Stretching

Good news: my breakfast potato addiction seems to have abated. Bad news: it's been mostly replaced by a weird preoccupation with Corner Bakery's Asian Wonton salad (sans chicken, these days). I think I've eaten it that salad just about every week day for the past two weeks. 

But the point isn't that I have a one-track mind when it comes to food. The point is, I haven't done much in the way of cooking lately (too many happy hours and Corner Bakery salads, not enough time in the LKTC), so I don't have anything recipe-related to discuss. 

Unless you really want go for a stretch here, and call this a recipe for a 30th Anniversary Celebration Kit. And naturally, I do. 

About a month ago, we celebrated my parents' 30th wedding anniversary while in Vegas. In preparation, we put together a little gift box: 

"Picnic box" from Container store +

Lots of duct tape to reinforce it + 

(no, really, lots of duct tape!) + 

A photo album spanning from the time the 'rents met to present day +

Lots of their favorite things + 

A few craft supplies +

Personalized labels + 

Labels added to favorite things +

Incriminating photos + 

Even more incriminating photos 

A few recent photos +

A little happy hour fuel +

A few mixers +

A few finishing touches

The celebration kit made it safely across the country during the road trip, and was well received upon arrival. And don't worry, we got the parents a REAL gift, too! 

Oh and with Friendsgiving and maybe a holiday dinner party coming up, I'll make up for the obscene dearth of cooking-related posts lately, I promise. Riiiight after I find a place to live...

help!

I'm normally a spot-on embodiment of a type A person. I plan and organize the daylights out of things, much to the annoyance, I'm sure, of my more laid back friends. Somehow, though, that has fallen by the wayside in one very important area this week: the planning of a Halloween costume. 

By and large, I'm a little "eh" about Halloween. It's right up there with Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve in my book. They're "holidays" that make you feel compelled to do something cooler than anyone else is doing and/or to do something more amazing than any prior year, when really they're just average days.  I kinda resent them for that, and tend to participate halfheartedly, if at all. 

But this year, I'm going all in. A coworker of mine is throwing a party, and another colleague threw down the gauntlet, announcing that he would have the best costume ever. In a haze of competitiveness, I said something along the lines of "that's cute, but MINE is going to be the best ever." 

Now let's back up to the time (a few paragraphs ago) that I explained how I haven't given an iota of thought or planning to my costume this year. NOT ONE BIT, PEOPLE. This party is mere hours away, and I got nothing (other than a bold, unsupported statement). Well, that's not entirely true, as I have a crappy Forever 21 version of the Marilyn Monroe white dress, some red lipstick, and a curling iron, but, I'm just not sure that has what it takes to beat my coworker (whose costume, I should point out, is a mystery to all but him right now).

So, I'm going to finish my coffee and pray that the creative ideas suddenly flow in to my newly caffeinated brain, because I hate losing even more than I hate not having a plan. If you have any ideas, by all means, help a girl out. Past costumes include...

Unfortunate looking, but not half as bad as the clown outfit the parents put me in 

a few years prior. (Family, that picture stays in the albums when my future husband meets you for the first time, got it?)

Shout out to my Mom, who made this one happen after my crazy

ten year old self just had to have it

When I was living in Venice, a housemate and I found these hilariously large Santa

suits at the Italian version of Wal-Mart. We ditched the pants and went as twin Mrs. Claus

Last year's last-minute Pottery Barn Kids acquisition. Love it still, but don't think 

it's going to help me win today.

PS-I know, I know. I'm supposed to write about cooking. Maybe one of these days I'll actually come straight home from work and prepare a meal. Maybe. Until then, you're stuck with other random chatter. 

 

ten second tom

I am slacker. Actually, updating this blog that maybe four people read is what I normally do to procrastinate from other things. I just haven't been doing a hot job of that lately, because I leave on FRIDAY for a cross-country road trip (imagine a slightly panicked expression on my face). 

Because of said road trip, I have been completely incapable of concentrating on much of anything for more than about ten seconds. In fact, I'm like "ten second Tom" from 50 First Dates, except instead of reintroducing myself every ten seconds, I think about the road trip.

I'll be standing at my closet trying to decide what to wear to work, and think to myself "what in the world am I going to wear in Vegas? why haven't I packed? we leave in THREE DAYS!" Or I'll find myself staring at the fridge, trying to plan dinner, and end up thinking "we have to get enough snacks for my obscene appetite...should we go to Costco? or maybe Trader Joe's? or..." And my absolute favorite is when I'm supposed to be sleeping at night, and instead toss and turn, thinking of things I need to remember to do before I go out of town for 10 days.

