Sprite's Keeper

Getting some take out from the Sushi Bar

3 posts in a row? Did I get my blogging mojo back? Do you even read this site anymore?

Moving on.

Jan posted a recipe yesterday for savory almond flour muffins on her site, and being the ardent follower I am, I HAD to make them that very evening and review them.

You see, in our new lifestyle, there's not a lot of bread going on. (I'm sure I'll go more into this on a later post.) Anytime I see something that looks even like a distant cousin of a baked good and promises to be "safe", I want it.

For instance, our local health food store makes organic carrot cake, which John had gotten me for my birthday. (The kid was insistent on me having cake for my birthday.) The first ingredient in it was garbanzo bean flour. Can I just say it was absolutely delicious?

It was absolutely delicious.

Moving on.

Jan posts tons of recipes on her site, most of them these days related to healthier eating, and by that I mean coconut oil, tallow, all kinds of meats, etc. That's right, folks. Her cooking brings us back to basics. (Butter, y'all. Maybe Ms. Paula Deen isn't really trying to kill us?) (Although Jan doesn't use butter herself since she banned cow's dairy from her diet.) (Sorry, Jan, but I'm a bitch without the cream in my coffee, I did wean myself off the sweeteners so there's that.)

Wow, I'm really working myself into multiple tangents here. (So THIS is why I can't post more than twice a week anymore..)

On with the review!

 

Excuse the photos. John wasn't home and I couldn't find the memory card for his "nice" camera, so I used my trusty point-n-shoot. If you want nice pictures that actually make you want to eat the screen, go visit Jan.

Now, I didn't take any pictures of the mixing process, which was so easy, I had to constantly double check myself to make sure nothing had been skipped.

20 minutes later, we had muffins.

They complimented our meal of brown rice pasta (gluten free) and grass fed ground beef with organic marinara sauce. Oh, and spinach. ("Something green on your plate!") (Oh, God. My transformation of becoming my mother is almost complete.)

(I'm writing this post three hours after eating and I'm still full.)

 

Like my teeth marks? No braces. Look how even those dental grooves are.

Oh, yeah. It should be noted that Jan's recipe calls for unblanched almond flour and I only had the blanched kind, which probably affected the color. I had considered taking out the Ninja and trying to make myself some unblanched almond flour, but time was of the essence and I wasn't in the mood to waste perfectly good almonds should I do it wrong. (And Sprite hates the sound of the Ninja doing its thing. You know, for a "ninja", stealth is one of its weaknesses.)

They were better than cornbread. Seriously! Okay, don't just take my word for it. What did you think, John?

 

(I had to put the rest into the freezer before he could grab another. So, Jan, look for another word from me about how these thaw or reheat.) Yes, he loved them.

Hm, he's an easy sell. We need to go after someone harder, a tougher nut to crack, someone who must not be told that what she's about to consume actually has no processed flour in it.

 

"What do you think, Sprite?"

 

"Mmmph."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, kid."

Bottom line, the almond flour muffin was all she would eat for dinner. I even layered some cheddar on top of her pasta, she wouldn't touch it, but did ask for another muffin.

So there you go, three thumbs up, and something to look forward to for the weekend. (This recipe gave me eight good sized muffins although Jan's recipe calls for nine.)

Most of you who are still reading this site, all three of you, probably already frequent Jan's Sushi Bar, and if you don't, what are you waiting for? Get over there now before she releases her cookbook and becomes too busy and famous to post anything anymore!

(And maybe this review will net me an autograph for my copy..)

(Yes, that was blatant begging.)

Oh, by the way, Jan had no idea I'm doing this. She probably saw the title of this post and thought, "Oh, shit, what did that girl DO?"

I did muffins. That's what I did.

Monday Miracle

No, not a new meme. Just a miracle that my first foray into challah making ended so well.

For those not in the know, challah is an soft and chewy egg bread, rooted deeply in the Jewish diet, which is brought out to "break bread", usually during services at Synagogue on Friday nights or Saturday mornings to initiate Shabbot. During the High Holy Days, Rosh Hashana through Yom Kippur, challah is found in almost every spread.

Simply put, it's just damn good bread.

So, putting on my own Rosh Hashana dinner this past Saturday, (Yes, I know it was late since Rosh Hashana began on Wednesday evening, but work schedules and life schedules did not permit celebrating until the weekend.) I decided to take on almost every aspect of the meal myself, including the safe food. (Every kid has a safety pick during holiday dinners.It's the one thing you'll eat tons of when the meat looks questionable and the veggies can be smelled before seen.)

It was a six hour process, seriously. But-

It's so worth it.

I think I'll shave ten minutes off the baking time since the bottoms of the crusts came out a little dark, a sure sign of too much time in the sun, but the rest of it was sheer heaven.

Add a dab of butter and lose the Kosher status, but for this Jew who follows the lower case letter of the law, WORTH IT.

We went through an entire loaf during the dinner (the kids' table could be blamed for a majority of the carb consumption) and the other loaf was used to make french toast the next morning.

Yes, challah, according to almost every great chef out there (and Trevor and myself), actually makes the best cornerstone for french toast.

Worth it? WORTH IT.

Don't ask about my diet.

(WORTH IT!) 
 
 

The Vanilla Verdict

I normally don't do reviews anymore. It's not a set rule, but one I maintain mostly due to the time and trouble I have to go through to meet the company's expectations, my readers' expectations, and my own moral expectations. I will only review things I think Sprite would like, and it's a strike against the company if I can't score a give away of the product in question since I would feel strange waxing poetic about XYZ and how I got something for free and woo hoo and comments are open, let me know what you think, m'kay?

