I worked many hours and came out on top (there's this register-system feature by which you can figure out what percentage of the day's revenue you personally brought in/got tipped on and mine today was over 1/3, which considering that there were four servers on means I made out like a fat rat).
One of the hens laid an egg!
Hotter and I cooked dinner together, which is always good. We made meatloaf (mostly him), mashed potatoes with butter, parmesan, and scallions (mostly me), and asparagus in lemon/butter sauce (joint effort). It was delicious!
My back is hurting like hell, but all in all when there are bald little kitties and smelly pitbulls and small boys to snuggle, and money to be made, and delicious foods to be eaten, it's hard to let pain get you down, even nerve pain (which is saying something about how great the rest of my life is today!).
How are all of YOU?
Mix equal parts chopped cabbage and apple (about a cup and a half of each), throw in a pouch of chunked chicken breast meat (or one large chopped chicken breast), add about a half cup of pecan halves or pieces, three tbsp. mayo, a sprinkle of celery seed and pink Himalayan salt to taste. Toss, serve, squabble over the scraps in the bowl.
SO. DAMN. GOOD.
Hotter made seared Ahi and cilantro-lime rice, and I made a big salad from our garden with avocado and feta, and that was the most protein and roughage I have had at one time since the great GI debacle of last Friday. It took my finally sticking to a strict liquid diet for three days, and copious Miralax, but I finally had a completely pain-free day (at least GI-wise, the beestings were still hurting like hell) for the first time yesterday and quite frankly if this meal pushes my belly back over the brink it will have been worth it (I am the type of person who would rather suffer for a gourmet meal than be kicking myself for eating a box of macaroni or somesuch).
The beestings are much improved today; I was able to get a shoe on my foot and go outside and do some gardening, and the pain is gone. The itching is NOT, but I can deal with that better than itching that morphs into burning and throbbing plus grotesque swelling. The bees are still annoyed with me I think; usually I can squat next to the hive out of their flight-path and watch them for as long as I want to without them paying me any mind, but today one worker seemed to remember and not care for the look of me, and buzzed around my face until I decided to retreat. I sent a few-second video clip of the hive to K via text message, and she replied "Oh shit. That's like a nature film!" Yes, yes it is. Despite the recent altercation I just love having bees. They're so cool :)
Other than that, I am peeved with Iden The Vicious, because after a month of my not being able to tell whether she was pregnant or not she gave birth to TWO kits. Yes, two. Yes, the average litter size for her breed is 8-12. FUCKING IDEN! It's been two days since she had the duo of kits, and she is far too healthy (AND VICIOUS!) to be retaining any kits, she just...had two. WHO DOES THAT?!?
And how are all of YOU?
Enough about how we're all going to die if I don't find a job. Let's talk about something REALLY important. Marinka of Motherhood in NYC has a regular feature on her blog called "I'm right, you're wrong" that I'm totally hijacking borrowing today.
My recent unemployment has allowed for Hotter and me to spend lots and lots of time together. It's great when we're doing things like sleeping in with the dog and all four of her stiff, stabby-clawed legs between us and having sex, but not so much when we're talking about what to make for dinner, because one of us is fundamentally wrong here. You be the judge!
The Dilemma: What do you call those bread-things you put your hotdog inside?
The disagreers: MFA Mama, a.k.a. The Voice of Reason, and Hotter, a.k.a. Mr. I Went To Culinary School But Still Don't Know What Those Bread-things Are Called.
1. We are out of hot dog rolls, so we can't have hot dogs for dinner because the kids hate it when we use slices of bread.
2. We are out of hot dog buns, so we can't have hot dogs for dinner because the kids hate it when we use slices of bread.
What say you?
Since going off gluten I've been losing weight at the rate I'd need to to "win" anyway, and I figure my natural competitive nature and desire to NOT LOSE MONEY will keep me from getting lazy and/or eating my feelings. Motivation = good, especially for someone who a) works in a place with a four-star restaurant on premises, b) lives with a CIA-trained chef, and c) has a spouse who prefers her on the larger side but ALSO has a connective-tissue disease and needs to lose weight for the sake of her joints.
Plus MONEY; I like money, a few people are bound to "lose," and that = MONEY FOR ME. "Worst"-case scenario? Everyone in the game "wins," and I just get my $25 back but have lost some more weight in the process (well, the WORST-case scenario would be that I go crazy, eat a TON of feelings, and lose my $25, but that's not gonna happen).
You can link your facespace and Twitter accounts to the game, and I linked my blog's FB and the Twitter (and will keep my DietBet talk confined to those spaces in the future except to gloat/mourn at the end--don't worry, this isn't going to turn into a diet blog). If you want to play along feel free to join us! The game starts 2/11 and as of this posting the pot is up to $500.
1 lb lean ground beef
1/2 cup chopped rolled oats
2 tbsp potato starch
1 tsp finely chopped parsley
2 tbsp minced onion
1 large clove minced garlic
1 large egg
salt and pepper or Adobo to taste
Mix ingredients thoroughly in a large bowl, form into tbsp-sized balls, lay out on greased sheetpan or Pyrex dish, bake at 400 degrees for fifteen minutes before putting the potatoes in.
