It Shouldn't Make Me This Happy (but it does)

I don't iron hubby's clothes, this was an arrangement we agreed to before exchanging gold rings.

My youngest sometimes leaves the house in clothes that don't match - camouflage t-shirts with striped pants Tuesday and a polka dot skort with a cow print jacket on Wednesday - and wild, curly hair that is detangler resistant; these things would make m-i-l cringe if she saw us on our way to school.

And I don't know how to properly set a dinner table. This, however, is something I want to learn to do. I understand the plate chargers and napkin rings, low-level floral arrangements so you can see your guests across from you (I even remember some sophisticated looking napkin arrangements from my Catering days), and maybe someday I will read the sections of Martha Stewart's books that involve entertaining and not just cooking.

But there is something I do and enjoy doing, a domestic task that brings me so much, ridiculous giddy joy that I don't give up all hope on myself as a good wife.

I make hubby's lunch every night, and not just any lunch.

I make paninis - deconstructed Nicoise Salads within a panini, and send him off with a red wine vinaigrette in a cute little Tupperware so the bread doesn't get soggy sitting in the fridge overnight.

I make BLT's on whole wheat, and they definitely crunch so freshly the next day when he bites into them. I'm not with him at work, but I am sure this happens, with or without me there. I guess this makes it kind of a philosophical sandwich.

I make his favorite - egg salad - and I know just how he likes it (extra extra mustard) and no deli anywhere in the country could make it better for him than I do.

I make wraps, and not with deli chicken because that is overly salted and preservative-ized beyond recognizable flavor. I roast a chicken, slice the meat thin, and make a basil aioli with Swiss or sharp cheddar (the sharper, the beddar), add a Romaine leaf, then wrap it up in foil so well, I make burrito-wrapping taco shop dudes look bad.

And when I feel like sharing my typical lunch, I slather some hummus into a pita, stuff with alfalfa sprouts, diced tomatoes, hard-boiled egg, and whatever lean protein we had for dinner the night before, then put in it parchment paper for him, and it is worthy of a profile in Cooking Light, I swear.

These homemade lunches save us oodles of money. And that gives me a boost.

But most of all, I do it because I love him so much. The extraordinary brown bag I send him off with, I hope, translates into, with this healthy grilled panini without ingredients you can't pronounce, may you sleep next to me every night into an eternity.

When you are so intertwined with someone, even chicken salad can deliver a message of intimacy. Yes, really.

With scribbled love notes and hearts drawn in red Sharpies on the sandwich baggies, of course.

NOT JUST ANY CHICKEN SALAD

1 cup cooked chicken (from either a roasted chicken or a store-bought rotisserie), diced or cut up fine

3 stalks celery, diced

optional: 1 hard boiled egg, chopped

optional: one green onion, sliced thin

optional: 1/3 cup toasted walnuts, pecans, or almonds - cut up, sliced or slivered

2-3 tbsp. mayonnaise

1 tsp. sour cream

1/2 tsp. smoked paprika

1/2 tsp. Old Bay seasoning

salt and pepper to taste

squirt of lemon juice

Mix all ingredients well, taste to check seasonings, Add salt and pepper last, after checking seasonings! Good on toasted bread or sourdough roll.

seeing with your heart

Every Valentine's Day, all of the fuss and build-up usually wear on me very quickly.

Same chatter on the television.

Same advertisements on the Internet.

Same class parties and stuff to buy.

Of course, that's one way to look at it.

Same husband to take me out to a candlelit dinner.

Same chocolate-covered faces saying "Thank you, Momma!"

Same words written the the cards, that I can never hear enough.

Each year, I try to be less of a cynic and ever more grateful.

A friend of mine posted Thoreau as her FB status yesterday - "Things do not change, we change." I love when someone else quotes a Transcendentalist to me. If I were to tell this friend how she changed the course of my day, my week!, she would begin to regard me as the nerd that I am. Because hearing Walden quoted to me (when I've had a week of reading my college copy of SELF RELIANCE to keep me self-possessed an un-depressed), and not just Walden, but a succinct quote that explained everything (except why my son's socks get stiff and crunchy at the bottom), I nearly cried at the beautiful simplicity.

I said nearly.

This year, I see the things that have stayed the same, but I try - and usually succeed - in looking at them differently.

I think I am finally starting to understand.