So, most emails have been getting deleted with a apologetic reply declining my interest, but thanking them anyway. Until I saw an email from Pepperidge Farm asking me to review their new Vanilla Goldfish graham crackers and I thought, hm, that would be right up Sprite's palate, er, alley so I cast my hat into the ring, pledging to add my two cents to their opinion count. Besides, free food? I'm gaining game.

The Goldfish arrived pretty quickly after, first time I ever received food through Fed Ex, and we tore into the bag. I immediately liked it, the flavor reminding me of the outside ends of a vanilla sandwich cookie. John liked it too, proposing it as a topping for ice cream or even just mixed up with whipped cream for an easy snack.

Sprite didn't like it.

"Are you sure you don't like them?" I asked, offering her another.

She declined, "I don't want it," and walked away.

Huh. This would be a first. The kid loved "fishies".

I brought them for an afterschool snack the next day, depositing the baggie into her car seat for her to find.

She climbed into the van, seeing them quickly. "Ooh, fishies!" Grasping the plastic, she opened the seam and popped a few into her mouth. After crunching a few times, she handed the bag back to me. "Here, Mommy. I don't like it."

Okay. It wasn't a winner. (Even if John and I made short work of the rest of the supply.)

I emailed the marketing rep with the news, letting her know that I could easily pull the plug on the whole operation and forget this ever happened, but if I were to go through with the review, I would need to be honest. (I have guilt. In spades. Very pointy.)

Luckily. she understood and gave me permission to move forward with the review, mentioning it would help if I included the fact that John and I thought it was delicious. Sure, no problem.

Now, during this timeframe, our statewide chain Publix was running some great sales on Goldfish crackers, marking them down to a dollar a bag. I used the discount to stock up on our inventory, buying the Original, Pretzel, Chocolate, and Honey varieties, the choices Sprite is always okay with, a bag of Vanilla for John and me, and a new flavor, S'mores, mostly due to the fact that it just sounded good, and if the kid hated it, it would be her loss.

Of course, she loved it. "Marshmallows! I want marshmallows!" The entire bag disappeared in a matter of days between Sprite's requests, my pre-dinner fistfuls, and I'm sure John snuck his hand into the cookie bag a few times. So I clued the rep in on this twist of events and she again gave her blessing to review those instead.

So, Vanilla? I will probably only buy them when John wants them for a sundae topping. The kid has rejected them enough times to convince me that she's not a fan.

S'mores? They're on my short list. (Funny how I bought the bag I reviewed, huh?) (Meh. It was a buck. I'll live.)

Ooh, quick side story! (I know, I know, when are they ever quick?)

We took a day trip on Saturday, more about that in later posts, and I packed Sprite's Minnie Mouse lunch bag with snacks and drinks for our outing. I included a bag of the Vanilla Goldfish, a banana, and some fruit chews for the kid. We then proceeded to neglect our snacks and didn't dive into the stash until the drive home. Since Sprite was napping, and therefore oblivious to me raiding her food, I decided to eat the fishies.

Upon the first bite, I thought they tasted strange. I took a few more and ate those. (Because that's what you do when something doesn't taste the way it should. You taste it again.) Again, the taste was off.

"John, try this. Does it taste right?" I offered the bag and he took a few. (Because that's what you do when something doesn't taste the way it should. You make someone else cast a vote.)

Munch, munch. "Huh." He dipped his hand into the bag again. "It doesn't taste like it did. It tastes like-"

"Bananas?"

His eyes widened. "Yes!" He took a few more. "Did you get a package of banana too?"

"They don't make banana."

"Then how did that happen?"

I looked in Sprite's lunch bag and found the ripe banana. "Do you think it somehow absorbed the banana smell?"

He shrugged, his eyes on the road. "No clue on that one."

I wasn't sure if it was a fluke, but decided to test my theory once more. I poured the rest of the Vanilla stock into a sealed baggie and deposited it and another ripe banana into Sprite's sack. Zipping it closed, I left it overnight.

Would you believe they tasted like banana?

They totally did. (And they were good too! Why hasn't Pepperidge Farm thought of banana before? You could pair them with the Vanilla and Chocolate and call it a Banana Split!) (And now I want ice cream..)

I think I've stumbled onto a winner. I even have a name proposal, Nanner Fish! (Come on, the product is mostly geared towards kids anyway.. Better to have a kitchy name they can pronounce easily.)

So, there is is. A review that went South, back North, and then took a turn into left field. Bet you never saw THAT coming.

Week of Thanks: You'll thank me for this.

Welcome to the Week of Thanks! Thanks for coming!

Since the Keeper family has a lot to do in getting ready for the Holidays (capital on the H this year since Sprite now knows who Santa is and was last seen constructing a trap of sorts for the fat man when he comes for her cookies.) I'm reposting some of my tried and true Thankful themed posts. I immediately thought of this one since it was posted the Monday before Thanksgiving last year and, I have to admit, has some pretty funny lines in it. Yes, I actually get a kick out of my own writing. What? You don't go back into your Archives to peak in on some gems and wonder What the hell was I on to come up with THAT play on words? how you thought of such genius?

So, being that we're still 2 weeks out from the next HASAY update, I thought I definitely me Get that scale away from me! This weekend was difficult.. some of us could use some helpful reminders when we face off against the buffet table.

HASAY Week 6: Tips for the Turkey (I come bearing lists) - Originally Published November 24, 2008

Don't know what HASAY is? Click here. No purchase necessary. Void where prohibited. Accessories sold separately.

Okay, people. This week begins the actual "Holiday Season", or in mostly everyone's case, the "Holiday Glutton". Parties usually begin around Thanksgiving and don't serve "Last Call" until after the New Year. Food is spread out for the taking and the only thing they ask in return is a pound of flesh. Or two. Or- um, put down the eggnog, please.