But I did take a small break from the fretting last week to go to Opera in the Outfield with Sophie. I think it's an annual event (I haven't heard of it being done more than once a year, although I could be totally wrong) in which the Kennedy Center broadcasts a live opera from their stage to the jumbo tron at the Nats stadium. You can literally sit in the outfield and watch, or you can sit in the grandstands, too.

When we got to the stadium, we were prepared to spread out on the grass (I had brought trash bags to buffer us from the wet ground, and a blanket to set on top), but it looked like it could rain. So we hemmed and hawed for ages (we're both terrible at making decisions), and finally decided to go for the grass. After all, we'd spent all day in office chairs. 

We claimed a patch of grass, and went in search of pricey, greasy stadium food. I had mistakenly assumed that especially because the event was free, we wouldn't be able to bring in our own snacks, but I was proven wrong by many people around us (we'll get our act together next year). We made the best of it with our $8 glasses of wine and our shared tray of chicken tenders and fries.

Despite the expensive food, and the chill in the air by the end, it was a great distraction from my road trip anxiety. There's something distinctly relaxing about stretching your legs out on the grass, laying down on a blanket, and watching an opera in such a relaxed environment.

ps-speaking of food, I haven't done hardly any cooking or baking in the LKTC lately, but I do have some ice cream disasters to detail. Stay tuned for those, and what I'm sure will be many little updates from the road as Allie and I make our way towards VEGAS in the coming week!

riding out the debt crisis down south

(I promise, there is something cooking-related in this post.  You'll be rewarded with details and pictures if you read [or scroll] to the end)

I like to think of myself as a savvy traveler.  I've traveled alone frequently since I was about sixteen, and I've crisscrossed Europe solo and with friends during my two semesters and one summer abroad. I can get through airport security in a heartbeat, and have found no train station or bus terminal too tricky to master. My skill for packing a weekend's worth of things in to a tote bag is, dare I boast, impressive. 

But it's been nearly three years since I last lived and traveled in Italy.  (Pause for a moment of mourning and nostalgia).  And the more time that passes, the more traveling seems to throw me off.  I still fly through security and navigate modes of transportation with relative ease.  Even my packing remains fairly well streamlined.  But anymore, the week before and the week after a trip find me floundering. 

I don't cook, because I put off grocery trips ("Oh, I'm leaving soon" or "oh, I just got back...so much to do").  Clothes pile up on the empty side of my bed.  The refrigerator turns in to the home of more than one science experiment involving dairy and/or leftovers.  I eat really irrational meals (you would be amazed at how excited I was to find an uneaten Cow Tail [candy, nothing creepier] in my bag this morning...hello breakfast!).  I just feel...off.

It doesn't help, I suppose, that between yoga and happy hours with friends, I rarely get home before 9 at night.  Doesn't exactly leave a lot of time for unpacking, laundry, grocery trips, and cooking. [I'm sure somewhere in NC, my parents are maniacally laughing at my realization that it is, perhaps, just a bit difficult to be an adult.]

So I have no new LKTC culinary adventures to share, because I'm a big lazy slacker who has been happy hour-ing it up since my return from a glorious weekend at home.  My grandparents came up from Georgia and we mostly ate, caught up, and monitored the debt crisis. It was lovely.

So, I offer evidence that I actually cooked instead of asking my family to take me out to eat this weekend (well, minus that steak lunch on Saturday...). Hey, we had a new fancy grill/patio to christen, and maybe, just maybe, I'm really starting to enjoy this whole cooking thing.  Let's keep that between us, ok? 

  

For someone who doesn't love getting messy, I spend a lot of time with my hands covered in food.  But when Mom wants carrot cake, you don't tell the lady no.

Being meat-eating Southerners and all, we don't always think to include a vegetable. After the rousing success of the manchego lime corn at the most recent Sunday dinner, we decided to add it to Saturday's patio party menu.

My Nanny is a great cook (and even brought me a cookbook as a present!), and thankfully she volunteered her assistance for the patio party meal. This whole sour cream mixing step nearly didn't happen (I got a little ahead of myself).  Luckily Nanny caught the near-disaster and single-handedly saved the strip house potatoes first tested on my May trip home (noticing a "repeat successful recipes" trend here?).  After a second go-round with the recipe, we suggest adding crumbled smoked bacon, cutting the salt, and reducing the shallot quantity.   

Note to self: stop blogging about food in the vicinity of lunch time.

