Are you a foodie? I mean, do you read cookbooks like novels? Could you watch the Food Network 24/7 (this is truly why I don't have cable). Do you plan your next meal while eating?
Do you have food-friends? Friends with whom you gather to share meals, recipes, kitchen and grocery tips?
Have you ever found yourself sitting around a fabulous meal with these friends, so very full, yet somehow you're still talking about food? (like the asian evening full of bulgogi, gyoza, kimchi and so much more)
Do you find yourself inviting certain friends to dinner, or out to eat based on shared food preferences? (um, can you say Naan Bread and a Sweet Lassi, please?)
Do you often ponder which type of cuisine is your all time favorite, only to struggle to narrow it down to your top three? (I'd have to say 1. Indian or Thai--depending on my mood, followed by 2. Mexican 3. Then probably Italian, but I'm picky about my Italian food. How about you?)
It seems I find food friends most places we've lived. We find each other. Like magnets, we are drawn together.
Here in my new(ish) home, I've found them.
Last week we gathered at my home to make Lasagne--the real deal, authentic style Lasagne.
Before that it was Enchiladas, refried beans, tomatillo salsa--the real Enchilada sauce, made almost completely from dried chilies. (Did you know that Enchilada is short for Tortillas Enchiladas, meaning the tortilla is en-chilied, or soaked in a sauce made of chilies? Niether did I.)
A couple of weeks ago we had a Falafel lunch complete with Tza-Tziki and humus.
Earlier that same week, I went to my friend's home because her friend Consuela was visiting from Honduras.
Consuela has tortilla hands.
My friend rightly assumed that I would appreciate a lesson in tortilla making from Consuela-- with the tortilla hands. She assumed correctly.
Consuela tells me I have Tortilla Hands. We got along well.
I don't speak much Spanish.
In these recent kitchens with food friends from Honduras, Michigan, Taiwan and elsewhere, I came to the realization that food is not just an obsession, it is a language all it's own. I'm glad I speak it.
P.S. Sometimes I sit and ponder Garlic.
P.P.S. Is that weird?
P.P.S.S. Did I tell you we're going to Spain in a month?
P.P.S.S.S. I'm very excited about the food.
P.P.P.S.S.S. I've checked out a cookbook to study before my trip. So I'll know what to order.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
War of the Rodents
Dear Mice,
I've been passive aggressive about this whole thing for far too long. You know, a poorly designed mouse trap here and there (from which you kept stealing the peanut butter as if we run some sort of cheap buffet around here), the well fed cat who merely toys with you when she feels like it, and the just general high tolerance of your filthiness. Well, no more. We've entered a new era. My level of tolerance has plummeted. And, for the record, you brought this on yourself.
A little mouse poop under the sink by the garbage? I don't get overly excited. Mouse-poop in my silverware drawer? Smell that? Yep, that's the smell of my wrath. Bring it on my small friends, Bring. It. On. What? What's that you say? You're already dead, what more do I want? That's right, 2.5 of you little invasive bastards bit the dust on the first evening of my rampage (didn't I just post about foul language? Well, this was justified). As for the half? Wherever you ended up when kitty was done playing with you, I'm sure we'll smell you out sooner or later.
And now that I've squealed for my husband to dispose of your little peanut butter encrusted bodies, and emptied, vacuumed and sanitized everything in every drawer and cupboard in my kitchen, literally crawling inside (or sending my children spelunking) each one to sanitize, lay new shelf paper and stuff every last crevice with wads of steel wool, you ask what more do I want?
I want your relatives.
And all the other critters that think my home is hospitable to uninvited guests.
To you, Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Chipmunk who have spent a cozy winter living in my walls. I watched your footprints in the snow. I found the secret entrance to you lair. And today, that little episode where you had a little crazy dancin' freak out inside my wall until I scared your little furry behind out of there with some serious wall pounding? Yeah, I watched you run your cowardly self up a tree. And while you hid in your tree, I stuffed your little entrance with an enormous wad of the mighty steel wool. And every other possible entrance too. And if there are more? I will follow you until I discover them as well. You may as well find a new home.
And you, large creature that has taken to crawling into your cozy den at the foundation of my home from under my porch? Yes, you. Whatever you are, be you mole, groundhog, raccoon or even furry bunny. Just try and find your den now. What you will discover is a wooden plank screwed over your front door. And stapled to that plank so that it extends another foot below ground? Oh yeah, chicken wire. In front of that chicken wire? Large rocks. On top of those large rocks? About a foot of dense clay soil. Packed down. Jumped upon by my small children and my 270 pound self. Next step? A large planter will be placed in front of the plank, on top of the buried wire and large stones and dense clay. Buh-bye.
As for the bats in my attic? Well, I'm tired. Just stay out of where I store my stuff--no guano on the luggage-o--and keep eating the mosquitoes and you may just live to see another day. Besides, I'm not really sure how to tackle you just yet . . .
