There are many things I love about cooking. I love the smells that come from my kitchen. I love the sights that come from my kitchen. I love the organization of my kitchen. I love how well-stocked my kitchen pantry is and I especially love knowing it is my kitchen.
Have you ever walked into your kitchen and thought 'I can't wait to eat that!? Well, I do. This morning is no exception. Tomorrow, I am doing an interview for the local newspaper, called the "Morning Call," that will be featured in the FOOD section. I am doing the article on a Pennsylvania treat called Funnycake. Never heard of it? Well it's part pie, part cake and part pudding. There is a buttery crust layer, a rich chocolate layer and a sweet, vanilla-scented cake layer. The crust is pre-baked and the two layers go in, one on top of the other; beginning with the chocolate. (I will share the recipe on my Recipes page.) Anyway, it is yummy and well, funny. It smells scrumptious! My kitchen smells of freshly baked pie crust, chocolate, butter and vanilla. YUM! What other room can you walk into and want to eat what you smell? None other, that's what room.
I also love what I see in my kitchen. I have happy things on my walls comprised of photographs of places I have been like France, Greece, Turkey and Egypt. I have things our daughters and my husband and mother have made like wood burning projects that say "Mi Amour" by our youngest daughter, Mia or a recipe for Vudalikia my mother, Ellen, wrote on a wood board and I burned on with a soldering iron so I would always have it. This particular decoration in my kitchen means a lot since my mother's hands are very arthritic. It took several days, working only a few minutes at a time to complete. It was made with nothing but love and I adore and treasure it! I also have a heart my husband, Russell, made me out of wood that says "I love you My Life." It's right above my stove so I can see it all the time. It too is a treasured item. I have hex signs and Welsh spoons. I have a toll painted small spice rack. Get the picture? Good.
I love the organization of my kitchen. I have pots, hanging from a pot rack, arranged by size and use, just the way I want them. I have nearly nothing on my counters because I want the space kept free of clutter. I have tasting spoons and varieties of salts above and to the right of my stove. I have a large, wooden basket of utensils to the left of my stove, in a corner. There are way too many things on my refrigerator but its MY refrigerator so no judging.
I love how I have my kitchen pantry well-stocked. I can make most anything I want, anytime I want to make it. I have flours, sugars, leaveners, oils, flavorings... All the ingredients at an easy level and yes, alphabetized. Speaking of that, my spice rack is also alphabetized. No judging. It is after all, my kitchen! I can do what I wanna. Doing "what I wanna" is the precise reason I love knowing it is my kitchen!
There is one activity, typically done in the kitchen, I do not particularly love but kinda-sorta hate. Maybe it's one that's not your favorite too. Want to know what that activity is? Dealing with raw poultry. I am not going into details because it's icky. I hate dealing with raw poultry because it's just a little too real for me... There is no mistaking what the animal was before it got shrink-wrapped and brought home by me. It's difficult to detach from raw poultry don't ya think? Well I do. But, the job needs to get done so I do the job quickly and efficiently and love what I do with the ingredient once the part I hate is complete.
Do you have something you love about cooking and something you hate about it? Please share them in the comments section. Maybe we can help each other to look at our "hates" differently and find some new "loves."
Do you remember your first time? Was it awkward and a bit uncomfortable?
I remember feeling a bit uncertain and embarrassed. I didn't know where to begin? It hurt a little, I got burned. I was sweaty and thirsty. I remember thinking, 'should I measure the flour or break the eggs?'
Wait. What? What did you think I was talking about? Something else Dear Readers? You are my kind of Reader! Nope. I'm not talking about THAT first time. I am talking about the first time I ever cooked! Jeez! But, since I have your attention, lets talk about first times... My goodness, the lengths to which a blogger has to go gather readers...
The first dish I ever made was Gnocchi with a Brown Butter and Herb Sauce. I made it for Russell, who was, at that time, my boyfriend. Guess what? He hated it! He said it wasn't the taste of the sauce but the texture of the gnocchi. Thanks Honey! I thought with maybe a little bit of "BITE ME" thrown in.
Fast forward to a conversation I had with a young woman about her lack of cooking skills. She said a friend of hers is 'on a mission' to help her learn to cook. I offered her some (unsolicited) advise as a Professional Private Chef and Cooking Instructor, 'Learn how to use a knife properly.' I said. She said knives were one of the main things that scared her most about cooking. I said I understood her apprehension about knives and recommended a few things to her; get a good knife and take good care of it. Simple enough right! Then I recommended she just get into the kitchen and begin cooking.
