Pie Plate Encounters (of the Third Kind)

An almost-copy-&-paste-from-FB blog-entry, for reference's sake . . .

"For those who have never met me, or those who are desperately trying to forget me (even though you're still here, able to read this):

I am short. Really short. When I say short, you should think 3'10"-on-a-good-hair-and-shoe-day short. It's okay though, I've been this way my whole life.

Fourteen years ago, Big Sexy bought me two spring boards (think gymnastics) as an engagement present. One is in our bedroom, so that I can get into bed every night. The other is in our kitchen so that I can get up onto the counters and access the upper cabinets . . .

This morning, after fighting with Mr. Frustration, himself (aka Rocco) & getting everyone dressed and fed, I was unloading the dishwasher. It is here that I encountered a pie plate.

This pie plate's home is (of course) in an upper cabinet. However, we're talking about my kitchen. Which means that there isn't a nice, clean and empty spot for the pie plate to easily slide into. There is a TOWER of spring form pans, tart pans, cake pans, flan pans and other pie plates that is precariously perched on the second-from-top shelf. Putting this pie plate away means that I have to spring board myself up on top of the counter, maneuver the entire tower down from its spot, disassemble half the tower, put the pie plate in its proper place, reassemble the tower, precariously place it back on the second-from-top shelf and then (using my husband's old tower climbing harness) repel myself down off the counter to safety.

I know that I could have had this pie plate put away in the time it's taken me to write this. But, I'm just not in the mood. Which means that I'm going to spend the better part of the next hour trying to find a kick-ass dinner recipe that can be prepared in this squeaky clean pie plate."

Anyone care to join me?

UPDATE:  The night this was written, Big Sexy brought home all the fixings for Tenderloin Fondue.  So, that squeaky clean pie plate remains . . . squeaky clean.  

"We need to talk."

Did you read the title of this blog?  "We need to talk."

Are there four words in the English language that can cause more anxiety?  Especially when spoken by your four year old's preschool teacher?

That's what happened at the end of May when Martia (my four year old), had her last day of school.  That afternoon, Big Sexy and I arrived to pick her up and those four little words were said to us as soon as we entered her classroom.  Big Sexy and I responded in unison, "Uh oh."  (Seriously!  This was the LAST day of school!  Those words had not come from her teachers ALL year long.  What the what?!?)

But, to tell you that story I have to tell you this story, first:

A couple of weeks prior to, the five of us were headed out front to hop in the car.  Martia came running over to me and Big Sexy, very excited about a (potato) bug that she had found.  She was insisting that we unlock the door so she could "keep it inside."

We explained to her that the bug needed to be outside with his friends, near grass and water, to survive.  And we explained that there were hundreds of bugs to be found, once we got home.  She seemed to understand and (I thought) put the bug down in the grass.

But raising our children can be like trying to herd hummingbirds, and my attention was immediately diverted to our oldest as I began buckling him into the car, when I heard Big Sexy say, "Martia, take the bug out of your pocket."  This, followed by a gentle suggestion to me, "Um, you may want to check her pockets before you do her laundry."

Dear god.

Back to the original story:
When Mrs. Teacher pulled us aside, she explained to us that the school was able to pay for a special guest for each class's last day of the year.  The special guest was Critterman Bob from Bob's Critters.  [Insert another in-tandem, "Uh oh," from me and Big Sexy. Or maybe mine was more of a trepidatious, "Uh huh . . . "] 

Any way!  Mrs. Teacher continued her story, telling us that Martia was "quite frankly," enthralled by Critterman Bob and all his - you know - critters.  At the start, Critterman Bob asked for any volunteers to help him.  Martia was the only one to jump up, enthusiastically, offering to help.  She remained Critterman Bob's assistant for the duration of the presentation, encouraging other classmates to join in the fun.

Apparently, Critterman Bob's gig is to wear a fishing vest.  One with lots of pockets.  And each pocket contains - now you're catching on - a critter. 

Mrs. Teacher went on to tell us that Martia held everything.  Some type of parrot, a scorpion, a tarantula, several lizards, several turtles and several snakes.  She was fearless.  And her two teachers were speechless!  (And her parents were/are FULL of pride!)

She was so helpful and curious and trusting that Critterman Bob asked her teachers to explain to us what had happened and wanted to be sure we were given his business card.  He couldn't believe how well she followed his directions - holding each animal exactly as he told her.  And he was so impressed with how she put all the other students in her class at ease with each animal.