Somehow we all still stomached dessert.  Even though I'm not a big carrot cake fan, this recipe was pretty good.  It's light (after all, it hails from Cooking Light) so don't expect the original here.

The trip home was far too short, as they always seem to be.  You really can never get too much of boating on the lake, cooking in a normal sized kitchen, using free laundry facilities, inhaling "welcome home" french toast, or hearing your family at least pretend (convincingly) like they think you're totally awesome and accomplished. Miss you guys already.

eight days a week

I was supposed to be at a networking happy hour with Allie right now.  Instead, I'm sitting slouched and half-awake on my couch, wondering if working through the weekend (and logging an 11-hour day today) has permanently damaged my brain. If that didn't do me in, this episode of Real Housewives of New York just might.  


Believe it or not, I willingly subjected myself to all these extra brain-busting hours at work.  I will thank myself when I can actually go home for the holidays using all the comp time I'm earning right now.  Until then, I'm going to have to visualize a very happy place.  


Like this...

...sigh. Maui, I miss you. 


I have some more blog-worthy stories than my extreme mental/physical exhaustion.  Once I recover from that business, I'll get around to spice rub disasters, banana bread deliciousness, fights with George (Forman) and possibly the sleeper hit of the Sunday dinner series thus far.  

these boots are made for walkin'

navigating Venetian acqua alta in my beloved colorful Pucci rainboot

the even more beloved bright pink hunter wellies that have since replaced the Pucci pair

Today didn't have a lot of things going for it.  My apartment felt empty after the departure of my family. It was raining torrentially when I woke up.  Said wake-up did not happen in a punctual fashion as I forgot to set my alarm last night.  I left my coffee on my kitchen counter when I made a mad dash for the bus.  My linen dress resembled an accordion after approximately an hour (note to self: stop buying linen). Tough life, I know.   

Enter my shiny pink wellies.  I'm not typically the kind of girl to go walking around the city smiling.  Maybe at home I would, but around here, I think people just look at you like perhaps they need to remove all sharp objects from your general vicinity (especially if you're walking around smiling in driving wind/rain/snow). But these wellies put a definitive spring in my step, and a (small) smile on my face, torrential downpours and all. And it never fails--any time I wear the pink wellies, I get a lot of commentary from the peanut gallery. (Notes to peanut gallery: yep, they're pink.  Bright pink.  I knew that when I bought them.  I meant to do it.  I love them.)

Now, I've gotten a lot of random comments (see: notes to peanut gallery), but today was the first time anyone has broken out in song upon seeing my pink rain boots.  As I rounding the corner towards home, I heard someone belting out "these boots are made for walking."  I was honestly rendered speechless.  I mean, how do you respond to that? Not to worry, he just kept singing as I walked past.   

I trudged home in the suddenly sunny, humid afternoon, feeling a little less of a spring in my step now that the wellies were totally out of place.  I decided steak and potatoes were the solution to the late-breaking case of the Mondays that had settled in post-lunch.  When that didn't quite do the job, I decided to follow it up with a dessert of chocolate teddy grahams dipped in vanilla ice cream.  Genius if I do say so myself.  

the yoga dichotomy

on one side of the LKTC, we have my oh-so-grown up dinner (ps-have I mentioned lately how much I love my overly magnetic apartment? well, I really do)

and on the other, we have all the makings of blueberry buttermilk pound cake

is this not the cutest little bundt pan you've ever seen? no? well it's the cutest one i've ever seen 

Today is the third time I've made it to Pentagon yoga, meaning I currently have perfect attendance since I first started going again after a one year hiatus.  I realized that yoga class tends to inspire some pretty dichotomous thoughts, and subsequently actions.

There are moments in yoga where you feel like the world's most powerful person.  When you're in the middle of bird of paradise (go ahead, google it, I'll be here when you get back), it can be really energizing.  

Then there are moments in yoga where you feel like you can just check out when it's convenient.  Most yoga classes begin with the reminder that you can return to child's pose (go ahead, google this one, too) at any time the practice becomes "more than you want it to" that day. I don't know about you, but I rarely need an invitation to take it easy in the gym (yeah, I warned you all a long time ago that I was lazy).  

You can quickly go from twisting yourself into a pretzel to just laying on the mat while the rest of the class goes from plank to downward dog and back a million times.  

Tonight's yoga class was low intensity, but very balance-focused, which can demand a good deal of concentration (something I've long struggled with in yoga). I initially left feeling all world-conquer-y.  Or at least kitchen conquer-y.  I had grand plans of walking home from the metro station further from my apartment to allow for a stop at Safeway, and thus an ambitious dinner involving the chicken I remembered to set in the fridge to defrost pre-work this morning.  