Diets are tested, insulin levels are challenged, the effects of tryptophan, you know, triple. Cookies and candies and cakes become a common sight everywhere from the office to your doctor's office to the post office to your home to your fridge...and dude, it's 3 in the morning. Show some restraint!

It's tough out there. Sweaters, meant for hiding your skin from the cold, serve double duty to hide the extra skin that came a caroling as well.

Where does HASAY fit in all this? (Heh heh, get it? FIT?) (What?)

I've had a couple of temptations lately, the next one being Tuesday for our office's Thanksgiving brunch (Oh yeah, can someone remind me? I'm supposed to bring my griddle tomorrow to make pancakes. Not me making the pancakes. They're using the griddle, not me. I mean, we all know what I'm capable of, right?) and then of course, Thanksgiving itself.

I'm pretty good about staying away from the bad things and keeping my cheating down to a "treating" once a week. I usually reserve these treats for Saturdays when I'm not stressed with work, I don't have to exercise, and I can enjoy myself. The rest of the week? Get your bread the hell away from me.

Of course, this week, my treat will be used for Thursday since I have not one, but two Thanksgiving dinners to attend. (More about that on Thursday.) So, John and I have talked about it and came up with our tried and true methods for indulging in the sweet and savory holiday goodies. Here they are, some you've heard before, but hey, they work!

1. Eat a small meal before going to parties. It DOES help you think twice about visiting the buffet table and keeps the nibbling to a mininum.

2. If the meal will be at the party, grab the smallest plate you can find (like the kid's cabinet? So what if Scooby Doo is staring up at you? It's still less room for Scooby Snacks!) and only use that plate for your food. The smaller the plate, the smaller the serving, the bigger the space between your belt and gut.

3. Bogart the protein and fill up on that. Trying to ration so everyone gets some turkey? Screw that! This is your waist on the line! (Get it? Waist-... Never mind.) They'll understand. After the New Year. After they've started talking to you again. Oh yeah, and the entire white meat/dark meat thing? Busted. (It's true. I heard it on the John Tesh Radio Show. Has anyone listened to it? Does it sound like he's barking his words sometimes or is it just me?)

4. Limit the alchohol. Sure, the mojitos are kick ass, but empty calories as well. They add up. Plus, when someone (always) breaks out the Trivial Pursuit game, you want to be able to recall those empty facts a bit quicker than everyone else. Being smarter than a bunch of drunk people is awesome. (I would say awesomesauce, but sauce is fattening.)

5. Indulge. Huh? What the hell kind of food limitation list is this? I said "indulge". Go to the dessert table. Pick out the one sweet you're looking forward to most and save your "points" for that. This means, you need to be good during dinner and only have a small piece. But you still get your cake! And the feeling of heaven when you swallow that bite of forbidden bliss.

6. Not a sweets person? Neither is John, really. So, he recommends limiting your servings of the side dishes which he counts as one of his vices. Mashed potatoes? Keep it down to one scoop. Small scoop. In fact, if the hosting couple has a little girl who has an Easy Bake oven or fake food utensils, use HER scoop. That way, you have some potatoes, the fake scoop has an actual use in life, and the contamination you may have picked up from the Chinese made scoop which was probably recalled YEARS ago will only burn more calories when you're fighting off a new unknown strand of Avian flu. (Best. Diet. Ever.) (Quick! What movie is that from?)

7. Stay away from the butter! What is so wrong with naked potatoes? And broccoli? They DO have a taste, you've just been jaded by the constant use of the cow's culinary curse that you don't know a floret from a floor tile anymore. If you don't like the taste naked, then why are you eating it? (Hm?) (This also applies to the ranch dressing you drown your carrot sticks in.)

8. Drink lots of water. In fact, John says to drink two glasses of water before the food comes out. This will help fill you up a little, keep the food shoveling at bay, and lessen the chances of asking for another go round with the green bean casserole. (The fried onions fight dirty too. And give you gas. Come on, how many times can you blame it on the dog anyway? Worse, what if they don't have a dog? Blaming it on old Aunt Mildred is just evil and Santa will remember that.)

9. Exercise that day. You pretty much know your resistance is low. The force is strong with the brownie. Use the fork, Luke. So, kick your own butt hours before, take a shower, because your goal is to make conversation with family, not start family traditions over who has to invite "the smelly one" next year, and go to that party with your fork held high, knowing that the calories you burned will at least be a wash. And you can wear the same nice slimning outfit next month to the holiday party! (Washed, of course.)

10. Bring mints. It's proven somewhere, not here, that when you've just brushed your teeth or had a mint, you're less likely to eat. Something about the subliminal hint that you just cleaned your teeth, therefore the kitchen is closed. Or maybe it's about the nasty aftertaste mints give everything you eat. (Except coffee. Ever had a drink of coffee after chewing up a mint? Oh, yeah...)

So there you go. A list. You don't have to use all the tips. You've probably seen these tips plastered all over the women's magazines anyway. But, remember! When you're about to bite into a flaky piece of apple pie covered in whipped cream and caramel sauce, think about what you're eating. Think about your clothes and how you really don't want to have to work it off come January. Or just think about the children. Won't someone think of the children?

Got some tips of your own? Don't be a scrooge! Share here!

Now, if you'll excuse me, someone just placed a bowl of M&M's near my desk and I need to go shove this list down their throat share my tips with them for holiday nibbling.

Don't know what HASAY is? Click here. No purchase necessary. Void where prohibited. Accessories sold separately.

Okay, people. This week begins the actual "Holiday Season", or in mostly everyone's case, the "Holiday Glutton". Parties usually begin around Thanksgiving and don't serve "Last Call" until after the New Year. Food is spread out for the taking and the only thing they ask in return is a pound of flesh. Or two. Or- um, put down the eggnog, please.