With much disdain and wishing you a happy spring,
Jen
Dear Mr. Squirrel,
So maybe I was a tad bit smug in my last letter. Just a tad. And perhaps, given that, you were somewhat justified in doing a victory dance inside my wall again today. All smugness aside, I hope you encountered the large, inhospitable wads of duct tape intermingled with back-up wads of steel wool that I left you as a house-warming gift.
Frustratingly Yours,
Jen
1/17/10
Dear Mr. Squirrel,
Alright, since you want to play that way, consider this fair warning that all that steel wool and duct tape wads that you tauntingly scattered about my garden? Well, that was just the beginning, my pint size force of nature. Consider more steel wool, more duct tape, completely covering your entryway, and, for the kicker, a couple of stones forcefully lodged in your door. Deal with that you little fur ball!
Determinedly Yours,
Jen
1/17/10 Later
I'm having Chip 'n Dale flashbacks. Not the dancers, the rodents . . .
I've been passive aggressive about this whole thing for far too long. You know, a poorly designed mouse trap here and there (from which you kept stealing the peanut butter as if we run some sort of cheap buffet around here), the well fed cat who merely toys with you when she feels like it, and the just general high tolerance of your filthiness. Well, no more. We've entered a new era. My level of tolerance has plummeted. And, for the record, you brought this on yourself.
A little mouse poop under the sink by the garbage? I don't get overly excited. Mouse-poop in my silverware drawer? Smell that? Yep, that's the smell of my wrath. Bring it on my small friends, Bring. It. On. What? What's that you say? You're already dead, what more do I want? That's right, 2.5 of you little invasive bastards bit the dust on the first evening of my rampage (didn't I just post about foul language? Well, this was justified). As for the half? Wherever you ended up when kitty was done playing with you, I'm sure we'll smell you out sooner or later.
And now that I've squealed for my husband to dispose of your little peanut butter encrusted bodies, and emptied, vacuumed and sanitized everything in every drawer and cupboard in my kitchen, literally crawling inside (or sending my children spelunking) each one to sanitize, lay new shelf paper and stuff every last crevice with wads of steel wool, you ask what more do I want?
I want your relatives.
And all the other critters that think my home is hospitable to uninvited guests.
To you, Mr. Squirrel and Mr. Chipmunk who have spent a cozy winter living in my walls. I watched your footprints in the snow. I found the secret entrance to you lair. And today, that little episode where you had a little crazy dancin' freak out inside my wall until I scared your little furry behind out of there with some serious wall pounding? Yeah, I watched you run your cowardly self up a tree. And while you hid in your tree, I stuffed your little entrance with an enormous wad of the mighty steel wool. And every other possible entrance too. And if there are more? I will follow you until I discover them as well. You may as well find a new home.
And you, large creature that has taken to crawling into your cozy den at the foundation of my home from under my porch? Yes, you. Whatever you are, be you mole, groundhog, raccoon or even furry bunny. Just try and find your den now. What you will discover is a wooden plank screwed over your front door. And stapled to that plank so that it extends another foot below ground? Oh yeah, chicken wire. In front of that chicken wire? Large rocks. On top of those large rocks? About a foot of dense clay soil. Packed down. Jumped upon by my small children and my 270 pound self. Next step? A large planter will be placed in front of the plank, on top of the buried wire and large stones and dense clay. Buh-bye.
As for the bats in my attic? Well, I'm tired. Just stay out of where I store my stuff--no guano on the luggage-o--and keep eating the mosquitoes and you may just live to see another day. Besides, I'm not really sure how to tackle you just yet . . .
With much disdain and wishing you a happy spring,
Jen
Dear Mr. Squirrel,
So maybe I was a tad bit smug in my last letter. Just a tad. And perhaps, given that, you were somewhat justified in doing a victory dance inside my wall again today. All smugness aside, I hope you encountered the large, inhospitable wads of duct tape intermingled with back-up wads of steel wool that I left you as a house-warming gift.
Frustratingly Yours,
Jen
1/17/10
Dear Mr. Squirrel,
Alright, since you want to play that way, consider this fair warning that all that steel wool and duct tape wads that you tauntingly scattered about my garden? Well, that was just the beginning, my pint size force of nature. Consider more steel wool, more duct tape, completely covering your entryway, and, for the kicker, a couple of stones forcefully lodged in your door. Deal with that you little fur ball!
Determinedly Yours,
Jen
1/17/10 Later
I'm having Chip 'n Dale flashbacks. Not the dancers, the rodents . . .
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
My Young Padawan
Today, after Elliot requested my presence to wipe his bottom, he casually explained to me that he uses The Force to flush the toilet.
I'm so proud.
Later, at dinner, I was informed by both my children that they are One With The Force.
You'd think they could use that to clean their room.
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