Now, before I get any feedback from you Dear Readers, let me explain myself.
If a person does not get into their kitchen and begin, they cannot start, right? Right. Thank you.
Now, back to my story...
The young woman looked at me, utterly flabbergasted. How could I calmly tell her to 'start cooking?' 'I don't know where or how to begin.' She said with a chuckle. Ok, I thought. 'What is your favorite food or meal?' I asked. She said 'She didn't have a favorite.' Man this kid was tough I thought! 'How about, what is the dish your mother always makes for you when you go home to visit?' She said, 'Orange Chicken.' I said, 'Learn to make that dish.'
I believe "doing" in a kitchen is "functional exercise." Skills cannot be acquired if they are never employed right? How can anyone gather skills if they never do? They cannot. It's that simple.
Get into your kitchen and do. Get into your kitchen and try something new. Get into your kitchen and create, anything. No one is judging or watching you.
My favorite thing about cooking is that it is a form of giving. I cook from my heart and pour my love into the food I share with my family. Cooking makes me happy. Period.
Share your first time experience in the comments section. (I mean your first time cooking experience.) How did it go? Who was it for and did they enjoy it?
A while back I sustained a severe laceration to my index finger. The nurse instructed me to soak in straight betadine solution for 30 minutes. Our daughter Mia was with me and the two of us just looked at each other and thought this was crazy! I, being moderately intelligent, questioned this. Not surprisingly, the nurse got a bit nasty, said the "doctor" knew what he was doing and slammed the door shut. (Things were already off to a deplorable start.) The "doctor" at urgent care finally came into the room and proceeded to drip and drop the cut with purple medical crazy glue as I told him 'it's just going straight into the cut, is that right?' He said, 'Of course.' And then he proceeded to wrap and wrap and wrap some more for good measure, the wound in steri-strips. (Again, more questioning from me...) He said stitches would probably make things worse. (Oh yeah! Stitches would do that!) Then he wrapped it in gauze, gave me no other major directions, offered to remove me from work (since it was a workman's comp issue) and sent me back to my commercial kitchen.
Cut to nearly a week later, when he said it would be time to return to him for a follow up. I kept my finger dry by wrapping it in a bag when I showered and did my best at work to keep it safe. By the fourth day or so, my finger changed. It really began to hurt. I worked up the courage to unwrap it and remove the strips. Well, it was not good. My finger tip was dying... It was severely infected and looked utterly frightening. I was scared and a bit panicked.
I returned to urgent care and got assistance from a staff that actually cared if I lost my finger tip or not... The PA I saw photographed it from many angles, consulted with the finger specialist and instructed me to 'have faith' and to try to 'keep calm.' (It's only my hand after all!) The PA instructed a nurse to prepare a diluted betadine solution I soaked in for a carefully timed six minutes. Then, the PA said to soak my finger everyday thereafter for 10 minutes in epsom salts, to keep it clean and dry and to allow it to breath. The nurse dressed the wound, splinted my finger, wrapped me up to my wrist in an ace bandage, put me on a five pound lifting limit, gave me an antibiotic and sent me home with strict instructions to return in three days and thereafter we'd see how it was going.
I nearly flew home to begin the regime of soaking. I had never used Epsom salts before let alone on something this severely infected! The soaking stung but I was willing to do most anything to prevent losing my fingertip. By the next day, my finger was so much better. It was like a miracle! When I returned to see the PA, she nearly fell over with disbelief! (She too thought my fingertip was a goner.) I could hardly believe my own eyes! I always thought epsom salts where a lot of hewey. I was a complete and utter disbeliever. Well, Dear Readers, I am a believer now!
I recently posted a blog about another finger injury I got by playing hide and seek with a razor. (The razor won.) That injury recently became infected too, so last night my husband made an epsom salt solution and guess what? My boo-boo is MUCH better today. The soaking bit stings but it's better than the alternative of things becoming serious or worse. As I sat there, soaking in the warm water, I began to wonder about the history of epsom salts and how and why people began soaking rituals with them in the first place.