It just so happened that our son, Rocco had his last day of school the next day.  Big Sexy, Martia (and Bruno) and I all went to pick him up that day and happened to catch Critterman Bob trying (unsuccessfully) to make a quick exit.  We stood, for nearly ten minutes, waiting for him to finish up talking to a parent he obviously knew well.  Because Martia needed (NEEDED!) to see the animals again. 

Critterman Bob recognized Martia immediately, introduced himself and his critters to me and Big Sexy and patiently unpocketed or uncaged each and every animal for Martia to hold, again. 

She was amazing!  Just see for yourself . . .

Isn't she amazing?!?!?  And now she wants a snake of her own! And I'd totally do it, if there was such a thing as a vegetarian snake!  I'll have to keep researching that.  But for now, I'm off to do some laundry . . . and check some pockets!

Anyone care to join me?

Don't "Get It?" Don't Read It.

As many of you already know, Big Sexy and I have welcomed our third (and dare I say, final) baby into the world, just a few weeks ago.  Not due until April 29th, with a scheduled c-section of April 22nd, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up around 4:30am on Sunday, March 10th to find that my water had broken.  We were truly caught off guard.  After being admitted and spending five days in the hospital, trying to NOT have a baby until my new scheduled c-section on Monday the 18th, Bruno Michael decided to make his debut without much care as to what the medical professionals had to say, early Friday morning, March 15, 2013.

In the interest of Baby Bruno's safety, I had to reserve this story until he was out of the NICU and safely at home.

Many of you will get to the end of this and still have no earthly clue what I'm talking about. Some will know where I'm going and conclude that I am the nut job you always thought I was.  And others will just "get it."

If you are one of those who thinks that a coincidence is just a coincidence or if you are one that doesn't believe in guardian angels - read no further, and crown me Crazy (cause that's probably not too far fetched).

I'm not one for coincidences.  I think things - even small things - happen for reasons that we may never understand, in this lifetime.  I like to look at life as layers of mystery, hoping to be unraveled and revealed.  These are the things I love to ponder at 3:00am on any given night where sleep eludes me. 

I've always had this outlook, for as long as I could remember.  But the philosophy really solidified for me when I discovered that Big Sexy's birthday was the same day as my mother's - July 3rd.  And that's not all.   His birthday is 7/3/73.  Born 7lbs. 3oz.  Odd, right?  Well, the number 73 has followed him most of his life (BA - "Before Aim") and has continued to follow us throughout our marriage.  It is uncanny the number of things that have (or have had) the number "73" in it.  Anything from driver's license numbers to credit cards, etc.  A psychic once told me that this was the universe's way of telling us that everything was "okay" or that we were "on the right path."

Regardless, it is a neat little phenomena that sort of follows us around through life - and makes me smile when I see it.  When I put the kids in the car in the morning, to take them to preschool and my dash board says that I have 73 miles until empty - I think it's going to be a good day.  When we take a trip and our hotel room has the number 73 in it somewhere - I feel like we are going to have a better-than-expected time.  When our bank issues me a new debit card and there is a 73 in it, I hope and pray this means that we will make all the right financial decisions for our little family.  LOL

Crazy that a number can make me think happy thoughts?  Probably.  But, it's how I'm wired.  Some people have family crests or plaids.  We have a family number.

So, on to the story . . .

As many of you know, the safety and security surrounding newborns in the hospital is typically handled by banding Mommy, Daddy and Baby all with a matching code of some type, on a bracelet.  Codes are checked anytime Baby needs to be moved to and from Mommy's room and upon discharge - ensuring that the correct Baby and Mommy are paired.


With NICU babies, it is handled in a very similar fashion.  Except, the NICU is locked, with a phone just outside the doors.  When you pick up the phone it automatically rings to the NICU Nurses' Station and a brief conversation sounds something like this:

Parent:  Hi, this is So-And-So here to see Baby So-And-So.  Our number is:  Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

Nurse:  Okay, come in.

With that, the little red light on the locked door turns green (briefly - for anyone trying to navigate a wheelchair through the doors, just after a c-section) and the door is unlocked.  Then, off you go to the scrub room, where iodine and soap filled sponges are guaranteed to take the top five layers of skin off your hands and forearms in a slow, methodical and menacing fashion.

So.  Baby Bruno's  bracelet code?  "22409"






















Guess who I thought of?