Diets are tested, insulin levels are challenged, the effects of tryptophan, you know, triple. Cookies and candies and cakes become a common sight everywhere from the office to your doctor's office to the post office to your home to your fridge...and dude, it's 3 in the morning. Show some restraint!

It's tough out there. Sweaters, meant for hiding your skin from the cold, serve double duty to hide the extra skin that came a caroling as well.

Where does HASAY fit in all this? (Heh heh, get it? FIT?) (What?)

I've had a couple of temptations lately, the next one being Tuesday for our office's Thanksgiving brunch (Oh yeah, can someone remind me? I'm supposed to bring my griddle tomorrow to make pancakes. Not me making the pancakes. They're using the griddle, not me. I mean, we all know what I'm capable of, right?) and then of course, Thanksgiving itself.

I'm pretty good about staying away from the bad things and keeping my cheating down to a "treating" once a week. I usually reserve these treats for Saturdays when I'm not stressed with work, I don't have to exercise, and I can enjoy myself. The rest of the week? Get your bread the hell away from me.

Of course, this week, my treat will be used for Thursday since I have not one, but two Thanksgiving dinners to attend. (More about that on Thursday.) So, John and I have talked about it and came up with our tried and true methods for indulging in the sweet and savory holiday goodies. Here they are, some you've heard before, but hey, they work!

1. Eat a small meal before going to parties. It DOES help you think twice about visiting the buffet table and keeps the nibbling to a mininum.

2. If the meal will be at the party, grab the smallest plate you can find (like the kid's cabinet? So what if Scooby Doo is staring up at you? It's still less room for Scooby Snacks!) and only use that plate for your food. The smaller the plate, the smaller the serving, the bigger the space between your belt and gut.

3. Bogart the protein and fill up on that. Trying to ration so everyone gets some turkey? Screw that! This is your waist on the line! (Get it? Waist-... Never mind.) They'll understand. After the New Year. After they've started talking to you again. Oh yeah, and the entire white meat/dark meat thing? Busted. (It's true. I heard it on the John Tesh Radio Show. Has anyone listened to it? Does it sound like he's barking his words sometimes or is it just me?)

4. Limit the alchohol. Sure, the mojitos are kick ass, but empty calories as well. They add up. Plus, when someone (always) breaks out the Trivial Pursuit game, you want to be able to recall those empty facts a bit quicker than everyone else. Being smarter than a bunch of drunk people is awesome. (I would say awesomesauce, but sauce is fattening.)

5. Indulge. Huh? What the hell kind of food limitation list is this? I said "indulge". Go to the dessert table. Pick out the one sweet you're looking forward to most and save your "points" for that. This means, you need to be good during dinner and only have a small piece. But you still get your cake! And the feeling of heaven when you swallow that bite of forbidden bliss.

6. Not a sweets person? Neither is John, really. So, he recommends limiting your servings of the side dishes which he counts as one of his vices. Mashed potatoes? Keep it down to one scoop. Small scoop. In fact, if the hosting couple has a little girl who has an Easy Bake oven or fake food utensils, use HER scoop. That way, you have some potatoes, the fake scoop has an actual use in life, and the contamination you may have picked up from the Chinese made scoop which was probably recalled YEARS ago will only burn more calories when you're fighting off a new unknown strand of Avian flu. (Best. Diet. Ever.) (Quick! What movie is that from?)

7. Stay away from the butter! What is so wrong with naked potatoes? And broccoli? They DO have a taste, you've just been jaded by the constant use of the cow's culinary curse that you don't know a floret from a floor tile anymore. If you don't like the taste naked, then why are you eating it? (Hm?) (This also applies to the ranch dressing you drown your carrot sticks in.)

8. Drink lots of water. In fact, John says to drink two glasses of water before the food comes out. This will help fill you up a little, keep the food shoveling at bay, and lessen the chances of asking for another go round with the green bean casserole. (The fried onions fight dirty too. And give you gas. Come on, how many times can you blame it on the dog anyway? Worse, what if they don't have a dog? Blaming it on old Aunt Mildred is just evil and Santa will remember that.)

9. Exercise that day. You pretty much know your resistance is low. The force is strong with the brownie. Use the fork, Luke. So, kick your own butt hours before, take a shower, because your goal is to make conversation with family, not start family traditions over who has to invite "the smelly one" next year, and go to that party with your fork held high, knowing that the calories you burned will at least be a wash. And you can wear the same nice slimning outfit next month to the holiday party! (Washed, of course.)

10. Bring mints. It's proven somewhere, not here, that when you've just brushed your teeth or had a mint, you're less likely to eat. Something about the subliminal hint that you just cleaned your teeth, therefore the kitchen is closed. Or maybe it's about the nasty aftertaste mints give everything you eat. (Except coffee. Ever had a drink of coffee after chewing up a mint? Oh, yeah...)

So there you go. A list. You don't have to use all the tips. You've probably seen these tips plastered all over the women's magazines anyway. But, remember! When you're about to bite into a flaky piece of apple pie covered in whipped cream and caramel sauce, think about what you're eating. Think about your clothes and how you really don't want to have to work it off come January. Or just think about the children. Won't someone think of the children?

Got some tips of your own? Don't be a scrooge! Share here!

Now, if you'll excuse me, someone just placed a bowl of M&M's near my desk and I need to go shove this list down their throat share my tips with them for holiday nibbling.

Treasure Hunting at 45 MPH

"Chirro!" Munch.

John navigated through rush hour traffic. Stealing a glance in the rear-view mirror, he spied Sprite sitting happily in her car seat, her mouth moving in mid-chew.

"Sprite wants a snack?"

"Eat," she crowed enthusiastically.

"Mommy has a snack for you. We'll see her in a few minutes."

"Mommy snack."

John turned his attention back to the road then heard it again.

"Chirro!" Munch munch.