Then I got to the Pentagon metro and realized I had to wait 15 minutes for a train. This would typically incite a frustrated, antsy response, but tonight all I could muster was a halfhearted complaint to Allie via BBM.  I attribute this in part to my Nook (seriously, love that thing), as it allowed me to re-immerse myself in my latest purchase, The Fourth Star.  (I felt like I needed something with a little more weight after devouring The Help.  Must say, not totally loving it, but, they're at the part where all four generals are in/involved in Iraq so I currently can't put it down).  Reading always makes me sleepy, and the lingering stress from starting my new job snuck up on me and joined forces with the sleepiness. 

Suddenly I was on the opposite end of the yoga dichotomy and indulging the "you can quit any time your body tells you to" part.  (I should have known it was coming.  I totally bowed out of 3 separate instances of camel pose because I just wasn't in the mood).  By the time I made it home, I had no desire to so much as touch that raw chicken, but I did want to bake.

So I scarfed down a bowl of cheerios (see above) while talking to Mom about the family's impending visit (hence the blackberry's prominent position in the baking line up above), setting up the LKTC for some light baking, and taking pictures.  Check out that multitasking skill.  (Obviously the world conquer-y endorphins were still making one last stand)

I had both buttermilk and blueberries that were nearing the end of their short life spans, so I decided to make this cake that I've baked with great success before (with blueberries in place of raspberries, as I hate raspberries).  A cop out, I know, but, I was only feeling so inspired.  It turned out to be a bit of a mess, with a fine layer of creamed butter/sugar on my work out clothes (ironic, yes), but there were no major disasters, and by the smell of things, it came out deliciously. I won't be cutting in to it until the family arrives this weekend.  Stay tuned. 

Now in keeping with the freewheeling side of the yoga dichotomy, I'm going to ignore the dishes and go read in bed.  Genuine wild woman right here.   

zen busters

(apparently I have not always been a big lazy bum)

The minute I thought of that title, the Ghost Busters song popped in to my head for reasons unbeknownst to be (I've never so much as seen it).  And now it's in yours, too.  You're welcome. 


Inspiration?  The rapid decline of my first post-yoga zen in, shudder, nearly a year.  When I left DoD last summer, I had to give up my awesome gym membership.  While at State, I never quite found a replacement for either the Pentagon gym or its staggering array of free group classes.  I think we've discussed that I'm on the lazier side of the spectrum, yes?  But now that I'm back in the DoD fold once again, I'm able to re-join the much-loved Pentagon gym.  I did so on day 2 at the new gig, feeling some odd sense of healthy momentum that I feared would swing back in the direction of my comfy couch far too quickly if I didn't wholeheartedly embrace it.  And I ate a couple dunkin donuts that morning and was feeling guilty.  Details. 


Since I don't work at the Pentagon proper, I plan to make the trek over there a few days at week for what I fondly call Pentagon yoga. If I can't do something, anything, healthy two days a week, well, that's just shameful (I never would have guessed my waistline would benefit from my Catholic guilt).  Other days, I'll try to use the little outpost of the PAC near my office.  If it's anything like the PAC, I will be one of the only female, non-military people sweating it up over the lunch hour.  Even yoga, which I think of as being much more popular with women, was roughly 85 to 90% male tonight. 


I digress.  So, since this was my first yoga class in nearly a year, it took every ounce of strength (not much) and energy (even less) that I had to keep my balance and not just give up when we did the bajillionth plank to downward dog.  Not only did I feel proud of myself for making it to class even though I was exhausted and had missed the shuttle (meaning it would have been easy to go on home and just forget it), every last ounce of my concentration was spent trying to do all the moves.  Normally one of the hardest parts of yoga class for me is keeping my mind clear the entire hour.  Tonight, it flew by. 


I floated out of the studio, feeling a little sore already, but in that good "I'm sort of doing something healthy" way.  I floated right on down to the metro, where I read my way through what would have normally been an obnoxiously long wait on for the train (thanks again for that Nook, parents!). I didn't even mind that my phone was dead, meaning I couldn't check to see if a bus was coming.  I'd take the much longer walk home from the metro.  See me being all healthy?  


As I emerged from the station, I was suddenly not so over the moon about my trek home.  I knew it was hot today, but I don't think I had acknowledged just how hot it would still be at 7pm.  Correction: I didn't realize it'd be like walking through pea soup.  That was still simmering on a stove. 


