Joy

This is the darling Mr. A, son of my big sorority sister, on his first birthday. My little french fry here was quite excited about his new scooter/motorcycle/zoom zoom thing.

He is very into all sports, fruits and veggies, loves his doggy Charger, and his mom and dad. He is one of the happiest little guys I know. :)

Triumph in an Onion

I have done some interesting things in my culinary life.

I have exploded Pyrex bowls.

I have exploded butter.

I have set an oven on fire, then argued with a friend about whether or not to put baking soda or baking powder on the flames, and looked at her like she was crazy when she suggested we Google it. "We don't have time for Google!" I shouted, as 4" flames danced across the bottom of my oven.

I have set a wok on fire. (Note: Woks + electric stoves = bad idea)

On a less destructive note, I've also accomplished difficult recipes that I never thought I could.

I've created several cheesecake recipes, including one that came in 2nd place in a local contest, beating out a professional chef in the process. (I'm so modest...)

I've made my own pasta, bread, beef burgundy, creme brulee, and figured out different uses for my Crock Pot.

I've also learned cooking traditions from family members so that they stay alive for the next generation.


However, there is one thing that has eluded me for years.

That my friends, would be the onion. Specifically, dicing one.

No matter how many times I try, I can't dice a freakin' onion. I get slices, I get shreds, I get rings, I get everything but a diced onion.

"You have a food chopper, just put it in there," says Dad.

"No," I reply, "I want to learn how to do it. I can make everything else, I should be able to dice a damn onion."

*insert eye roll here*

If I am making dinner for Joe and I, I just hand the onion, the knife, and the cutting board over to him.

Both Joe and Dad have tried many a time to show me how to do this. As a result, many an onion have been sacrificed in this endeavor.

I was beginning to think it just wasn't in me to dice an onion. I would have to result to using the chopper. I felt so defeated.

Until last night.

I was prepping everything for dinner tonight so that when Joe and I get back from the DIA today, I could just throw everything into the oven and we won't be eating at 10pm.

We are having a very Pioneer Woman meal today, using Ree's recipes for creamed spinach, pot roast, bread pudding, and a guest recipe for roasted potatoes. (Have I mentioned I love her?)

This requires a lot of onions.

A lot of diced onions.

Ree also has a tutorial on her site on how to chop an onion. Like the engineer I am, I opened it up, looked at it, studied it like it was Calculus.

I can do this. It's just one stupid onion. This isn't that hard. It's the same way Dad, Joe, and everyone else has been dicing onions since the dawn of time. It's just an onion.

With a deep sigh, I approached my little green cutting board with the onion atop, and my beloved Wusthof knife in hand. Looking at it, I said, "Please don't fail me now." (Really, I talk to my knives. Don't you?)

TRIUMPH! I had just diced my first ever onion.

I grabbed another one. Who cares if I needed it. I had to see if this was a fluke or not.


It wasn't! I had actually just diced not one, but TWO onions. I danced around the kitchen in joy, knife waving about, stepping on a cat (sorry, Killian).

I texted Joe in excitement, "I JUST DICED AN ONION!!"

He replied back, "That's what they all say."

Somehow, the excitement of all this was lost on him.

The cats didn't understand either, but then again, they're cats. They don't like onions. Unless it's in tuna salad, then it's a different matter...

Goals for 2009

Inspired by The Happy Housewife, and Steve over at Remedy, I'm compiling my list of goals for 2009. They're really a continuation of the goals I set in 2008 to reach by the time I turn 30 in February 2010. (When the heck did that happen!?)

So here we go, in no particular order, because that's how I roll:

1. Knit something other than a rectangular object. This means moving on from blankies, scarves, and potholders. I've picked out a pattern to try to accomplish this, and the needles and yarn are anxiously awaiting me to finish the previous project I've been working on (since November 2007...I'm not very speedy).
   
2. Get my site created and launched.
   
3. Continue operating on a mostly cash only basis, and continue to pay off the debt. (Almost there!)
4. Get back on track with improving my health and fitness. With burnus interuptus, I've been shying away from the gym until the wound closes (it hasn't yet), and I've been quite lax in my menu planning. My waistline is showing the effects. I have about 7 pairs of really cute (and somewhat expensive) pairs of jeans I don't fit into anymore!
   
5. Spend less idle time online, and more time doing things to enrich my life and career.
6. Go back for my master's.
7. Take more photos, and improve my skills there. I have almost 5,000 items on Flickr. This doesn't seem like nearly enough.
8. Set aside one hour a week for just me, where I unplug from everything. This time could be spent reading, meditating, doing yoga, taking a walk, but whatever it is, it will be done without connection to TV, radio, or internet.
9. Get my house organized. I have a plan. I just need to...you know...do it.
10. And just because, buy one of these.

I hope that everyone has a safe New Year's Eve, and an even better 2009!

Traditions, Souffle, and Soup

There are a few family traditions that without them, it's just not Christmas.

There's the big, bright pink ornament on the tree that says "Baby's First Christmas 1980" that marks the year I was born, that usually hangs somewhere near a foot long pencil that my mom has been hanging on the tree since she was a little girl. Those two are staples from the Christmas trees of my youth that now hang on my own tree.

Over at Dad's house, there's Betsy's collection of ornaments that she buys one of every year, noting something significant about the year on the bottom in gold paint marker, and the hand beaded ornaments from her grandmother. This year there was an addition of the Christmas ball from Betsy's dad's dad, making it over 100 years old. Such a simple ornament, a bright cobalt blue, solid glass ball, about 4" in diameter.

Not surprisingly, a lot of my Christmas traditions are food.

Grandpa Spong's pizelles are one of them. After he passed away, I asked Gram if I could borrow the pizelle maker so I could continue the tradition. I didn't know where the recipe was, but I'd find one, and make it as close as I could to his.