Epsom salt is hydrated magnesium sulfate (a chemical other salts do not share) and was accidentally discovered on an English farm in the 1600's by some cows. That's right Dear Readers, cows. We have a group of usually brilliant cows to thank for epsom salts. (Epsom is an actual town by the way.) Anyway, the cows began to dance and sing and even talk after tasting the bitter water. Just kidding, but their boo-boos did heal more quickly so the English farmer figured he was on to something and the rest is history.
If you want to give soaking with epsom salt a try, there are many "recipes" online but a pretty basic one is 1/2 cup epsom salt to 1 quart heated water. As with anything, consult a doctor about your boo-boo. I am not a doctor, I only play one on the internet.
Share your experiences with epsom salts in the comments sections.
Yesterday I met a friend at a Mexican Restaurant. A basket of freshly made corn chips arrived at the table, accompanied by two small bowls of salsa. One of the salsas was spicier than the other, we figured and began munching away. Neither of us had eaten much throughout the day so we were hangry! I am talking, hide your small child, get out of our way, woman-hangry! If you do not know, Dear Readers, when a woman is hangry, I suggest tucking your arms and hands under the safety bar because it is the only way to keep them safe. (The only time I will feed myself before one of my daughters or my husband is when I am woman-hangry.) There is nothing that makes you more hangry than really good chips and salsa. Have you ever noticed that? The more you eat, the more you want! (Well, it does that to me anyway.) Really good chips and salsa does that. I'm talking, freshly fried chips, so thin you can nearly read through them and salsa that is just the right amount of texture and spice. Salsa whose seasoning is so perfectly balanced, I did not choke on the peppers until my second helping of it. Chips and salsa so good, you could care less about the rest of the menu because now you would rather eat just that.
Our server came to take our order and we were so absorbed in our conversation and the chips and salsa, we barely noticed him. He stood there, patiently watching us devour the munchies like we were at a Las Vegas, $9.99 buffet! You know what I'm talking about. The type of buffet where you make your husband wait to eat so he can follow along behind you because you plan to cram your plate so full, you will make him carry it back to the table so he looks like the glutton and not you. That Las Vegas buffet. Once we finally noticed our server, I looked up and shamelessly said, 'We need more chips and salsa please. In fact, we want you to know ahead of time, we will need more chips and salsa, often.' He laughed and said, 'No problem. Let me get that for you right away.' What a lovely thing to say...
After our third refill, I asked 'What am I tasting? I cook for a living and I am having trouble deconstructing this salsa. I taste lime, tomato, chilis and cilantro but what else?' Our server told me they roast all the vegetables, peppers and chilis used in the salsa. One is left chunky and one is made smoother with extra jalapeños. I had an "A Ha" moment! Roasting the salsa ingredients! Ole! I thought to myself! I can do that! It made me think about Salsa Romesco (the recipe is on my Recipes page) and how the chilis used in that are roasted. Roasting really enriches the flavor of ingredients and I can do that! Guess what? So can you Dear Readers!
Now, don't hate me, but I have not sorted out a recipe for Roasted Salsa just yet, but I will. (Geez you're impatient! I just tasted Roasted Salsa last night after all!) I promise, I will sort out a recipe and when I do, I will share it here.
Do you have a recipe for Roasted Salsa to share in the comments section to tide us over until I too can create and share one? Pretty please with chips on top?
Yesterday I attended an event at PBS39 where Sara Moulton appeared! It was wonderful! She was wonderful! She surfed the crowd, signed books, gave a cooking demonstration, shared her knowledge and guess what? She remembered me and my Frittata for Two video from the Create TV 2017 Cooking Challenge contest! (Happy dance, happy dance!) My name was even drawn from a lottery and I got to sit up front, by the kitchen and see the maestro in action, black, high-top converse and all!
Anyway, I sat with a charming couple while Sara signed books and we began to chat as we nibbled on appetizers and sipped wine. Eventually the conversation turned to social media; as most conversations do these days, and we began to discuss smart phones and how we use them. 'I text.' I said. 'But I rarely type. I dictate and my secretary, Siri, does the typing.' The gentleman, Tony, said, 'Siri scares me.' We chuckled over the silly typos and auto corrections that are just part of our daily lives. I started thinking about conversations our daughters tell me about. Conversations, in my mind, which are happening between one of them and another human being, face-to-face. Well Dear Readers, I am WRONG-O!