What the-? John looked in the mirror again and saw Sprite's mouth moving.

"What are you eating?"

Her right hand stole down into the inside corner of the car seat and he watched as she groped around until she came up with.... a cheerio.

She held up her prize in triumph. "Chirro!" she exclaimed, and popped it into her mouth.

I stood in front of my office building, spotting John's car as it pulled into the lot and to a stop.

The right rear window immediately rolled down revealing an almost crying Sprite who was anticipating her snack for the ride home. Not one to tease the impatient toddler, I promptly handed over her booty and then settled myself in the front passenger seat.

"When was the last time we gave Sprite cheerios in the car?" John asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"Cheerios? Wow, it's been a while. I've been bringing animal cookies and bunny snacks for a snack the last couple of weeks."

John started snickering. "Your kid has been digging up lost cheerio pieces from the cockles of her carseat."

"Cockles, huh?"

"Yeah, cockles. She's been pulling food from the corners and announcing her treasure and then eating it."

"How long has that stuff been there?"

"Long enough to forget the last time you gave her cheerios in the car."

"Yeesh."

We moved on to other subjects as Sprite enjoyed her animal cookies.

I turned my head to check on the backseat and noticed Sprite happily enjoying her cookies. Her eyes met mine and she smiled, a big beige mash around her teeth. Picking up another treat out of her baggie, she showed it to me almost as if she were offering some of her snack.

"Cookie?" she asked, and before I could respond, immediately retracted her offer and bit the head off the sweet in finality.

"Meanie," I responded before turning my attention back to the front seat.

We continued our conversation until we heard, "All done! All done!"

I checked on Sprite yet again, who held her empty baggie out for me to take. Once done, she looked out the window.

We rode a couple of miles in silence. ...  "Chirro!" Munch.

"Those must be stale by now," John commented.

"I don't even want to know," I shook my head. I couldn't stop her. She had free reign over her carseat while the car was in motion.

"Wabbit!" Munch munch.

"She found a bunny," I mentioned.

"It's like a Toddler's Trail Mix back there."

"Hey, Sprite," I called back, "can you find a raisin to round it out?"

I glanced at John who gave me "the look".

"I'll clean her seat out this weekend."

"Banana!" Sprite exclaimed.

WHAT?!

I looked back to John. "Maybe tonight?"

"Good idea."

Recipe (Mess)ipe

Attention, world! I have an announcement! I am not a cook. That is all.

It's well known in my family that I am not the greatest of cooks. There are a couple of things I can make, only one thing I can make well, (at least that's what I've been told) (they could have been lying..) and the rest of the cooking I leave to John.

However, I watched my father-in-law make a pot roast one day and it just involved a lot of dumping things into a pot and letting it sit on the stove top. Huh. Okay, so you drop the roast in, add a can of diced tomatoes, a can of tomato paste, sauce, water, and seasonings and then just leave it there for a couple of hours. And it cooks itself? With minimal involvement on my behalf? Really. I must try this.

So I did. And John liked it! And Sprite ate it! No one died! And it was good. I started making this meal every weekend and got a little more adventurous. I made mashed potatoes, from scratch! That's right, this "from a box"ed in kitchen wrecking ball who believed in the God of Freeze Dried Potato Flakes actually diverted from tradition and went the extra step. Why? Eh, I wanted lumps. But it worked! And it was good.

John became inspired by my increased interest in the culinary world and vowed to get us a good set of pots and pans. The ones we had were awful. Food stuck to them incessantly. We tried olive oil, butter spray, prayer, nothing worked. So, John came home one day with a brand spanking new set of pots and pans, the same day that I was making a pot roast for dinner, for my parents, who were in town visiting, and had heard about how I could rock a roast. Sense the foreboding? No? FOREBODING! (Just looking out for you.)

My dad and I had stayed home working on the baseboards in our family room since John and I would like to look at a color on the wall. (Primer does not constitute a color. It's true. I checked.) John and my mother took Sprite out for the day and around 3:30, I took a break from helping my dad (Oh, he took the lead in this one. I had to let him. We're so alike, we would have been butting heads. And the baseboards would never have gotten done. Mom, please don't comment on this.) (Ah! Fingers off the comment link! I see you!) and prepped the pot roast where it then sat on the stove basking in the heat of it's own sauna.

Some time around 4:30, John and Mom and the kid arrived home and John was just SO EXCITED about the new pots he had bought. I ooh'ed and ah'ed appropriately and then meandered off to find Sprite who was trying to corner Harry. (Poor dog. But that's another post entirely.)

While I was gone, (FOREBODING!) John decided he just HAD to try out one of the new pots. He dumped the contents of the pot roast from the old pot to the new pot and settled it back into the same spot it had occupied earlier. I would have been none the wiser about his shenanigans if I hadn't come back to the kitchen and seen red spots all over my just cleaned counter. (I'm anal. You know.)

I looked at the mess and then at the stove. The new pot? He transferred dinner from the old pot which I would not have had to clean after dinner and just toss out into the new pot which I was now going to HAVE to clean after dinner? I won't lie to you. (You look great today, by the way. Honest!) I was upset.

I took a deep breath, let it go, and started preparing the rest of the meal. When the timer sounded, (FOREBODING!) I lifted the lid on the pot and looked inside. Um, no, it wasn't supposed to look like a gloppy greasy mess. I took one of the flanks out of the pot and propped it on a plate where I promptly began slicing. Stringy, slimy pieces came off one by one.

Dinner was ruined. And for once, it wasn't my fault.

We had a blow out, right there in the kitchen in front of my parents, whom I had to send out for a rotisserie chicken while I sat and stewed in my own juices the rest of the night. (I imagine I would have been very tender.)