1 bag Teeny-Tiny Potatoes, rinsed and patted dry
1 pat butter (about 2 tsp)
1 clove minced garlic
the leaves from about a 2-inch sprig of fresh rosemary, stripped off and minced finely
salt and fresh-ground rainbow peppercorns to taste
Mince the garlic and rosemary together, then cut them both into the butter and rub the bottom of a glass baking dish with the mixture. Rub the rest over the outsides of the potatoes and put them in the oven with the meatballs. Bake both for thirty minutes (the meatballs for a total of forty-five minutes) at 400 degrees.
When they're done, the outsides of the meatballs will be sizzly and crisp, and when you take the teeny-tiny potatoes out they'll squeak and their skins will wrinkle up. We had both with steamed broccoli.
Or at least Hotter, Big Child and I did. I don't know why I don't just serve the Littles yogurt, toast, and apple slices to begin with.
So whenever I haven't been at one of the three jobs, for the past week I've been cleaning. My back may be permanently effed. We're all shopped for the holidays, but haven't had time to celebrate any. And then in the middle of everything, as I'm butchering a rabbit in the kitchen sink in between dumping Andes crumbles (for baking, but HAHAHA right, I'm totally doing that this year!) down my carb-hole, Hotter will go "hey--" And I'll turn around and--
"You've kinda gotta take a sec and ADMIRE the bat-wing. It's so VEINY!"
He got me with "the brain" yesterday, too. I'm just calling it a win if we get through this real-estate emergency without "the goat" making an appearance, because if I go back to work limping nobody will ever believe me when I tell them the REAL reason my ass is bruised.
Also, you kind of have to admire the balls of any man who'd do that to a frantically stressed-out woman wearing a rabbit as a puppet and brandishing a boning knife.
First, you need to find some blackberries. Don't go to the store, where you'll pay five bucks a pint for organic blackberries (if you're lucky enough to find them), find yourself a field by some woods by a country road with brambles all around the edge. Take the kids. Take the dog. Pick wild Queen Anne's Lace to put on your table. Get dirty. Pick berries until you've got four cups of berries (not counting the ones you've eaten).
Go home. Check yourself for ticks. Wash the dog because she ran through a mud puddle eleventy-five times and she was having so much fun you didn't have the heart to stop her. Rinse your berries and pick through them for leaves and stray grass seeds.
If you're me, you'll have a good-sized stalk of rhubarb kicking around from the farmer's market that's maybe gotten a little bendy, and you'll decide to throw that in there, too, so it doesn't go to waste.
Whip up a batch of pie crust. Nothing too fancy, just two cups of unbleached all-purpose flour sifted with a teaspoon of salt, two-thirds of a cup of the butter of your choice (I'm a grassfed cultured kind of girl, but whatever cranks your tractor), and five tablespoons of water. Cut the butter into the flour/salt mixture until the largest chunks are the size of baby peas, sprinkle the water over that, knead briskly, just until you've got a cohesive ball of dough, and divide into two parts. Roll one out for the bottom of your pie, fold in half, then in half again, and position the corner at the center of your pie pan/dish/Pyrex thingy. Unfold--voila!
Put a cup and a half of the sugar of your choice (we're an organic evaporated cane juice household) mixed with a quarter cup of flour within reach, and decide at the last minute to pave the bottom of your bottom crust with thin slices of unpeeled apple in the hope that the pectin will keep the berries from getting too runny. By now you'll be running behind, covered in flour, peevish, and too sticky to take a picture. That's okay. We've all see apples before.
Layer half the berries and rhubarb over the apple slices, sprinkling with the sugar/flour mixture as you go. Add another layer of apple slices, more berries and rhubarb, more sugar/flour mixture, until you run out. Sprinkle with about a teaspoon of fresh lemon juice, and dot with a tablespoon or two of butter. Roll out your second ball of pie crust dough, cover the fruit, and pinch the edges of the two crusts together. If you didn't end up with a perfect circle, patch it with a piece of extra dough. Nobody's perfect.
Pierce your crust to vent, brush with milk to make it shiny, and sprinkle some vanilla sugar on top. Bake in an oven preheated to 450 for ten minutes, then turn the heat down to 350 and bake until the crust is golden-brown (about another forty minutes).
Let your pie cool while you make dinner and a tub of COOL WHIP Whipped Topping thaws. Eat dinner. Bargain with your kids over bites of chicken. Tell them to sit up. Tell them to sit down. Tell them to put their legs down and use their fork and OH MY GOD CAN'T YOU JUST SIT LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING? Avoid eye contact with your spouse lest one of you laugh and ruin the ferocity of your disapproval.
Get everyone another fork and plate and cut the pie. If it's runny, shrug and switch to bowls and spoons, then cover the unsightly mess with COOL WHIP and dig in. It'll be delicious either way.
I make everyday desserts like "Roadside Attraction Pie" up on the fly on my days off to give my family a tangible reminder that I love them even when they're acting like total savages (and to use up bendy rhubarb). Plus fruit pie is ALMOST a balanced breakfast.
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