And then I found myself walking between the real zen busters.  


The couple in front of me was carrying large, greasy bags from Five Guys.  I don't even like burgers and fries that much, but I was so hungry that I briefly debated tackling them and making off with what I could. My sore muscles (and maybe some good sense) won, and I accepted that I'd be following the scent of dinner all the way home (where I had, of course, forgotten to defrost something to cook).  


The woman behind me was on her phone the entire 10+ minute walk (apparently she lives in my building).  I'm the first to pick up the phone to help a long walk pass more quickly, but I am hyper-sensitive about what volume I am using.  I loathe strangers hearing me talk on the phone (and generally assume most people don't want to hear me yammering away, either).  This girl, however, had no qualms about giving her friend a detailed play by play of her disastrous dates of late, her fears of being alone forever, her curiosity over why guys aren't fond of her etc.  Based solely on what I overheard on the walk, I could give her a few ideas regarding her more, umm, off-putting, qualities.  In case you're worried about her fate, she plans to (and I quote) "just join the dark side and become a lesbian." 


Between my hunger pains and the Dr. Phil episode unfolding behind me, I felt the yoga zen quickly melting away.  I think this means I'll just have to go back for more next week.   

brain dead

I have no pictures of my first dinner in the LKTC post-vacation.  This is because a)it wasn't even close to pretty and b)I got home in a state of frightening hunger, and I just didn't feel like risking starvation in the name of blog photography.   

Today just plain kicked me in the behind.  I would be over the moon if I were on the dock at the lake fishing (hence the wistful/nostalgic picture).  Instead, I woke up before 6 am, drove out to Ft. Belvoir (~20 miles away, but a one hour trek each way), filled out a lifetime's worth of paperwork, drove to Crystal City and filled out even more paperwork while enduring a day's worth of vague/pointless briefings, then finally drove home (which took 45 minutes.  I can't even talk about it yet).  

See, I really, really abhor driving.  Especially when it is traffic-tastic and/or I don't know where I'm going.  Both of said conditions were present today.  And I had to pay $20 to park in Crystal City.  Which pretty much just did not even phase me, I was so drained by that point.

So by the time I walked in the door to my already messy apartment, I just stepped right out of my shoes, threw my jacket somewhere near the shoes, dropped my tote bag (with copious paperwork) in the vicinity of the couch, and headed straight for sustenance.  

And now I am sitting amongst the piles of mail and paperwork and I can't even turn on the tv.  I am so tired of hearing people speak...I swear I almost spontaneously combusted at some point today during all the briefings.  Clearly my attention span has waned significantly since college.  Luckily, I managed to avoid creating a scene (cue self-congratulatory pat on the back for maintaining adult-like composure).  

As I sit here all but brain dead and exhausted, I'm left wondering what became of my glorious week off.  It ended in spectacular fashion with my second farewell happy hour and a wine festival.  I'm particularly bad at saying goodbye, so the farewell event was a bit tough, but it was very sweet of everyone to come send me off.  I'm particularly good at drinking wine, and the weather on Saturday was beyond perfect, so that definitely temporarily took my mind off of being sad about saying goodbye to my old office.

Now I'm going to go to do some yoga (and/or have a drink) to mentally prepare myself for another long day of briefings and paperwork tomorrow.  I'll be the one quietly repeating "you wanted this job...you wanted this job...you..."

cooking outside the LKTC

As I mentioned, I'm spending a little less than a week at home in between jobs.  For a while, when I would come back to the Lake, there were a few neighborhood places I insisted we visit. Then two of my three favorites closed.  So we've done more in-house cooking/eating.  A beyond-familiar concept to many, maybe, but not always for us.  


But what better day to turn out a southern meal and have friends over than Memorial Day?  Mom and I woke up and decided we just had to have pulled pork, which, because pork takes 8 to 10 hours in a slow cooker, demanded an early morning covert trip to the grocery in baseball caps (hey, when the entire small town knows your dad as being one of the only male teachers at his school, you are often accosted at the grocery, whether you look like you just woke up or not). Standing in line for Starbucks while Mom paid for the pork, I ran in to our good family friend.  More accurately, our good family friend had to shake my shoulder to snap me out of my Blackberry coma to say hello.  Details.