I see chocolate, roses, and heart-shaped crafts coming home from school. But I look at it all, especially the things that aren't spoken, obvious, or noticed without a few years of experience, and realize that strangely, those are the things most fleeting.

Things don't change, we change.

Yeah.

Slow Cooker Roasted Potatoes

When you have these two things: (vine-ripened tomato, Meyer lemon)

and you add them to these quartered root vegetables (red-skinned potatoes, about 2 lbs.)

in a slow cooker, this is what you'll get...

YUM.

I tried roasted potatoes in the slow cooker only recently because I did not believe roasting vegetables could be accomplished this way. Goes to show in the kitchen, as in everything else, we're only limited by our imagination.

In a blender, I...

zested the Meyer lemon and squeezed in it's juice

threw in one seeded tomato

added in a handful of dried, Greek oregano

measured out and put in 1 tbsp. of good quality tomato paste

poured in half a cup of chicken broth

finished with coarse grain salt and freshly ground black pepper

...then I pureed all this, and poured over the potatoes in the slow cooker.

2.5 hours later after slow cooking on the HIGH setting, the potatoes were fork tender but not mushy, and the family actually fought - pushing, shoving, name calling - over them. It should have annoyed me, but instead I felt rather proud of the culinary results and ignored the bad behavior of my kids. I was hungry, damn it.

The potatoes were mostly consumed before anyone realized there were delicious juices left behind in the slow cooker. So I plated what was left of the potatoes, along with the simple chicken I'd grilled, strained the slow cooker juice over the chicken and potatoes, and topped with some crumbled feta and roasted pine nuts.

It was one of the best meals we'd had in a long time, and it was all centered around the slow cooker. My 5-burner gas range and oven feels unloved and ignored, so we're planning to do some cookies together as soon as the butter reaches room temperature.

THE RETURN OF A CHILDHOOD HERO

There was a Bob's Big Boy in my neighborhood growing up, and when I knew we were going there for dinner, my school days weren't as dreary. I knew I'd be getting a vanilla Coke, a double decker hamburger with special sauce, and listen to my father talk about cruising Van Nuys Boulevard as a teenager, ending up at the Bob's Bog Boy of his youth on Friday and Saturday nights all during dinner.

About the time I found another icon named Bob, my favorite childhood restaurant, Bob's Big Boy, closed down and was soon replaced by a taco shop. It's been more than 20 years, but Bob's just came back.

To say I look forward to savoring the red relish, to say that the sauce and sesame seed buns call to me, to say that the diner atmosphere and checkered outfit on Bob himself cause irrational anticipation is similar to stating that kids in the snow-buried Midwest are looking forward to Springtime.

Bob's was gone too long. The return of this restaurant icon goes right to the epicenter of my American girl-ness. Give me a double decker cheeseburger, and bubbling soda pop or thick chocolate malt, a ball game to watch, and green grass to play on. I'll kick it here for a while.

Burger Sauce similar to Bob's...

sweet relish

mayonnaise

ketchup

seasoned salt

little bit of water

...that easy.

pasta with chicken, sun-dried tomatoes, artichokes, pine nuts and broccoli - and food oddities

Everyone has food oddities, I think. Things we like that no one else does. My hubby likes chicken gizzards in lemon. I want to regurgitate just typing that. When I was a 13, I used to re-create cookie batter by mixing sugar and butter together and eating it. My son pours ketchup in a bowl and eats it like soup. My father loves gravy made from the neck of the turkey (no other parts, just the neck) and raw steak. He slices filet for the grill and every other cut of pink, lean meat goes into his mouth.

Eww.

My food oddities are simple. When I say I like the liquor left behind in an oyster shell, mixed with the horseradish-y, tomato-y taste and the remnants of Tabasco and tang of lemon juice, I don't think this is odd. But when I say I skip broccoli and cauliflower florets and eat only the stalks of these vegetables, I get strange looks. And when I leave succulent, sweet white meat on my plate and eat only the burned edges of barbequed chicken, no one at the dinner table understands me.

Years ago when Food Network first premiered in my city, every night I watched East Meets West with Ming Tsai. He remains one of my favorite chefs. He's clean, industrious, witty, and always showcased a different wine or beer at the end of each episode with the meal he prepared.

