Jan 5, 2012 |
1. Colored lights are beautiful no matter what time of year it is.
2. Christmas is December 25, the Christmas Season runs from Labor Day through a week after New Year’s Day; with a few other holidays mixed in as well.
3. Being vocal about a Christmas wishlist can be really beneficial.
4. It is better to give; but it’s oh-so-fun to receive.
5. I like putting effort into making holiday treats: baking cookies, crafting gifts.
6. Books make the best gifts.
7. Nutcrackers make the best guardians.
8. Christmas colors are red, green, and white.
9. Holiday colors are silver, gold, and blue.
10. Cats like to climb trees, even the fake ones.
11. There’s a Keurig for every moment.
12. “It’s a Wonderful Life” is a year-round lesson.
13. “Miracle on 34th Street” is a year-round wish.
14. Family memories mean more when they’re wrapped in pretty packages.
15. The internet and phone are not replacements for absent family, but they help.
16. Santa may or may not be real. The Holiday Spirit always is.
17. Ham and potato salad will always be the best Christmas meal at our house.
18. It doesn’t have to be cold and snowy to be Christmas, but it helps.
19. January 1st is a great day to experiment with new recipes.
20. Resolutions are made to be broken.
21. The New Year offers a clean slate. Keep only what you want. Wipe the rest away. Add to your foundation. Turn the page. Start over.
22. If you’re alive, you have a purpose. Find it. Reach for it. Achieve it. Share it.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Jan 4, 2012 |
Every now and then I have some off-the-wall dreams.
Years ago, I dreamt (several times) that my friend Cynthia and I knew the people from The West Wing. Sometimes we were characters and sometimes we were actors and sometimes we were just part of the group.
Last summer I dreamt I was with the television writing crew for Flashpoint when one of the actors came up and instead of me being awestruck by him (although secretly I really was!), he just complimented me on my butter recipe and said, “You make great toast.”
There’s the one where I was a character in a crime drama, that when I wrote it out actually read more like a Heavenly visit. (You can read that sappy story here.)
About a month ago, I had a great dream about Johnny Depp falling in love with my ratatouille and endorsing my cookbook.
But on this New Year’s morning, I woke up right after dreaming of George. Clooney, to be exact. I was a few years older, living in a large apartment back east that was also where I worked as a Writer (note the Capital “W”, very exciting!).
I had people coming in and out constantly: family, friends, business associates. I came out of the Kitchen area and turned a corner into the foyer and literally ran into George Clooney. There. In my apartment. Something about meeting my business manager for whatever reasons. Even in my dream, I couldn’t pay attention because my brains scrambled like the eggs I had just cooked. We sat down and apparently I got a little too close to him because he looked at me a little strangely as I muttered something about the gods hearing my prayers…
But then the dream turned. It flash-forwarded as dreams do, and the next moment we were sitting in the same room across a coffee table laden with open notebooks and coffee cups (He complimented my coffee, by the way. That’s 3 for the celebrity chef status I’m going for!).
The notebooks were all kinds of information and ideas on how to help the children of Darfur. He educated me on the political climate, and I offered some serious fund-raising advice for feeding the people.
Together we sat for what must have been hours ~ too bad the actual dream didn’t last that long. But what did last was that feeling of urgency. That feeling of necessity to help others in need. Not just locally or federally, but globally.
Ever since I woke from that dream, I can’t – don’t want to – shake those feelings. It was so real. So authentic. So desperate. But I don’t have any notebooks filled with how-to-help information and ideas. I don’t have any news clippings and personal experiences in this realm.
And while one of my New Year’s Resolutions is to not make resolutions I know I can’t keep, I think this is one I should strive for. Even if I can’t accomplish anything, I need to at least try on this one. I need to find a way to bring attention to those in need, and I need to find a way to actually help them. No matter how little it seems.
But what can I do? I’m just a blogger, a chef, a mom. George doesn’t know me. I don’t know any political leaders. And I don’t know how to reach across oceans.
What can I do, George? Are you listening? Is anyone?
Because I am.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Jan 3, 2012 |
Started: December 29, 2011
Finished: December 31, 2011
What I loved best: There were several elements that I pondered during, and after, reading this book.
The first was that while the prior three books seemed to have one linear storyline, Prince Caspian had two storylines going at first: The Prince, and the Children. Of course they meet up in the book, and I won’t ruin it for those who have yet to read the series by giving any more details. But in the course of reading, I was consumed by one story and then reminder of the other. It was a refreshing roller-coaster ride.
The second was the character of Trufflehunter the Badger. I loved that he claimed his ancestors’ faith as his own, insisting that “Badgers don’t change.” He often repeated this when others questioned him. He never questioned his beliefs. He just kept believing. His faith gave him strength in times of uncertainty.
The third element was of course the return of Aslan and how the other characters reacted to Him. Again, I won’t give any more details for those who haven’t read the book, with this exception: Aslan’s individual relationships offered differing interactions with each character, and I held my breath at each introduction. How the others reacted to His presence was at times endearing, tearful, and full of joy.