Luckily their family had also been thinking of throwing a pork in the crock pot and having people over, so we joined forces.  Before we went off on yet another (non-grocery) shopping adventure, Mom and I tossed the giant pork in a spice rub, put the crock pot on low, and hoped it'd cook in time.  When we got back, the true adventure began.  (Note: more accurately, Mom did the pork handling and I observed, for I have an irrational fear of raw meat)


I decided to try and recreate a barbeque sauce originally published by the Pioneer Woman, but introduced to me by Allie at one of our weekly dinners.  When Allie made it, I merely looked on as she fought with the chile peppers in adobo sauce, and silently patted myself on the back for volunteering to make the (easy by comparison) mac and cheese and peach cobbler.  This time, I'd be the one doing everything from onion dicing to pepper fighting. And I had also promised to help mom try a new potato dish in lieu of the now-tired mac and cheese dish.  


We didn't exactly get off to a promising start.  See, Mom received this recipe one day in a Williams-Sonoma store.  Much like other W-S recipes, it looks simple enough.  Then you read it.  And even then it doesn't sound so challenging.  Until you get to the part where you bake potatoes, then refrigerate them overnight, then grate them, skin and all.  


Wait, you refrigerate them overnight?? I stopped Mom as she was ticking off the steps.  We both shared an "oh crap" look, and Mom made the executive decision that we were not the kind of women who hand grate refrigerated potatoes.  We were the kind of women who laughed at the kind of women who grate refrigerated potatoes....as we sliced open a bag of pre-grated "Simply Potatoes." 


And that's just what we did.  So after I got the barbeque sauce going, I poured 2 bags of simply potatoes in a dish along with an obscene quantity of white cheddar, shallots, sour cream, and the bacon we decided to add (really, what doesn't taste better with bacon?).  I'll spare you the description of what it feels like to mix that with your hands.  Instead, I'll just tell you that it turns out deliciously, although we recommend going lighter on the shallots and heavier on the cheese and bacon (we call this the southern-ized version).  I will also spare you the detailed description of the two of us trying to drain the boiling liquid from the crock pot with the pork still in it. I will just tell you it wasn't super graceful. 


And despite my issues peeling an onion (see proof below) and straining adobo sauce away from peppers, the Pioneer Woman's sauce turned out as smoky and rich as I hoped it would be the second time around. Even the cobbler turned out well even though I was making it basically from memory and letting an intrepid 7 year old do all the work.  


I'd call it a successful Memorial Day impromptu dinner party all around.  I'm no Pioneer Woman, but I do a pretty good job of following directions, and I'm getting better at improvising when life just needs a little more bacon.  

(peeling an onion pretty much always goes this poorly)

(getting all the sauce ingredients lined up and opened)

(this doesn't really do the sauce justice, but really you must try it)

(improvising in action)

(gratin pan purchased just for this occasion)

(the spread, minus cobbler)

home sweet cornelius

(spending my birthday week(end) here)

I don't make it back home to Lake Norman nearly as often as I'd like, but my 25th birthday/a fluke week off between jobs/a long weekend were more than enough to convince me to jump in the car and make the trek through the Shenandoah to get home.  


The drive was going beautifully (which is the reward for leaving before noon on a holiday weekend) until I hit traffic about 12 miles away from our exit. When I stopped to fill up my car 2 hours from home, I was already struggling, so the delay so close to the Lake was pure torture.  Luckily my parents had a "mini shrimp boil" waiting for me, and I didn't manage to stay away much past that.  


A really terrible headache woke me up before 6 this morning, which I found as a very inauspicious start to my birthday.  Mom made me eggs, toast, and breakfast potatoes and we decided that shopping was obviously the best cure for the headache.  After a few advil and a few hours at South Park, I was feeling slightly more human and slightly less like I had consumed several bottles of wine the night prior.  


Birthday shopping was very successful--the woman ringing us up at Madewell accidentally gave me 50% off of everything, I got something sparkly to celebrate my new job/commemorate 25/replace my wishbone necklace, and maybe best of all, I grabbed a few things from the Nordstrom kids' department.  Nothing to make 25 feel a little less old than squeezing into the same green trench as the 8 year old in the dressing room next to you.


Even though I'm a little put off by turning 25, I've felt no shortage of love, both here at home and from friends flung all over the globe.  Thanks to all my lovely friends and family for the birthday messages, cards, calls, etc.  


Anyways, I'll be back in the LKTC after a week of cookouts, boat time, shopping, and sleeping in.  When I don an apron again, I'll be year older, and, we can only hope, a little wiser in the kitchen...

woman, i'm italian

I feel so much lighter right now than I have in days (which is belied by my stationary status on the couch right now, and how much I've eaten lately [more on that momentarily]).  I think I mentioned there was some job stress going on?  Yeah, that giant albatross finally got lifted from around my neck.  