During one episode, he was using broccoli, and segued beautifully into the usefulness of all food parts in the Chinese kitchen. Ming's parents ran a catering business if I remember correctly, and he described cooking with someone from a different culture once who chopped off the stalks of the broccoli and threw them in the trash, intending to use only the pretty flowering parts of the vegetable. This caused Ming and his father distress. He said that the Chinese will use as much of a food source as possible - every useable part of the grain, vegetable, fish, pig, it's all fair game and significant to flavor, texture, and nutrition. Okay, maybe I embellished a little there, but Ming taught me to julienne the broccoli stalk and dice it fine, and this will add some sweetness to whatever it is you're cooking.

He was soooo right, and I guess you could say, I stalk.

I hope I get some comments, people telling me what their food oddities are. All food likes or dislikes are linked to some kind of memory, some joyful imprint made during a meal. I inadvertently collect this type of knowledge and I don't know why. Maybe it feeds some subconscious search for interesting characters and experience. Food oddities are just one giveaway, one tip-off into the uniqueness of all people. I feel more alive and adept noticing these silly things (but I couldn't tell you where the stock market closed today, or even last year). If you've ever been in a restaurant and looked at what other people are eating, listen to what they're ordering, seen what parents pack for their kids to snack on at the park, or served people dinner at your house who you'd never thought would like pureed turnips in place of mashed potatoes but they ask for seconds, you'd see, it's really a diverse, amusing world we live in.

There is so much to take in. Starting at the dinner table.

PASTA WITH CHICKEN, SUN-DRIED TOMATOES, ARTICHOKES, PINE NUTS AND BROCCOLI

I've posted this recipe before, but it has been requested over and over.

1 lb. spaghetti or other pasta, cooked

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil

1 cup chicken broth

meat from a store-bought rotisserie chicken, torn, shredded or cubed

1 cup artichoke hearts, in oil (from a jar of artichokes hearts in oil, more hearts than oil)

3/4 cup julienned sun-dried tomatoes (not in oil, found in the produce section)

1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted

2 broccoli stalks

flat-leaf parsley to garnish

optional: crumbled goat cheese or feta

Boil water for broccoli. When water is to a rolling boil, add broccoli and cook until done, about 6 minutes. Remove and set aside until cool.

In a large saucepan or skillet over medium heat, saute garlic in olive oil until soft, about 4 minutes. Add chicken broth and bring to an aggressive simmer/low boil. Add chicken, sun-dried tomatoes, and artichoke hearts in their oil.

Chop off florets of the broccoli, and the stalks too. Julienne the stalks and then dice into bite size pieces.

Add broccoli to pan. The chicken broth should be reducing by now.

Add pasta to the pan, and toss well. Transfer to a platter and garnish with pine nuts, parsley, and cheese, if desired.

photos from worldcommunitycookbook.org and Google Images.

We're Not Worthy.

Take a look at these two guys. We - San Diego - aren't worthy of them.

Below, Philip Rivers, quarterback for the San Diego Chargers.

Below, Greg Maddux, Hall of Fame bound pitcher who was with the San Diego Padres in 2007 and 2008.

I have been wondering, since Sunday when the Chargers lost to the Jets, why San Diego teams can't win big ones.

Are we cursed? Is there a trickster spirit in San Diego that plays with the emotions of the hopeful fans? Did the founders of San Diego make an unholy pact that traded 75 degrees and sunny weather 360 (okay, 355) days a year for teams that choke in the playoffs, Super Bowl, and World Series? Who cursed San Diego's sports teams, and why?

Why my heart aches, besides the disappointment, is for Philip Rivers and Greg Maddux.

Every home game Maddux pitched, I was in the stands, Field Level, in my Maddux jersey. As a fan it was frustrating to watch him pitch an incredible game - getting up in the count, keeping his pitch count low, making it easy for his offense - only to end up without a W because his team couldn't hit or committed errors. I can only imagine how much that sucked as a pitcher, but Maddux never bad-mouthed anyone.

I watch Chargers games from home because I'm superstitious. This past season, I watched Philip Rivers drive down field and lead his team to victory 13 games out of 16. I saw things in the last two minutes of Chargers 2009 football games I've never seen in my life. Rivers does what he sets out to do, and owns what he didn't mean to do. Off the field, like Maddux, he does his own thing, and quietly.