Since that disastrous day, I have been reluctant to cook. Especially since last night, when John brought home a fire extinguisher and made a big deal about where to stow it, "just in case". (Okay, now he's just being a schmuck.) (I understand that every kitchen should have a fire extinguisher and even Julia Child could have caused a couple of 3 alarm blazes in her day, but John's timing? Very schmucky.)

Now, of course, due to the economy being what it is (Um, quick tangent, can we send the economy to Time Out? Cuz it's been a BAD BAD BOY!), we are eating more meals at home and trying to stay away from the restaurant circuit. So, I am on the look out for some recipes, hopefully healthy ones, that are easy to make, and don't require much, you know, involvement. From me. In fact, let's assume that John will make the meals. All the meals.

I'm asking for your easiest time saving recipes. What is your go-to for when you come home and need to get something on the table in under 30 minutes? I'm not looking for Rachael Ray, I know where she is. (In syndication, duh.) I'm not looking for fillet mignon either. I'm looking for a reliable (somewhat healthy) alternative to canned soup. Which is probably what we're eating tonight since I forgot to bring down the chicken from the freezer.

Whatcha got?

Blessed are the ignorant..

Dear couple with the baby we saw at Fireshouse Subs on Sunday,

Hi. We're the family who was sitting at the table next to yours. Ma'am, I saw you looking over at our table with a mixture of pity and apprehension. I know. I can admit it. We looked a little pathetic, didn't we?

Mom and Dad shoveling food in faster than we could swallow while trying to convince the cranky toddler to try a couple of bites and throwing pieces of sandwich from one tray to another, playing a sort of mealtime hopscotch. And while we're doing this, we're arguing with each other over whether or not to give the tot a sip of soda while the tot, obviously strung out on preservatives and all sorts of bad food, is reaching for the forbidden soda and whining for it. And then Mom snarls at Dad to go get the girl a "cookie, dammit!" Sorry sight, right?

I heard you telling your parents (at least I assume they are your parents considering you called them Mom and Dad, but I could be mistaken) about the great lengths you had gone to find the organic Cheerios you were feeding your son and how, since he is beginning to chew harder foods, you are being careful to read the ingredients on every product you bring into your home. 

I saw you give the boy, who is probably about 10 months right now, a toy to play with and he occupied himself with it quietly, giving you all a chance to enjoy a leisurely meal while the toddler (and bad influence) at the table next to you was building a complicated looking structure with her pieces of bread and meat and then going all Godzilla on it with one swipe of her hand. (If I could compare the two tables, I'd say your table had the perfect weather with sunny skies while our table was experiencing hurricane warnings with a high chance of scattering debris.)

It's okay. I'm not taking it personally, because I know something you don't. You will be us. Soon.

Your day will come. When your son begins to walk, and talk, and decides he's not on the same page with the decisions you've been making, your day will be here.

You will have that day when your perfectly clean child decides to take the entire plate of food and hold it over his head, showering sodden bits of bread and lettuce all over his pristine curls.

You will have that day when you are throwing food from one parent's tray to the other because your obedient son all of the sudden decides he only wants food from Daddy's tray and even though Mommy is the one supplying the food, you will do everything you can to make sure it looks like the food is in fact coming from Daddy's side of the table to avoid the tantrum that he will initiate anyway when he catches you in the act with the turkey arcing through the air.

Your day is on the horizon when your golden child, always contentedly sipping from his sippy cup filled with exactly one part nursery water and one part 100% apple juice, will look up and realize his entire life is now hinging on one sip from the soda you are enjoying yourself, and you will be forced to have a battle of wills with yourself and your husband over whether or not you should give in and let him have a sip, thinking on one hand that you may be providing the gateway junk which will in turn pave the way for more bad food to be allowed entrance into his unsullied temple and then the other hand will slap at you with "It's just a sip. It will shut him up." And you will cave.

You will wonder where your good eater's appetite has gone as you make quick calculations in your head over how much turkey and bread and lettuce made it into his mouth versus the floor and whether or not a cookie, while not a substantial source of vitamins and protein, will hopefully fill him up and then order your hapless husband to get the freaking kid a cookie, the same husband who is tired by now of playing hoagie hockey and defending his own meal from marauding tiny hands, and he will look up blankly at your request making you repeat the demand with a "dammit!" and the child, upon hearing the word "cookie", will cry for the cookie while not taking the time to understand that the timespan between hearing the word "cookie" and the cookie's actual appearance is not instantaneous and the volume level will rise until not even the appearance of the sweet merciful tantrum ending cookie will calm him down.

Yes, mark my words. You will be here.

So, no, I'm not taking your pitying looks to heart. Every dog has its day and every toddler has his tantrum. And yours will have his.

In the meantime, soak up all his cuteness and obedience for this is his way of letting you rest up before the real fun begins.

Cheers,

The mom at the next table

Sampler Plate

(Editor's Note: The following four events happened within the span of 24 hours and while they made up interesting little snippets, they were clearly not filling enough to shape a full post, more like appetizers. So I combined all the appetizers together and no matter the mixed flavors, you'll still leave my site feeling full. Bon appetit!)

Sitting at the dinner table last night, I was trying to persuade Sprite to stop shopping from my plate and start sampling her own, yet every bite I put to my mouth earned an "Um?" from my audience.

"Sprite, eat your food. It's the same thing I have." I lifted a grape to my lips and she quickly scanned her offerings and determined that grapes were not on her plate. Her eyes locked on mine. Liar!

"Pease?" she asked, looking at the grape intently. I begrudgingly bit the grape in half and shared it with her.

Again, this happened, her wanting the food on its way to my mouth,  to the extent that I would pop 2 grapes into my mouth for every half one she would beg from me so I could, well, half my grapes and eat them 2. (Get it?) (Not even a snicker? What, weekdays mean you can't be silly?)