Have you noticed how we, the society of smart phone yielding, computer-toters are disconnected from each other to the extent that people actually believe a text message is a "connection." Well Dear Readers, it is not. Text messages are a crutch we use to fool ourselves into thinking we are connected. Text messages are something, meant to keep us connected that do the exact opposite. Text messages are a contradiction gone terribly viral. In fact, the upcoming movers and shakers of the world, better known as "the young people," have zero idea how to interact and connect with each other, let alone others bopping about the planet.
As a society, we are in too deep for turning back, me included. What to do? What to do?
Well, I say, COOK! Was cooking the first thing that came to your mind? Is there anything more connecting than cooking? (Besides that?) I am racking my brain and nothing else can compete except possibly making music and/or art and nature. Can you think of anything more powerful than one these four greats? Okay. NOT including that. Just the smell of food, one note or a color can transport you to a better place and transform your soul. (STOP thinking about that!) Haven't you noticed that most all festivals center about one of these four great connectors? (My gosh, for the love of Pete! STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT! Or, at least share what festivals YOU are attending...)
Cooking has much in common with music, art and nature actually. Food is made alone, much as music is written, art is created and nature happens. Food is meant to be shared with those you love, just as music, art and nature. Isn't the joy of a scrumptious bite enjoyed more fully with someone you love? Isn't a moving piece of music experienced more completely with a companion? Isn't the interpretation of a piece of art more engaging with a friend? How about the first time you see a redwood tree in a redwood grove or take a sunset beach stroll? Do you really want to text someone about what either felt like or turn to a companion and smile? See where I'm going with this? Food creates moments, memories and connections, as does music, art and nature. Don't connecting times happen where at least one of the four greats is part of the experience?
Please share your thoughts about that and the Four Greats in the comments section.
By the way, what is your that?
A chris_lo day? What the heck is a chris_lo day? Well, I thought "Chris_Lo Day" sounded less icky than "Dingleberry Day."
For those of you who do not know what a dingleberry is, consider yourself lucky. For those of you that do, I apologize. It turns out that French is the only language, short of Chinese and Japanese who have symbols in the their languages for dingleberry, is the only language that does not use the English word. I checked. Even the great "love languages" of Spanish and Italian call it a "dingleberry." What about other languages like German, Polish and Russia? Yep. You guessed it, they say "dingleberry" too. What led me down the path to having a chris_lo day you might ask Dear Reader? Well, allow me to enlighten you.
My day began as usual, with an alarm that sounded too soon, a headache, yoga and being reminded by my human popcorn teenage daughter, Mia, that it was time to drive to school. (Already my day is off to a rocky start. A headache and being yelled at? Great. That's just peachy!)
Every morning, the three of us girls (Mia, Lollipop, our dog and me, the blogger) head off to school. We always take Lolly. She loves the morning drive. Lolly bounds out of the house for her daily explore of our front yard. Today, Lolly would not come when I called her. "Lol-ly." I said in a sing-song voice. (Nothing.) "Lol-ly." In a little louder sing-song voice. "Lolly!" I screeched in a decidedly not sing-song voice that was, I thought, a threatening combination of both anger and frustration that would strike fear into her very doggie soul. (Still nothing.) Then, I saw the little ball of white fluff! Much to my chagrin, I saw her bum first. There she was, nose deep in goodness knows what or who know who's house. (If you haven't guessed already; now, I was mad AND late. A pretty lethal combination in a parent for a human-child but not a dog-child apparently. Oh no! She just kept exploring and ignoring, the little $^!t.) I finally interject enough fear into her through my voice to leave the engaging whatever-she-found and get in the car. As we drive the three blocks to school, Mia looks back at Lolly and says, "Oh God. She's so dirty and wet..." I knew those words could only mean one thing, the thing I really do not see as a "Sunday Crepe in Paris" at all. I knew the words, 'dirty and wet' meant someone had to give Lolly a bath... this morning... I actually contemplated leaving her, covered in a lovely combination of grass, leaves and mud as a sort of 'Welcome Home Honey' kind of gift for my husband Russell. (Hey! NO judging here at Mary's Kitchen!)