I choose to believe that Baby Bruno has a Guardian Angel.

Any one care to join me?

A Passion for Parmesan

This past Friday was our children's Preschool Valentine's Dance for Daddies/Daughters & Mommies/Sons.  Since both our son and daughter and enrolled at the same school, we were lucky enough to make it a family event. 

I had signed up to bring appetizers.  And since I have culinary issues, I spent the better part of two days shopping for and making a myriad of tasty morsels.

Two of the recipes that I chose called for Parmesan Cheese - which, when heated in an oven, comes close to becoming the King of All Cheeses, as Mario Batali calls it.  Close.  But, I think Mario has a tendency to overlook Romano (my choice for most pastas, soups and sauces).  I love that Romano is saltier than Parmesan, allowing for less salt to be added to dishes.

As usual, I digress!  Today we celebrate Parmesan - nutty, flavorful Parmesan!

Let's be clear what we are talking about here, though.  We are not talking about "shaky cheese" Parmesan.  (That's what my kids call it.)  In other words, do not trudge down one of the center aisles of the grocery store and grab "cheese" that has been sitting, unrefrigerated, in a cylindrical container, on a shelf, for an indefinite amount of time.  Or, at least, if you do and you hate these recipes, don't blame it on me.  (This section had to be added for a wonderful friend, who was annoyed with herself for buying the wrong kind.  The reality is, it'll still work and be good.  But the freshly shredded, high moisture Parm. will push your taste buds over the edge.) 

Go to your grocer's cheese counter and either purchase a nice big block of Parmesan that you will then take home and shred, yourself.  Or by a bag of SHREDDED (not shaky and grated) Parmesan that the store has shredded for you.  Look for a Parmesan that has good moisture content - one that is more "white" in color than brown, for these recipes.  The moisture content makes a BIG difference when you are baking with this cheese.  It allows a long cook time (which you are going to need, especially for the crackers) without the cheese becoming too dry.

So, what are we making?

Bacon Parmesan Crackers (bottom) & Savory Parmesan Thumbprints (top) 

Bacon Parmesan Crackers

Watch how simple this is.  No need for exact amounts, as it depends on how many you are making.  Personally, I recommend you make a TON.  They are addictive and will fly off your serving platter.
Grab:
A box of Keebler Club Crackers
A bag of SHREDDED Parmesan
A package of Bacon.

Cut the bacon strips in half lengthwise and again crosswise - you're cutting quarter strips. Put 1 tsp. cheese on each cracker, wrap a quarter strip of bacon around each cracker and bake @ 200 degrees for one hour, turn oven up to 250 and baked another 30-45 minutes. HUGE hit!!

Tip:  I've seen variations of this recipe that say to bake on a rack that's been placed on a baking sheet.  I use a baking stone.  The excess grease is absorbed into the stone and the stone becomes more and more seasoned - which is how you want your stones to be.   

Savory Parmesan Thumbprints

I originally got this recipe out of  Pampered Chef's most current Season's Best (Fall/Winter 2012).  And I made a few minor changes (like more cheese and different preserves) and made these with (GASP!) some kitchen utensils that did not come from the recipe's source.  For instance, I used an electronic food processor rather than the manual one they sell.  Worked just as well, too!

For Thumbprints:

1/4 c. Shredded Parmesan Cheese, plus extra for rolling dough balls in
1/2 c. (or one stick) Butter, softened
1 c. plus 2 Tbsp. Flour
1 egg yolk
2 Tbsp. water

Filling:

3 Tbsp. finely diced jarred roasted red peppers
1/3 c. peach preserves
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes

Preheat oven to 375.

In a food processor, combine in this order: 1/4 c. cheese, butter, flour, egg yolk and water.  Process until well blended, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.

Place remaining cheese in a bowl.  Using a small scoop (or soup spoon) scoop dough, roll with your hands to form a ball, then roll in cheese, coating well.

Arrange dough balls 1 inch apart on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.  Use the back of your scoop or spoon to slightly flatten.

Bake for 13 -15 minutes or until edges are light golden brown.

While they are baking, mix up the filling.  First, be sure to pat the roasted peppers dry with a paper towel.  Combine all three filling ingredients and stir well.

Remove baking sheets from oven and immediately use your scoop or spoon to (again) press down on the centers of your "cookies" to create wells for the filling.