The really short and sweet version of the story is, I had another opportunity come along, but it would mean looking the metaphorical status quo in the face and saying "see ya," then looking my literal bosses in the face and saying the same. So after some deliberation, I decided to take the offer, and that alone was a feat (decisions are not my forte, so much so that my best friend once gave me a hilarious "pro/con" note pad for a birthday). But what was really keeping me up at night was breaking the news to my bosses, who I very much like and respect.  

This whole situation was infinitely complicated by the slow-moving nature of bureaucracy.  I knew the new gig wanted me to start June 6, but I didn't get an official offer in writing until today, and I had already planned to take next week off.  If you're looking at the calendar, you're realizing this means this Friday would become my last day. I wanted to give fair warning, but was scared to do so without an offer in writing.  Receiving the offer on paper today was only partial relief. Telling the bosses would be the only way to get full relief. 

Anyways, today I went out for a galvanizing burger lunch with a few coworkers.  When we got back, I took advantage of the post-burger courage and broke the news.  (What, you didn't know burgers give you guts?) I was surprised at how gracious everyone was, and I nearly cried with relief at their reactions.  You'd think I'd would be out having a celebratory drink right now, but I'm just too drained.  

Which is why I'm glad that my friends are such great cooks, because it means dinner is one less thing I stress over. For Glee night last night, Leana had me over, and I served as the intrepid sous chef. I wielded the giant chef's knife (dangerously, I'm sure) and chopped anything thrown on my cutting board.  At one point, Leana disappeared into the living room to glean leaves from her basil plant, and when she came back, she said "so, do you know how to cut basil, you just ro..." and which point I reminded her "woman, I'm Italian! Of course I know how to cut basil." (Note, it was actually Allie who first taught me how to cut basil, but I now do so like I was, in fact, born knowing how, thank you very much).

So by the time Glee came on, we sat down to a plate of sourdough bread, bowls of fresh polenta and sausage, and a surprisingly good bottle of wine.  If you've never had fresh polenta, I highly suggest you call up Leana and insist she make it for you.  Her number is... Ok, kidding.  But seriously, google that business.  It's delicious.  And I totally concur with Leana's declaration that the zing of the spicy sausage and tomatoes was complemented perfectly by the sweetness of the white corn polenta.  Then we had peanut butter cookies for dessert, because I baked an obscene quantity of them on Monday at the height of my stress fest. Glorious all around. 

And while I had an embarrassingly collegiate dinner of ramen tonight, as I mentioned, I'm headed home very soon, and I always eat well at home.  Since I don't get home often, I've already prepared my parents with my restaurant requests.  It is my birthday week(end) after all! 

leana's low-rent pasta

So, I think I mentioned that the LKTC hasn't gotten much love lately.  I haven't been ignoring it just so I can eat out all the time (although that's certainly happening more often that it should...).  I've also had some good friends (who are great cooks) make me some amazing meals.

In addition to the brilliant new tradition of Sunday girls dinners that Allie, Leana, Alicia and I started, Leana and I have initiated "Glee Tuesdays."  (Yes, I watch Glee...I mean, there's far worse on tv than that)  It's pretty fantastic--we watch Glee and mock certain characters, Leana makes dinner, and I do the dishes. Note to future roommates/husband: I will always always always do dishes in exchange for a meal.  

One of our first Glee nights was experimental--Leana needed to test out a steak- recipe.  Being from the south and far from vegetarian, I will never turn down a steak, even an experimental one (but it was a great success). The following week, Leana made white wine pasta with pancetta and asparagus, an adventure modeled after an amazing red wine pasta Allie has made us before.  She jokingly refers to it as "low-rent," but there was nothing cheap about the taste.  Last week Leana made fried rice, and in what is also becoming a tradition, I left for the third week in a row with leftovers for my lunch the next day. 

Last Tuesday, a coworker also made dinner for a few of us from the team. I went home painfully stuffed, but, I could totally get behind two-dinner Tuesdays.   My clothes may not fit any longer, but by God, I'll be well fed.  

Despite reveling in being cooked for, I need to get back in the habit of cooking for myself.  I'm a little embarrassed to admit I haven't set foot in a grocery store since, oh, Easter.  I'll get right on that...after I get back from North Carolina in a couple weeks.  

ps-I promise to do more justice to my friends' culinary skills in the future.  Like when I've fully recovered from my 25th birthday party. 

a three-utensil meal

(happy wedding to my childhood buddy, cousin matt!) 