It was a wonderful sampling of how mankind turns to (or away from) the God who created us, who still loves us, and who fights for us even if we don’t want the fight or feel worthy of someone else’s attentions.
I’m more than halfway through the Chronicles of Narnia series and all I can say (without giving you details you don’t yet want) is: read the series for yourself. No matter what your age, you’ll get a great joy out of the easy-to-read stories and continuing characters. Lewis’ writing style is not one to be missed.
Trust me.
Jan 2, 2012 |
I’m not gonna lie. I hope this post attracts lots and lots of attention. I hope beyond hope that somehow, someway, Keurig sees it, and like any other great food blogger, I’ll be contacted and offered mucho free product to review for them. I’d love a stinking huge Keurig gift basket to show up on my doorstep with a “Thanks for thinking of Us” card attached. Yeah… I sure can dream, can’t I?
In order to understand my love for Keurig, you must understand my love for coffee. It all began when I was a junior in college and staying up late with my friend in the dorms. Now she was a coffee drinker. She knew Starbucks before they were on every corner. And during one particularly long study session which kept us up already past a decent hour, she said, “I need coffee. I’m going to the cafeteria.” I didn’t drink coffee much back then. Sure I’d had it as a kid with lots of milk and sugar. But as a regular, Mmm-mmm good! Gotta have it! thing, notsomuch. It was too hot and strong for me, so I added a few ice cubes. That’s the ticket!
And thus began my love affair with coffee. A few years later, a former boyfriend came to town and since it was close to my birthday, he took me to lunch. We drove to the outskirts of the neighboring town, to a quaint little restaurant off the freeway that garnered much attention for it’s 50’s-era style. The food was great, and the coffee was decent. We started talking about really good coffee and he suggested we make the 30 minute drive to the nearest Starbucks. I’m game! So off we went on an impromptu coffee run.
Now, when I say I live in the Southern California desert, that’s not exactly true. I live in a residential suburb that’s planted in the desert. But you don’t really understand the meaning of the word desert until you start driving toward Barstow. And how it is that Barstow got a Starbucks long before we did is still a bone of contention around here. So. You get my excitement at driving just for good coffee. I was thinking this would be a really great birthday!
We were so busy chatting and getting caught up that we missed the first turn off. Hmm. No worries. There’s another one in a mile.
Missed it.
So we kept driving. It’s not easy to get lost on the 15 North. It’s not like there are any sidestreets to get in the way or mislead us. So we just kept talking, driving, figuring we could turn back once we reach Calico Ghost Town. A darn good birthday drive.
Missed it again. We were just about to turn around when I saw it. The first billboard indicating Sin City lay ahead: Las Vegas! And what, you ask, did the billboard advertise for that fine town? David Cassidy in Concert. Ohhh, babyyy….! I’m pretty sure I drooled. Or squeeled. Or both.
I pointed and said, “Ooh, let’s go there!” I was just joking. He wasn’t. And he said, “Wanna go?” Just like that. Uhmmm… WHAT?!?! Five dollars in my back pocket. Never been to Vegas. Hair and makeup not quite done properly. We were only supposed to be getting coffee. So I made a quick phone call to my family and said, “Hey, I’m gonna be home seriously late… like, tomorrow morning!” and it was settled.
Two great things happened that night. The first is that David Cassidy stood ten feet in front of me with his microphone, looked into my eyes and sang, “I Think I Love You”, to the dismay of all other females in the audience. The second is that I had a really great cup of coffee.
Now that’s a birthday!
Flash-forward over a decade, and I’ve become quite the coffee snob. I make Folgers when I have to, but prefer the Starbucks drive-thru. Especially since it’s literally a block from where I worked.
Last spring, I treated my mom to a birthday celebration at The Mission Inn in Riverside. It’s a beautiful, historic Inn. Just 35 minutes south of home, I used to drive there often to see the sights and surrounding areas, but never stayed there. This was the first vacation with all three of us: Mom, Me, and Dot. And it was the best. Our concierge was so helpful. She was in constant communication with me by phone and email. I explained to her my personal ideas and she threw in some marvelous touches that I never thought of. Once we were settled, she came up to personally introduce herself and wish my mom a wonderful birthday. [If you ever get the chance to stay at the Mission Inn, do so! And let them know I sent you!]
I’m so in love with the history that the Mission Inn has. I’m particularly fond of Author’s Row, where I hope to vacation some day. Many wonderful authors have not only stayed at the Mission Inn, but written books while there. I’m pretty sure there’s a Magic Pen around there, and I just need to find it.
Years ago, at one of the Inn’s corners, was this great place: The Mission Inn Coffee House. I was so looking forward to grabbing a Starbucks-quality coffee. But it has since been replaced with the Bella Trattoria, which is a fine Italian dining establishment where we suffered under heatlamps in 20 mph winds and rain just to eat my first ever veal (lasagna, it was superb!) and a true tiramisu; all while listening to Bocelli in the background.