This past Sunday Rivers' team mates got penalized for some of the most bonehead things any football player could do. One of the best, most reliable! kickers in NFL history, San Diego Charger Nate Kaeding, missed 3 field goals. Off field antics of certain Chargers could not have helped the cause of a composed, unified team image - strip club partying, vehicle impounds, handcuffs, and paternity suits shouldn't be what players are known for the week of one of the biggest games in franchise history. Rivers wouldn't comment on these things when asked, though. Handled the press better than they deserved to be handled.

Maddux's career as a player is over, but San Diego still has Rivers. And even though history (and maybe geographical location) gives me reason not to, I choose to reach out and take what players like Maddux and Rivers offer.

Statistics and shining qualities aside, ultimately, people like Maddux and Rivers give you something at the end of the day where others let you down. (Hope).

That's why, in my humble opinion, sports are like Pandora's Box. Fans open it for selfish reasons, but the game is saved by the very best of what it produces.

(incidentally, both are fire signs, Maddux an Aries and Rivers a Sagittarius, but astrology has nothing to do with it).

Photos from www.cnn.si.com

The Vacation Without ESPN

http://www.awhitejasmineinnsantabarbara.com (Outdoor Common Areas)

Hubby and I dated for one year and two months before we got engaged.

Hubby and I were engaged for 4 years before we made it to the altar.

Hubby and I were married for two years before we starting having children together.

This makes the lack of weekend getaways easier to deal with now - we went many places, and did exciting things.

There was a time when I chose a vacation based on it's romance factor, rather than the online reviews of the onsite Kid's Club.

One such place was The Glenborough Inn (now named A White Jasmine Inn) in Santa Barbara, California. Separate cottages, trellises with flowerings vines, a gazebo, Victorian gardens, and warm scones baked twice a day with lemon curd, cream, and honey butter, among other goodies.

And no televisions in our particular cottage. This meant no ESPN. The only reason I got hubby to go was because it was the spring and the pennant race was months off.

He will never admit it, but we went antiquing on State Street. We ate fresh seafood by the water. We bought new tennis shoes from a small shoe store owned by two people, not a corporation. We wrote each other notes in journals that were fabric-covered with pastel flowers.

I am lucky I got one vacation like that in 19 years of being with my guy. My hubby, who refused to let go of his favorite ball while being baptized, was the proverbial fish out of water in that bed and breakfast inn, twittling his thumbs and not able to see highlights or check scores at the end of the day, but he did it for me. Now he does mostly everything for the kids, who like Santa Barbara just as much as we did and do, especially the Zoo and Brophy Brothers.

In our normally sunny home state right now, we're getting pounded with storms. It's weather that keeps us in the house and we seem to eat about 12 times a day. I feel the need to bake when the sky gets gray, so I pulled out some old cookbooks I knew would have pound cake or coffee cake recipes. One book, The Great Country Inns of America Cookbook, has a recipe for Buttermilk Coffee Cake, attributed to The Glenborough Inn.

The Glenborough Inn, our vacation without ESPN. It probably won't ever happen again (all rooms have cable tv's and internet hook ups now), if we dare to get on a plane, even off to Vegas for the weekend it would have to be orchestrated carefully, planned well in advance, and executed with the cooperation of parents, in-laws, baby sitters, friends, and coaches. And we'd spend most of our time in the Sports Book, hubby watching six screens at once, as I called home every ten minutes to check on the kids while sipping a mediocre Bloody Mary (with extra olives, thank you).

That's a blog for another time. It's 218 miles to Santa Barbara, I've got butter at room temperature, euphoric recall of our former getaway habit, it's dark outside, and I'm listening to ESPN radio.

BUTTERMILK COFFEE CAKE

from The Great Country Inns of America Cookbook

2 1/4 cups flour

1 cup firmly packed brown sugar

3/4 cup sugar

3/4 cup vegetable oil

1/2 tsp. plus 1 1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/2 cup chopped walnuts

1 cup buttermilk

1 egg, beaten

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. baking powder

Blend the flour, sugars oil and 1/2 tsp. cinnamon in a large bowl. Transfer 3/4 cup of the mixture to a medium bowl. Stir in the walnuts and 1 1/4 teaspoons cinnamon. Combine the buttermilk, egg, baking soda and baking powder in a small bowl. Blend into the flour mixture until thoroughly incorporated. Spoon the batter into a greased 9x13 inch pan, spreading evenly. Sprinkle the nut mixture over the top, then press it into the batter with the back of a spoon. Bake until a cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean, about 30 minutes. Serve warm with butter. Serves 8.