I did not leave her this way but dearly wanted to leave her as she was; but, I figured she would probably enjoy it. In my mind, I am thinking 'Why reward Lolly for what she did? I will give her a bath but I WILL NOT be nice!' Yes, Dear Readers, I bathed her. I bathed her while I scolded her. I pulled all manner of yuck and grass from her coat. If you do not have a curly-haired dog, be grateful because grass in a curly-haired dog's coat is not fun! It is in there forever! You can scrub it out, brush it out, no matter; inevitably, a lot will get missed. The grass hides from you as if it is taking revenge on you for scolding your dog... I thought to myself, 'Which one of us is being punished here? Lolly looks like she is enjoying this? She's probably thinking she and I are bonding! Well damn!' It is impossible to remain angry at a dog. They look way too cute when they're wet and miserable and Lolly has a smile that could melt a heart determined to remain angry. Things were not going to plan.
Now, you may not believe me, but, I was trying to focus on the upside of the situation. I was trying to think about how Lolly was clean now and how cute and pitiful she looks when she's wet. I was trying to do this and nearly there in fact when I found it... The dreaded chris_lo! Oh... YUCK! The memory of the moment will haunt me for the day... I thought to myself, 'Could I leave this as a Welcome Home Honey gift?' I nearly did too! Seriously! (Remember, NO judging!) Then, I thought about Sunday Crepes in Paris again to quell the nausea that inevitably follows finding a chris_lo. Nope. Thinking about any kind of anything to "savor" was not helping... I just had to grow a pair and deal with it. I messaged our older daughter Alyssa about the chris_lo so I could commiserate with someone about my morning and you want to know what she messaged back? Wait for it... "Oh well. She's like a toddler." Thanks Lyssy. This is helpful. Like a toddler? Are you kidding me? I thought I was finished dealing with poop? Of course I am not finished dealing with poop, I am a dog owner! When dogs aren't making it, they are eating it! When they're not making it, you are worried about why not? When they make it, you have to deal with it. It is a vicious cycle!
Speaking of eating... Sorry, I just wanted to end today's blog on a high note... I guess I will have to try to that tomorrow.
Share your (unfortunate) chris_lo stories and we can laugh together about the joys of pet ownership.
There is a line in one of my all-time favorite movies, re-made in 1995, called Sabrina. The Sabrina starring Harrison Ford, Greg Kinnear and Julia Ormond. The dreamy, romantic Sabrina I watch when I want to remember Paris visits when I strolled along the Seine in the Spring sunshine with my husband or munched our way through a farmer's market or sauntered our way through the Flower Market. I reminisce about the mother-daughter trip I took with my mother Ellen when we shopped for salts and chocolate and ate almond-flavored Berthillion ice cream every day with joy and abandon.
Paris is the sort of place everyone should experience. Paris should be savored like an aged glass of whiskey or a really rich chocolate dessert. Paris should not be rushed...
The Sunday Bastille Market is one of the most picturesque and interesting sights to savor. Buy a crepe. Better yet, buy three. (You know, the thin pancake-like yummies. The word crepe (pronounced crep, where the "e" is like bed) comes from the Latin crispus, meaning curled and originated in Brittany in the 12th century. Crepes are thin and delightful. Now, where was I? Oh yes! What to do at the Sunday Bastille Market!) Kindly request the crepier top it/them with butter and sugar, lots of both and stroll the market as the butter and sugar drip down your wrist and onto the sleeve of your black leather jacket. Regret the decision to not take my advice and buy three crepes because now the line is long. Sigh and promise yourself to buy two more crepes before leaving the market...
Eating a "Sunday" Crepe in Paris is a metaphor for life I think. Savor the moment. Live in the now with joy and abandon. Far too often we get caught up in worry and wondering 'what if.' We spend too much time thinking ahead. We walk about stressed and rushed. We scowl and get absorbed in our own worlds and phones.
What if we lived one day, ok that's too much... What if we lived one moment in each day to the fullest? Just one little moment? Sound easy? Wrong-o!
Savor the time spent reading this blog. Savor your morning coffee. Savor a treat like doing yoga or eating chocolate. Okay. Okay. Those are easy things to savor I know. (Baby steps.) Now, try savoring a moment spent in your garden, weeding. (I'm building up to harder stuff.) How'd that go? Next, try savoring a moment like, driving your child to school. (Yep. I went there. Straight to a difficult one.) Let's practice together. Remember to breathe.