We were getting down to the last couple of grapes in the bowl while John was sitting back, watching the two of us wrestle over the fruit and he made a comment about how cute and beautiful our daughter was and how much she's speaking these days and whoa, isn't she just amazing and smart, and I'm paraphrasing here since I was concentrating more on grape negotiations than the adjectives John was using to describe our daughter and therefore not using any quotations to capture his words and permanently affix them to him and do you think I should finally put a period on the end of this run-on and let you get on with the story? (Ooh, used a question mark! I'm sneaky like that.)

As he was extolling on her virtues, she asked again for another grape. "Pease?" she asked, her eyes on the prize.

Well, I must have been moving too slowly for her because the next word out of her mouth was "Now?"

I gaped at her and John gaped at me. Dude, she didn't!

We couldn't correct her, we were laughing too hard. (Is that bad?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This morning, John taught Sprite a new word. "Sup."

As in: "Hey! Sup?" (In case you're not clued in, sup is just shortening "What's up?". I'm pretty sure mostly everyone knew this, but there may be some lurkers who have just woken up and realized it was the 21st century, and they just HAD to check on my blog, so I'm trying to make everyone feel welcome here.) (Keep your shoes on, though. You're not THAT welcome.)

She picked this up right away, of course.

"Sup?" she asked her banana slices one by one, as she picked them up from the plate and devoured them.

"Sup?" she asked me when I extracted her from the torture device car seat after we pulled into daycare.

Her teachers found this hysterical when her greeting to them was "Sup?". I'm pretty sure they'll be shooting daggers by the end of the day when twenty-something toddlers are all racing around the one year old room shouting "Sup!" at random intervals.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat with Sprite at daycare, getting her comfortable with her surroundings, and one of her favorite teachers entered the room. Sprite made a beeline for this teacher and proceeded to shove into her lap while my lap was still warm from her tushy. (Yes, a little sliver of me died right then and there, but I smiled through it.)

I used this as an opportunity to escape with few tears from her Spriteness and made my way to the door. The teacher, seeing me, said, "See ya! Have a great day!"

Sprite looked over to me while sitting court in this teacher's lap. "See ya!" she parroted, then went right back to worshipping her teacher.

(Another attack, this time a parting shot.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I came back to pick up Sprite this afternoon and a toddler ran over to her and yelled "Sup!".

I guess "Sup" has now taken on "good bye" as a possible meaning, kind of like "Aloha" and "Shalom."

Sprite has started a new trend in the one year old room. She's trendy like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fin.

(Tums, anyone?)

It's in the salad bar, it MUST be healthy!

Cheat Night! I want Italian.

I am a good girl for most of the week, eating the right foods, walking the treadmill, etc. But, one night a week, I get to be bad. And this bad girl wants bad Italian and the bad heartburn that comes right after.

John and I loaded the toddler into her carseat and arrived at our favorite Italian restaurant in our area. The sign on the door didn't bode well as it advised the restaurant was closed for a fire and wouldn't be open for a good week. (Burnt garlic rolls, anyone?)

So, while meandering from there, we found ourselves at another Italian place, a geniune "Hole in the Wall" joint, family run, in fact, the owner seated us herself.

We ordered from the menu and I got up to make a trip to the salad bar. It was very small, with a sneeze guard that probably wouldn't hold up during a sniffle covering the scant offerings. I saw lettuce, tomato, onions, some pasta salad, and, huh, what is that? Is that what I think it is? It looks like...

"Ma'am?" I asked the owner who happened by at that moment. "May I ask what that is?" I pointed to the round brown things sitting in a tray right next to the ranch dressing.

The owner looked at where I was pointing and then back at me. "You don't know what that is?"

I smiled. "I think I do, but I wasn't sure."

The grandmotherly owner smiled back. "It's donuts. Please, help yourself." She turned and walked away.

Dude, where's my camera? Little bite size, brand name bag'o'donuts, chocolate of course, sitting right next to the salad! I've seen pudding in a salad bar, I've seen fruit salad, but donuts?

I could barely contain my laughter as I brought my plate of salad minus the donuts (Ya know, they just don't go with italian dressing. Well, maybe they do, but try it yourself and get back to me. My stomach thanks you.) back to the table. John asked me what was wrong as I was doubled over in silent hysterics. I mean, I was CRYING.

"You won't believe what's in the salad bar!"

John, of course, did not believe what I was telling him and went to see for himself. He came back smiling and said, "You MUST blog about this!"

Given the fact that the donuts seemed so out of place in the salad bar, we looked around and noted that pretty much everything else was out of place. It seemed a little dingy, had me wondering if the health inspector has ever seen the inside of it, and had me comtemplating possible cures for food poisoning, but I have to tell you, the food was actually very good. The dinner itself (not the salad, hells no..) tasted even better than the major Italian chain restaurants. I shared Baked Ziti with Sprite and John had a sampler plate which we raved about on the way home in between jokes about the donuts.

We even thanked the owner as we paid, promising her we would return.

And yes, we will come back. (Once we're sure there is no food poisoning.)

And I think we'll save room for dessert too.

Confessions of a Veggie Pusher

Beth Hering over at Momformation wrote a post on weight issues for children in which a majority of the parents studied didn't recognize the excess weight on their children. This hit me a bit hard.

You see, I have a weight issue. I have been up and down on the scale since puberty, recently losing weight in a healthy way, pushing the excercise, limiting the carbs, limiting the sweet stuff. The bathroom scale is half friend (Woo hoo! I'm down!) and half foe (Can I blame this on PMS bloating? Last night's raid on the cashew stash?).

John also has the same issues. He has also battled his food demons and sometimes won, sometimes lost. Right now, he is winning, but not as ardently as I am. (Ooh, can I blame this on World of Warcraft?) (Please?)

