small saucepan until very fluid. Toss the bananas with the honey in a shallow bowl until all of the slices are coasted (this can be done 1 to 2 hours in advance). Heat a cast-iron skillet (preferably a ridged one) over high heat until very hot but not smoking. Quickly lay coated banana slices in a single layer in the pan and sprinkle with the cinnamon, if desired. Grill about 1 minute on each side, cooking in batches if necessary; transfer to a plate and keep warm.
French Toast
2/3 cups half and half
4 large eggs
2 tablespoons pure maple syrup, or granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 slices white bread, with or without crusts
Thoroughly whisk together all of the ingredients except the bread in a large, shallow bowl. Heat a large skillet or griddle over medium heat and melt enough butter to coat the surface. Dip the bread, one slice at a time, into the egg mixture, turning until thoroughly saturated but not falling apart. Add as many slices of bread to the skillet or griddle as will fit without crowding and cook until the underside is golden brown. Turn the bread and cook until the second side is golden. Keep warm until all the toast has been cooked.
Top with grilled bananas and drizzle with maple syrup, if desired.
‘Cause this getting up at the crack of absurd every morning? It’s for the birds. Actually, birds aren’t even up yet when I drag my creaky, puffy carcass out of bed every day to make sure The Young One is up and properly fed and watered before he slumps off to the hallowed halls of middle school.
More good news is Beloved came home last night at a reasonable hour, so we were able to eat dinner and lay in bed while we watched Barack Obama’s acceptance speech for the Democratic nomination.
**WARNING: Completely uncharacteristic and absolutely subjective political opinion ahead**
Whether or not you agree with his politics, you have to admit the man is charismatic as hell. And while this middle-aged babe will be voting for Bob Barr come November, I believe I watched the man who will be the next President of the United States. It will be interesting to watch John McCain next week when he gives his acceptance speech; how he will respond, and what promises he will make. (C’mon, Mr. Obama - we’ll be entirely free of our dependence on foreigh oil in ten years and it will only cost $150 billion? I’m really, really interested to hear the details of that little plan.)
**END: Competely uncharacteristic and absolutely subjective political opinion**
Anyhoo, no sooner had we had time to raise a skeptical eyebrow or two, chuckle at Jon Stewart’s coverage of the convention, indulge in a little - ahem - cuddle time and catch 25 or 30 winks (because it sure as hell wasn’t 40), when Beloved jumped in the car and headed to Pittsburgh for the day. I, myself, am making the pretense of working from home today and tried like hell to get him to stay home, too, even to the point of bribery with some more cuddle time this morning. (Do you hear that, men who are commenting over on Twenty Four at Heart’s wonderfully amusing gender gap posts this week?) But like most men, he just turned over and went to sleep got in the car and drove to see a client in Pittsburgh.
I feel so cheap. Good, but cheap.
And how am I repaying his desertion? Well, with dessert, actually. I’m making his favorite, Boston Cream Pie. From scratch. Because nothing says “I love you, you cuddle-and-run bastard” like a dessert that calls for a pound of butter and 10 egg yolks. (I can’t post the recipe because the cake and chocolate glaze are from Rose Levy Beranbaum’s The Cake Bible, but I will post pictures once it’s done.)
On a somewhat related note, now that The Young One has returned to school, Beloved’s traveling is becoming more manageable and we’re all back on somethng that resembles a schedule, The Sunday Brunch will be back on a regular basis as of this weekend. I don’t know what it will be yet, but there will be a recipe of something.
I hope you all have a marvelous holiday weekend. I don’t know what we’re doing Monday, although it will probably involve baby back ribs, sweet potato salad and homemade biscuits, but Beloved has promised me a trip down to Yoder Miller’s Authentic Amish Fruit and Vegetable Tourist Trap tomorrow. I’ll take my camera along, because it’s a fun drive through beautiful countryside and an interesting experience (I can’t promise pictures of the Amish themselves - they don’t like tourists to take their pictures, but their horses and buggies don’t seem to mind). Lehman’s Hardware store is always fun, and while I doubt I’ll be able to, I’ll try to get him to drive to downtown Berlin; crowded on any Saturday, it will likely be a madhouse on a holiday weekend. But there is a shop there that sells the most beautiful, intricate, Amish-made quilts. I’ve been lusting after one for years, but they’re not cheap; one that would fit our California King bed will run anywhere from $1,200 to $2,000. If I can pester talk him in to taking me there, I’ll see if they’ll let me take pictures of the place - some of the quilts are simply stunning.
When I got into the kitchen to cook brunch this morning, I still had no idea what I was going to cook. I had eggs, bacon, cheese - all the usual stuff - and knew that I could make cheese grits or spoon bread and no one would complain. But I wanted to do something different and post the recipe so I began taking stock of what was laying around. I spied a bag of ripe bananas we’d picked up on sale at the store yesterday, and thought “Hmmm…banana bread” before I realized I had no baking soda. Then I thought about the white bread sitting on the counter and remembered I had some honey in the pantry as well as some maple syrup.