Before entering the vehicle, take three deep breaths. React to the traffic with a smile and the lame-o's on the roadway to the school with patience, even if you're running late and your little darling(s) you are driving to school yelled at you up to the moment you got in the vehicle. Breathe again and let all that go... Take a sip of coffee you just spilled down your shirt, look over at your darling(s) and savor the time you get to be in the car with them. Breathe. See the drive to school as an opportunity to connect with your darling(s) because you will not see them again for several hours and you know; in your heart (no matter how much they may act like they don't, they love and value you) so send them off with a good start to their day. Celebrate you sent your darling(s) off with a good start to their day with a kiss and an 'I love you.' and "Have a great day!" (These are always the last words I speak to our children.) Now, breathe again because you probably forgot to when you spilled the coffee.)
Cooking helps me become centered and to connect with myself. I also cook to nurture, care for and show my family love. Sometimes, in the "tired and rushed" mode we all ramp into at meal time, I forget to slow down and savor the moment of cooking in my kitchen. You know the moment? When you are alone in your kitchen, just you, a glass of wine, a knife and ingredients. (That sounds a bit scary actually.) The moment when you get to turn nothing into something and give your best.
Connect with the dough as you pat it into shape. Savor putting pepperoni on a pizza so it makes an attractive pattern. Place the peppers, mushrooms and onion carefully and lovingly. Put a cloth on the table and use the "good" glasses and plates. Light some candles. Pour another glass of wine. Decide to share the wine with your husband. (This last bit is optional.) After all, all moments we savor are special moments, even the mundane like cooking or driving your child(ren) to school. Everyday can be a "Sunday Crepe in Paris."
Please share the moment(s) you savor(ed) in the comments section.
It's that time of year when it's uncertain if we need to break out the electric blanket or the electric fan. It's cool and crisp enough in the morning to see your breath, warm enough in the middle of the day to break a sweat and freezing enough at night for extra blankets. I don't know if I want a Mai Tai or a mulled wine. To avoid all the wondering which drink will quell my thirst, I just have both! One less thing to worry about I say.
I have the windows open as I type and can hear both crows and finches. I see nasturtiums in full bloom and tomatoes withering on the vine. The disco ball I have hanging from a stake in the garden to scare off birds seems to have the opposite affect. So long as the rabbits are kept out, I will share my harvest with our feathered friends. In return, and as if to say, 'Thank you for the party ball Mary.' Birds stop, take a bath and sing to me. I figure it's a fair trade. Tomatoes for bird song. A little finch just did a song and dance for me! 'You're welcome.' I think to myself.
The leaves on the plum tree and the wisteria have begun to change slightly and critters are chirping. I am wearing a tank top, a fleece jacket and boots I am trying to break in for the winter. I sip hot coffee yet crave cold cereal. I am as confused as the garden it seems! Should I make ready for winter or renew my tan? Should I make a casserole for dinner or serve a cool, refreshing salad? Maybe a quick stovetop meal or (GASP) is take out the ticket? How about somewhere in-between? For example, most grocery stores offer rotisserie chicken and those shredded are delicious incorporated into an Asian-themed salad.
Here is what to do:
Make a quick dressing in a large bowl by whisking together oil, soy sauce, lemon juice, white or cider vinegar and touch of water. Next, whisk in dashes of roasted sesame oil and sugar. Toss in chopped romaine lettuce, shredded Napa cabbage and the rotisserie chicken you shredded too. Add in any yummies you have like sliced scallions, almonds, crispy won-tons, canned mandarin oranges and sesame seeds. One final toss and viola! A delicious dinner!
What do you drink and eat this time of year? Do you turn on the oven or serve a no-cook option. Do you fire up the stove, hit the ready-made meal section of the grocery store or order take out? Please share your meal ideas in the comments section.
Last night, after a long and injury-free day at work in my commercial kitchen (a HUGE accomplishment) I stroll into my bathroom, wash my face, dry my face and casually (and carelessly as it turns out) rummage about in an under the sink drawer for face cream. I find the cream, put a glob on my finger, close it and then, wait for it, rummage about again in the drawer to put the cream away. Easy enough right? WRONG-O! This is me we're talking about... The crowned klutz queen. In the process of forcing the innocuous jar of face cream back into its place, I got a cut on my ring finger. At first I thought it was from the drawer because the drawer is metal so I figured an errant wire was poking up. It hurt like the dickens but, as a mother, I was glad my finger found the wire and not our daughter's. (Be honest, how many of you Dear Readers, who are parents, think 'I'm glad it was me and not my child.' whenever you get injured or sick? ALL of you right? Yep.)