John and I made a pact to ourselves a while ago that we would not bring junk food into the house to keep the temptation away. This was actually well before Sprite was a twinkle (Twinkie?) in my eye. This pact is still iron-clad and if you look in our pantry (no, it's okay, I'm allowing it) and fridge, the worst thing you'll find is Smart Ones Desserts (my little reward for making it through a workout and you simply HAVE TO TRY the mint chocolate chip sundaes. You'll thank me.) (You're welcome.)

Reading this post had me thinking about what we feed Sprite. If you read the article (and please link to it and read it because there is some sobering information in it), you'll see that parents often turn a blind eye to how big or overweight their kids really are. I think a lot of it is in what we feed our kids and the amount of sedentary entertainment they enjoy. McDonalds makes little Katie happy? Well, then give her the fries! And Super-size it! Little Bobby wants pizza for dinner and nothing else will do? Well, one slice shouldn't hurt him. And I guess, since he's eating pizza, I should too. Little Debbie (Get it?) (Sorry.) wants to play her video game? Well, she's happy and I can work in piece, so be it.

I did not want to fall into this cycle. I promised myself back when Sprite started solids that I would be the soldier defending her system against the junk. I remember how appalled I was when I discovered orange stains on her onesie as I picked her up from daycare one day and discovered the stains were actually cheesy dust from cheese balls the kids had been eating for snack. (At first, I thought, "Hello? Choking hazard?" Then I thought, "Why are they feeding an 11 month old cheese balls?")

I also promised myself that I would only give her 100% juice. When I discovered the juice in her daycare was actually "juice drink" and had no actual juice in it, I quickly cut off her access to it, asking them to give her milk or water instead. (This was right around the time she started having issues with her Huggies. Little did we know this was actually a precursor of things to come for Sprite and her issues with acidic foods.)

I have realized (and begrudgingly accepted) that we do not have total control over what she eats in daycare, so I have learned to turn the cheek when I hear about the chocolate chip cookies and the chips Sprite has eaten that day. I have also looked the other way when Sprite is there for Parents Night Out and her dinner consists of pizza and more pizza. 

But as soon as her feet step off Daycare soil, she's mine. (Mwa ha ha ha!....Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you could hear that...could you?)

At home, her menu is more simple. Okay, a lot simple. People in prison have better access to junk than my 1.5 year old has. During meals, Sprite eats what we eat. If we're having broiled chicken and spinach for dinner, guess what's on her plate? And yes, she eats the spinach. She even eats the notorious broccoli and LIKES IT. (We're total veggie pushers.) We keep her diet very healthy and focused on proteins, fruits, and vegetables. Don't get me wrong. The animal crackers and Goldfish are staples in her snacking diet, but yogurt and cut up grapes make the rounds on a regular basis as well. And she does get a sugar cookie at the grocery store to keep her happy (and quiet, yes, that too..) so we're not completely banning the bad stuff.

All good, right? Well, for the most part, sure, but I sometimes feel like I'm taking things too far. Let me explain:

This past Saturday, we were at Story Time with other kids and their parents. A friend of ours offered all the kids some chocolate chip cookies, each about the size of a toddler's spread out hand. I declined for Sprite, choosing instead to give her the organic animal crackers I had already packed for her.

This same friend is also a teacher at Sprite's daycare and offered Sprite a munchkin one morning when we walked in. I, again, declined for Sprite, saying she had just eaten and refused most of her own meal, although it was plainly obvious Sprite was studying that piece of donut as if it was the key to the universe, and she wanted in on its secrets.

Recently, John accompanied Sprite and me on a shopping trip and offered her a sip of my (watered down) diet cola. I flipped out. I had been warding off the sodas when everyone else had been allowing little sips here and there and my OWN HUSBAND betrayed me! Her innocent palate had been marred by COLA! (See? I'm a little out there..)

In fact, now that I'm thinking this through, I'm remembering several occasions in which I have not let Sprite have the junk, steering her instead to something else, something less fattening. And this is where my fear takes over. Am I programming her to lead a life filled with "Eat this, not that" and planting the seeds of worry over her self image?

I find myself studying her sometimes and wondering, hmm, is her tummy supposed to be that big? Are her legs too chubby? When will she lose the cankles? Then I mentally shake myself and remember, oh, yeah, she's a toddler! Toddlers are supposed to have baby fat! They're supposed to have chubby cheeks! ( The better to nibble them... )...But does she have too much? (Ugh, I'm shaking my head in disbelief at MYSELF here.)

I just worry that she may be predisposed to the same weight issues John and I have struggled with. It may be in her genetics to gain weight more easily than others and she may have to struggle with her own self body image while looking at images of emaciated models and asking why she wasn't "blessed" with their body types.

When she steps on the scale in our bathroom (she likes to activate the display and giggles when it comes up), I have a momentary flash of the (hopefully fictionous) future when she's stepping on the scale in her teens and not emitting a giggle when she sees the numbers come up for her scrutiny.

Right now, she is exactly where she needs to be, her weight and height are proportionate to each other. According to the charts, she's perfect. (well, her head is a little big, but that's neither here nor there..)

I, of course, want her healthy above all else. I do not think a couple of pounds above the recommended weight will hurt her. I do think I am being too strict with her diet, but I also don't want to be too lax as in, she sees the Golden Arches and immediately is begging me for Mickey D's.

It's a fine line to walk, harder to walk it when you yourself have struggled with the issue at hand. Looking around at the kids I see, I agree that most parents do not realize what they're encouraging or enabling when they turn a blind eye to their child's growing girth. However, I do think, in my own aspect, I may need to take the glasses off once in a while and just let her be.

(Did you know you just burned 12 calories reading this? 22 calories if you clicked on the links and read those too! )

(Yes, I agree. I'm way out there. Can someone reel me in please?)

(Please?)