To my excitement, when I opened up the pizelle maker that year, there was his very simple, and not very well defined recipe. I teared up at his handwriting, and broke out into laughter as I read the ingredient list and came to "anise". You could always tell were Grandpa was in the pizelle making progress based on the amount of anise you tasted when you bit into them. He would make pizelles for weeks before Christmas, always trying to refine the flavor of the anise. There were some that you just couldn't bite into because the anise smell hit your nose long before it even reached your lips. There were some that were burned beyond recognition. There were some that were dusted with powdered sugar.

And then it would happen. About a week before Christmas, he would make the perfect batch. But then, because he wouldn't write down any of the measurements, we'd be back to square one.


We also have the carrot souffle. Dad scored the recipe for this from Chasen's Restaurant in LA probably 15 years ago. Chasen's has long since closed, but the souffle recipe comes out twice a year: Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have the recipe somewhere, I could make it any time I wanted, but no. I wait. It's Dad's thing. We have souffle two times a year, and we savor it. There have been separate batches made, just so we have left over souffle. We like the souffle. We LOVE the souffle.

Last year, we introduced my niece Emma to the souffle, just two days shy of her first birthday. She loved it. She had it everywhere, on the tray of her high tray, on her, in her hair, in her eyebrows. She was IN to the souffle.

We lost power on Sunday, and one of the first things I thought about was how there was leftover Christmas souffle in the fridge. How it was going to waste. How it would be sacrificed. I damn near wept. I went to the fridge, and with hands on the doors, contemplated opening it up and rescuing the souffle, but then thought of everything else that wouldn't fare well if I did.

(The power came back on. The souffle is fine.)


Lastly, there is the garlic mushroom soup. It's not any garlic mushroom soup. It's Sweetie's garlic mushroom soup. The soup.

There is always a traditional Polish Christmas on Christmas Eve on Mom's side of the family. Pierogi, sauerkraut, kasha (barley), various types of herring (ew gross), bread and kielbasa that comes from Hamtramck, amongst a myriad of other things. Traditionally, this meal is called wigilia, and is supposed to be meatless. We cheat with the kielbasa.

But the centerpiece of this meal is always the garlic mushroom soup. You can smell it cooking in all it's mushroomy garlicky goodness. Some people are reminded of Christmas by the smell of pine trees. Me? I'm reminded of Christmas by the smell of soup.

It's a simple recipe really. Water, garlic, mushrooms. Boil. Add some flour to sour cream. Add broth to sour cream. Add broth/sour cream mix to broth (we don't want it curdling!), add salt and pepper, let simmer till it thickens. Serve over mashed potatoes.

The mashed potatoes are key.

Dad made it at his house on Christmas Eve, and we had our own little Polish feast there. Pierogi, kielbasa, and the soup. It didn't take long before that familiar smell filled the kitchen.

Even though it was a different branch of the family, and Sweetie wasn't there to share it, it was still the soup. It was awesome to share the tradition that I have been a part of my entire life with Betsy and Charles (her dad), and to have Dad so excited to make the soup.

This year has seen a lot of changes, but it's good to know that some things stay the same.

Like the soup.

What we already know...

My dad sent me this today...

For those of us associated with the auto industry this is something we
know in our hearts. If you have friends that are not involved with
the automotive market then please send this on...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7YBjjLKLd0

Elephants

This sums up how my week is going so far.

We're standing here and one of our guys says, "Hey! Look! There's something going on over at the GM plant across the street. There's cops everywhere!"

We all rush to the windows, and sure enough, there's cop cars and a line of people? walking up the road. We surmise that GM had announced some layoffs this morning for early ’09 and Orion’s one of the effected plants, so they must be picketing.

We stand for a bit more...and look...and I'm like, "Um guys. Those aren't people. Those are elephants."

"What? Are you smoking something?"

I replied, "Um yeah. They're elephants."

We look...sure enough. They're elephants.

The circus is at the Palace, which is very near to my office. Apparently, elephants have to come in on train, not by semi, and the nearest train depot is the GM plant...so they must have dropped the elephants at the plant and are walking them to the Palace.

You want to bring all productivity to a screeching halt in an office? Walk some elephants up the road.

Owies Update...Part Two

It's been 2 months and 4 days since the conveyor tried to eat my left hand, so it's time for an update.

I just went back and read the last Owies Update, and it seemed so hopeful then!

However...

I have at least three more weeks of being wrapped up like a mummy and putting the silver sulfazine on it. (This will bring the total number of weeks to 11…) Now that the wound has closed itself (I know gross…) I will be taking a trip to the hand surgeon on 11/3 to make sure that there is no scar tissue getting in the way of my tendons, muscles, and such that would impact the movement of the wrist joint, being that the deepest part of the wound is directly over the wrist joint. The hand surgeon I'm going to see is from the same group of surgeons who did my hand surgeries when I was in high school. The surgeon that did those doesn't handle workman's comp situations, but his other associates do.

Also, it appears that I've picked up an allergic reaction to SOMETHING, probably fabric softener or a perfumed soap, which has irritated the heck out of it, but nothing that a little prescription strength Benadryl can't handle.

As we all know, I'm leaving for my cruise on Saturday, which means that this ace bandage is going to result in a WONDERFUL tan line. Heehehe. Megan has suggested bringing the bedazzler to sparkle it up a bit.

My doc has also compromised with me, and is allowing me to go snorkeling in Cozumel, as long as I agree to take an antibiotic, because I quote, "Lord knows what you'll pick up in the ocean in Mexico."

Outside of that, it's doing okay. I'm annoyed with it more than anything, and would like to take my collection of ace bandages cut them up, throw them on the ground, light them ablaze, and then stomp them out. There will be photos when this happens.