Our room was tucked into a corner and we had a grand door overlooking the Spanish Patio, Author’s Row, and windows overlooking the pool. It was exquisite. The first morning we woke to find the coffee pot was a Keurig.
I’d never tried a Keurig before. I considered it a flashy gem, a gaudy ring on the hand of the rich and famous. A bling-bling that unnecessarily flaunted snobbery. I knew nothing. The Mission Inn had printed wonderfully simple instructions. They could have called
it “Keurig for Dummies”: Pour water. Select K-cup. Brew.
Voila! Keurig + Molly = Coffee Snob.
It was so simple. So easy. So flavorful! It took me only two weeks to get my own. Just like the one at from our room at the Mission Inn. The only difference is the color. Theirs is black. Mine is red.
You know how all roads lead to Rome? That’s how it is with me and coffee. Whereas every significant coffee moment in my life holds a great memory, there is nothing, nothing, nothing like the enjoyment I have with my Keurig. Each day, the perfect cup of coffee awaits me. I enjoy a variety of flavors without worrying about one bag of beans going stale before I finish it. When I need an extra boost, I brew a short cup full of caffeine. If I’m looking for a casual day at home, a full 12 ounces fills my cup.
And we’re not just talking coffee, here, either! Cocoas and ciders and teas, oh my! I also love brewing a clean cup of hot water for my instant oatmeal breakfasts, or regular tea bags. And let’s not forget that when I want to use my regular gourmet coffee grounds, I have the replaceable My K-Cup. With over 200 flavors and so many ways to brew, there is absolutely no possible way to make a bad cup of coffee.
All roads may lead to Rome, but all coffee leads to Keurig.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Jan 1, 2012 |
This isn’t really a recipe, although I’ll tell you in a minute what I made and how I made it. I’m just fairly tickled that it turned out so well.
The other day, Dot was hungering for some authentic Mexican flavors and Del Taco just didn’t fit the bill. I wasn’t about to toss $20 at a waiter for Spanish rice, either, so she had to make do with whatever was in the Stock Pantry.
Taking a notion from her mother (more like a push while saying, “Just go look!”), she returned to the kitchen with several canned goods and proceeded to make her own delicious little combo.
Here’s the (Not) Recipe part: She drained a can of white meat chunk chicken and broke it up into a frying pan. On low heat, she warmed it up and added a few tablespoons of red enchilada sauce and then a spoonful or two of diced green chilies. Separately, she heated up a can of refried beans. When all was said and done, in about five minutes, she had her Mexican flavors all blended together. Simple, right?! The only thing missing was the tortilla (which I have been reminded, several times, to add to this week’s grocery list).
I know, I know. That’s breakfast? Nope. Not at all. Now comes the second (Not) Recipe part of this post.
This morning we woke up and headed into the kitchen. In keeping with last month’s determination to have breakfast together, every day (and I’ve only missed twice in three weeks, thankyouverymuch!), I offered to make up some eggs and real fried bacon. I say real fried bacon, because I used to cook turkey bacon. On paper towels. In the microwave. And then I was reminded by my mom, who taunted me with flavor and taste, how wonderful real bacon is, especially from the frying pan. Not only that, but saving the bacon fryings to use for cooking up eggs and such later… It brought me back to my childhood, to my mom’s kitchen, to wonderful memories and smells and flavors… all the things I want for Dot. So. I’ve reverted back to the wonder that is pan-fried real bacon.
And eggs cooked in the bacon fryings: that flavorful fat that drips off the meat in such heavenly aroma as to make me wonder how I ever thought microwaved turkey bacon could be satisfactory. The oily crunchy bits of ham danced in the pan, waiting to be absorbed by the eggs. It was a delicious moment.
Ah, the eggs. I’m forgetting the eggs! Well, as is a weekend (and often, weekday) habit, I called my mom and offered her a seat at the breakfast table which she accepted. When she arrived, I offered a cup of coffee (which is an entirely separate review for my Keurig, sigh upon sighs…!) and proceeded to mix up the eggs.
I’ve been wanting to make frittata for a while now but Dot hates waiting that long in the morning. So I offered to make scrambled eggs with some mix-in’s. A fairly decent compromise, if I do say so myself. But what will I mix in that three different people would like? I peeked into the fridge and lo and behold! There was a container with some leftover enchilada chicken mix. I’m pretty sure I began to sing or something.
I cracked open six eggs. Blended them up with a little milk. Added about a cup of the chicken mix and a half cup of shredded sharp Cheddar cheese. (The refried beans were not included in this party, just in case you were wondering and thinking it might a little gross.) I cooked the egg mixture with a tablespoon of bacon fryings.
It was, as they say, bon appetit! I’m excited to use Dot’s chicken mixture in frittata next week. All she wanted was a little Mexican flavor. She had no idea the great recipes she’s influenced. I’m glad to see her taking after her Momma.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