Remove cookies from baking sheets.  Let cool for 5 minutes.  Spoon filling evenly into wells.

Tips for BOTH recipes:  If you are making these in advance or if you have any leftovers (which I seriously can't imagine) be sure to refrigerate both the crackers and the thumbprints.  Just before your party is starting or when you wake up at 2:33am and NEED those leftovers, be sure to heat them up - they just are better that way.  To heat either, simply put them on a baking sheet or stone (stones are my preference), place into a "cold" (non preheated oven), set the oven at 400 and listen for the ding of the preheat bell.  As soon as you hear that "ding" remove from the oven and enjoy. 

Well, I'm ready to have a party!

Anyone care to join me?

Beer Bread, With My Deepest Apologies . . .

It's Super Bowl Sunday!!  And I have done virtually nothing to prepare food, with my typical gusto.

I am pregnant (28 weeks today, with baby #3 - or Bippy III, as we like to call "it").   I'm also 3'10" tall and am rapidly becoming the same, width-wise.  There just isn't any place for a "normal" sized baby to go in this old body of mine.  I'm exhausted, I've got 'baby burn' that keeps me miserable 24/7.  And I basically just feel fat and slow and ugly.

I digress . . .

So, for this Super Bowl Sunday, my husband's request was simple (thank you, Big Sexy):  Wings.

That I can do.  Homemade Wing Sauce and homemade Blue Cheese Dressing and we are set.  Hey!  If ya can't beat the baby burn, you might as well indulge it!!  Right?

With the wing sauce and blue cheese dressing made, I was starting to feel a little guilty for not planning more.  And, my pregnancy cravings have me wanting something sweet, but not candy or cake or cookie sweet.  Candy/cake/cookie sweet always makes for MORE baby burn.  And then I came across a friend's post on Facebook about a certain Direct Sales (food) Party she is having and I thought . . . BEER BREAD!!  Not too sweet and an excuse to crack open a beer!!  Perfect!

Except, I don't have one of those handy box mixes that some of these Direct Sales companies are famous for.  So, I started doing a little research and came across this ridiculously easy recipe on Food.com.  And in less than 10 minutes, not only did I have a mixed batter in the oven, but I also had two plastic zipper bags full of the dry ingredients for two more loaves.  Easy-peasy, folks.  Easy-peasy.

And not just easy-peasy - but CHEAP!!! And I love cheap!!  [Insert my deepest apologies to my friends who happen to be consultants or hostesses for a few of these Direct Sales Companies, that sell these mixes.]  But c'mon, really?  One of these companies sell a three pack (three loaves) for nearly $16.00 (plus S&H) and then you have to wait for it to be delivered for you.  And when you are pregnant and hungry, you just don't have that kind of time!!  I just made enough mix for three loaves at nearly a quarter of the price, and had all six ingredients on hand.

Rather than link you up to the recipe that I found, I'll retype it.  Mostly because I hate when recipes say things like, "3 tsp. of ______."  Um, 3 tsp. equals 1 Tbsp.  So, why not make everyone's lives easier and write it up that way?!?!?

So here it is (with a few footnotes from yours truly):

3 c. flour (sifted*)
1/4 c. sugar
1 Tbsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 12oz. can or bottle of beer (or soda or carbonated juice)
1/4 c. melted butter [Note:  The recipe actually says, "1/2 c. melted butter (1/4 c. will do just fine)."  Uh, yeah. We ain't Paula Deen here, folks.  1/4 c. is just fine.]

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 375.

2. Mix dry ingredients and beer.  (Or just dry ingredients in a sealing bag and write the rest of the instructions on the bag for later use.)

3.  Pour into greased loaf pan.

4.  Pour melted butter over mixture.**

5. Bake for one hour, remove from pan and let cool at least 15 minutes.

*If you are throwing the first four (dry) ingredients into a zip bag for later, sift the entire mixture into your mixing bowl just before adding the beer.  This will keep your bread from being too dense.

**Pouring the melted butter over the batter, just before baking will yield a very crunchy crust.  If you prefer a softer crust, simply mix the melted butter into the batter prior to pouring into your loaf pan and baking.

The end result:  You can barely tell the difference!!  Name brands might be slightly more sweet, in which case you could "up" your sugar to 1/3 cup.  But I'm thrilled with the result.

In fact, I'm so happy sitting here eating and typing that I think I'll throw another loaf in the oven.

Anyone care to join me?