Anyway, my finger began bleeding. Just a little blood bubble at first and then, well, it really began to bleed! So there I am, standing in the bathroom, with hand cream on the finger of my right hand and blood pouring down my left hand, stunned and confused that a little errant wire could cause this sort of an injury; So stunned, it did not occur to me to wipe the cream from my finger so I could apply pressure to the injury.
Ever sensitive to my injuries, my husband came into the room, looks at my finger, sees the cream and says 'Wipe the cream off and wrap that thing!" Yeah, love you too honey... You might laugh but my face cream is expensive and I did not want to waste it! Here is what I did. I fumble around in the drawer (yes, the same drawer I just cut my hand in) to find the jar of cream, make my husband open the jar so I can wipe the cream back inside and apply it later, once the bleeding has stopped. Russ, my husband, looks on this insane activity with utter disbelief and then, calmly says, 'There's blood in the cream Hon.' Well fudge! (I used another word here Dear Readers.) Russ carefully searches in the drawer for the wire I cut myself on and instead retrieves a razor, chock full of my left finger tip! OOPS! Russ actually looks at me and says, wait for it, 'You really shouldn't store razors without their protective cover Mary. You have to stop doing that.' Are you kidding me? Now it's my turn to look at Russell like he is insane (and dumb.) What sort of a moronic goofball says this to someone? Really? I ask you Dear Readers?
I kick Russell out to his dog house with Lollipop (our dog) and ask our daughter, Mia, to help wrap my finger in piles of gauze, I mean piles too and then paper tape. As the cut was gushing, I just kept adding gauze and pads never thinking for a second all this was upsetting Mia, I was a bit preoccupied. (The sight of blood does not bother me.) I look up at Mia and the poor kid is nearly green! She powered through however and together we assembled a wrapping. Next, I went along with some activities thinking all the while this thing will stop bleeding at some point. Wrong again... I went through all the layers of gaze (3 pads, each doubled) in about 10 minutes. I call my mother, if nothing else to validate Russell is in fact a complete moron and she said 'Yes, he is a moron.' in a matter-of-fact tone. (Thank you mother.) Next, she suggested using a maxi pad to catch the blood. (After all, I don't want to make a mess!) This was not pretty but the plastic liner prevented my bleeding through anything. Brilliant tip for bad injuries. My mother Ellen is a genius!
There are many classic parings in life. Love and romance, fear and hate, summer and the beach, Cardinals and Spring, chocolate and anything and of course, men and beer and women and wine. Wait, what? I am a woman and I like both beer and wine, sometimes together! I like beer more than my husband Russell in fact.
All right, put your drink down and pay attention...
Now hear this! Women like beer. Men like wine. Both are facts.
Why is it then most every image I searched on the internet only showed a man's hand holding a beer stein and a woman's hand holding the wine glass? I think the image makers are missing the boat! Post some images of women enjoying a tall, cold stein of beer and I bet sales would leap! Don't you agree? (All royalty checks may be sent to me care of this website please.)
Women are categorized as white or rose wine drinkers and men as red wine drinkers. Women are categorized as lite beer drinkers and men as snake venom-strength beer-guzzling frat boys. (Sorry, have you seen the ads?) I think it is a question of "feminine" verses " masculine." Have you ever been out for a Lady's Night and your friends order white wine, usually with an apology, and you order tequila without an apology but your friends raise an eye brow or two and then you all let loose? Who says wine is "feminine" and beer or tequila is "masculine?" It is ridiculous! There is no such thing! I do admit though that some drinks are considered fro-fro in our house when they are topped with whipped cream... (I am a bit ashamed to admit we use the term "fro-fro" to describe certain drinks given what I expressed above. Oh my! I am perpetuating the problem! Guilt! Great!)
No more "fro-fro" drinks in our house! From now on, a "fro-fro" drink will be known in our house as a "G-bend" drink because anyone would and should enjoy whatever it is they like to drink, whether or not is it covered in whipped cream.
Please share your favorite G-bend drink with pride.
Avid home cook and passionate instructor