Hey friends (or should I say "hey friends who are still reading after a lengthy hiatus from updating this captivating blog"...).  So, I could try and convince you that I've been distracted because last week was full of unpleasant things like needles and flying, but, we all know I'm just a big lazy pants.  I'm working on it (she says from her perch on the couch).  


But really, life has been more hectic than usual.  There are some work things going on that I can't talk about just yet, so, stay tuned for that.  But there was also the minor little event that took place last weekend to keep me away from the computer.


My cousin got hitched down in Atlanta, and the whole clan converged on the DoubleTree Friday afternoon to kick off the festivities.  It was an exhausting whirlwind, although I'm not sure why...it's not like a)I did anything other than eat copiously and wear pretty dresses, or b)I was the one who got married.  I blame it on the flight-related mini-panics, and a particularly grating MARTA ride back to the airport on Sunday.  Any time I overhear a conversation that starts with "yeah, me and my cell mate" when I'm stuck in a tiny train car underground, I get a little squirmy.  But all panic aside, I think we all had a great time, and while it's so very weird to see my childhood buddy stand up at the altar and say "I do," I'm very happy for he and his wife (um, we're 25, we are too young for these words, right?).    


Anyways, there's something a tiny bit glamorous about throwing half a dozen cocktail dresses and a pair of platform heels in a carry-on and jumping on a flight, but there is nothing at all glamorous about returning home to "real life."  And by "real life" I mean not being able to use your bathroom because the management arbitrarily decides to re-plaster and re-paint it.  Or finding a container coated in rotten cilantro in the fridge (I really never miss having a dishwasher until situations like that arise).  Upside? I've been meaning to streamline my tupperware collection, and I subsequently felt little guilt just popping the cilantro afflicted piece straight into the garbage. 


Also decidedly unglamorous? My return to the LKTC.  I guess it can't be designated as glamorous or otherwise, because it hasn't really even happened. Monday I joined some friends in exploiting the $1 hotdogs and peanuts at the Nats game (just don't ask us how much the tickets or beers cost us...sore subject).  Tuesday I had two separate friends cook for me (yep, about as sweet as it sounds, more on that in a future post).  And yesterday following an extended happy hour, the poor camel's back (aka my little stomach) succumbed to the final straw of poor diet.  


At that happy hour, I mixed wine and cheese/chili coated nachos.  I don't even like nachos!  I'm just a real sucker for bad bar food once I've had about .3 glasses of wine.  Needless to say, the aforementioned stomach had just about had enough of my abysmal eating lately.  With the exception of two-dinner Tuesday, I've really been putting my body through the wringer.  It hasn't been all hotdogs and nachos, but, I've been far from consistent when it comes to eating meals at all, not to mention healthy ones.  I spent most of last night convinced I was dying, or at the very least that dying would be preferable to the pain my stomach was experiencing.  


So especially when I found out my happy hour plans tonight fell through, I was relieved to come home and eat something healthy-ish.  (By the way, if I add peas to it, I generally believe that tips the scales in the healthy direction...my standards could probably use some tweaking).  Then I realized that meant I had to cook something healthy.  Blast.  I did an admirable job of procrastinating (amazing what you can find on hulu) before I peeled myself off the couch and headed for the LKTC. 


Maybe I'm just out of practice, but I had a very hateful dinner-making experience.  First of all, I hadn't defrosted anything of the protein variety, so that was a real downer.  Then I managed to overcook said hastily defrosted protein because I have an exaggerated fear of food poisoning.  While I was letting disaster happen in the oven, I got a little overambitious and decided to make quinoa with peas and corn.  Have you ever cooked with quinoa?  If so, I'm going to need some advice on how to wash that crap.  Because I failed in a laughable fashion. There was quinoa all over me, the sink, and several different measuring devices.  But seriously, it's TEE TINY, so you can't just put it in a colander like you would with most things that need rinsing.  I mean, it all came out fine, but I'm convinced there has to be a better method than inadvertently giving myself a quinoa bath every time I want to cook it.  


But by God, despite the disasters, I had a three-utensil meal.  This is something I take such pathetic pride in because most of the things I cook for myself usually fit in one bowl and can be eaten with one utensil (fork or spoon, all depends on my mood).  Shockingly, this rarely leads to a super-satisfying meal.  But I've been so exhausted lately that I'm hoping throwing some protein at the situation will help.  Enter pork (overcooked, but a protein nonetheless), and a fork and knife.