Hot Oil

I was probably about 11 or 12 when one of my brothers taught me how to make pan deep fried french fries with fresh potatoes. Pan, oil, stove, potatoes. What could be simpler?

It was an awful lot of work for a few minutes of artery clogging awesomeness. It was worth it.

I haven't made french fries in this way in over twenty-two years.

I have scars that are reason enough for that.


Typically, about half-way through cooking the fries, the oil would need to be changed out. There's not much that will turn you off fresh french fries than bits of black burned stuff sticking to them.

We would pour the used, gross oil into a container, usually a juice concentrate can or something like it. It was a simple procedure, but one that needed to be carefully done.

I was in the middle of this when for some reason, perhaps my hastiness to cook more french fries or maybe a shaky arm, I poured hot oil on my hand.

I remember my thought process at the time. The kitchen had been recently upgraded and one of the rules was to not put hot pots or pans on the counters. It went something like this:

Ow. Hot.
Put the ow things down.
No pans on counter.
Put oil receptacle on the counter. No rules against that.
Pan. Stove.
Not on hot burner.
Now.
Down.
Turn.
Stare at Mom.

It seemed like I was looking at my mother for an eternity. I don't know why I didn't say anything to get her attention. I didn't even walk over to her. I didn't cry. I don't know what my face looked like, but it was probably something along the lines of calm shock.

On the inside, I was screaming.

When my mother finally looked at me, she assessed my expression (whatever it was) and asked me if I had burned myself.

I nodded.

She told me to wash my hand with soap and water.

I proceeded to do so with cold water.

Over the next half hour or so, I was impressed upon by my mother to alternate the application of cold and warm water baths to my burn. The cold to stop the burn, the warm to increase blood-flow to the area so it would heal faster. At least, that's what I recollect.

The cold water was wonderful.

The warm water felt like I was dunking my hand into molten lava.

I ended up with a blister the size of a mouse or a large cockroach on my left thumb. I couldn't bend my thumb or use it in any meaningful way. I was careful with it for several days, knowing that bursting it would result in more pain and possibly infection.

In spite of my best efforts, I did pop it while trying to open a car door. I'm most likely blocking the pain of that moment.

And so, I have a couple of small, hard-to-see scars on that thumb.



The internal scars seem to have lasted longer.

I still cringe when thinking about making deep-fried french fries.

Chicken Fried Rice-a-Roni Fail

In my fatigued stupor this afternoon, I looked in my cabinet for anything that I could remotely call nutritious for my children and me. Or at least edible.

Okay, I'll be real. Eatable...

I was pleased to find that a box of Rice-a-Roni Fried Rice actually looked pretty good. Of course, I knew I'd have to beef it up a little, as it were, so I looked on the back for suggestions. Ooo! Chicken Fried Rice! And it didn't even look gross!

Bonus! The recipe called for two blended eggs to be added in the final moments and I just so happened to have two eggs from my last carton hogging the space set aside for my new carton. It was more than just dumb luck. It was serendipitous... It was divine! I forgot my weariness and set about cooking up this little miracle.

There was a tiny (I mean TINY) picture on the back of the box of the finished result. Oh, I thought to myself, you can even see the little bits of egg mixed in and it doesn't look horrifying! MA-GI-CAL!

So, I carefully followed all the directions. I was a little concerned that my chicken wasn't thawed completely when I put it in, but I reasoned that 15-20 minutes boiling away with the rice would fix that toot sweet!

When the 15-20 minutes were up, I opened the lid and looked at the beautiful miracle of foodness that was Chicken Fried Rice-a-Roni... All I had to do was put in the eggs. They were already mixed and ready to pour in. With all the confidence a recipe on a small cardboard box could give me, I carefully poured in the egg and proceeded to gently stir it around.

Much to my dismay, it didn't congeal into fluffy bits of scrambled egg...

It was sticking to the rice and noodles...

Sticking!

It was forming a slimy, yellow coating all over my beautiful fried rice...

I continued to stir, foolishly certain that at some point the egg would separate and magically become lovely bits of egg...

It was not to be.

The slimy eventually cooked away, but I was left with Chicken Fried Clump-a-Roni.

If I had poured a bottle of glue into my pan, it wouldn't have looked any less attractive... 

That little bit of white you can see almost in the center was the only bit I could verify was actually egg...

As far as taste goes, it wasn't bad at all. In fact, my son stated quite enthusiastically,

"We should have this EVERY day!"

Luckily, I could let him down easy. I had only bought one box.

Boiecheze Sandwich

Per my mother's request, I would like to share a little anecdote with you special readers this evening.

I realized while I was putting this blog together that I have no recent pictures of my children. Bad Mom!

I will rectify this atrocity as soon as possible.

I made french fries and grilled-cheese sandwiches for dinner tonight. The grilled cheese sandwiches have a special recipe (my mother's secret ingredient) that make the taste sortof ka-pow in your mouth; perhaps I will share it with you some day.

As we were eating, my little girl "why" child turned to me and said:

"Mom, why are they called 'grill-cheese'?"

To which I replied, as I often have to when my children ask these types of questions: "Because they are."

Please note that I have explained the term grilled cheese to her before, but she just likes to drive me crazy with repeated questions.

My son, who hadn't appeared to be paying any attention at all, said:

 "I'm eating a Boiecheze Sandwich!"

Grammy's face rather scrunched up in confusion as she turned to look at him and asked me, "What did he say?"

I clarified with a small smile on my face. "He said he is eating a Boy Cheese Sandwich."

It took about a second and a half to sink it, but my parents were soon laughing with delight. Considering how difficult it is to amuse either one of my parents, that's quite a feat.

That's my boy.

I suppose from here on out, we shall have to call them Gyrlcheze and Boiecheze Sandwiches.

Happy Blogging!

By way of Updates

It's been a while since I've given any kind of update on the kids. So...

Audrey: still growing like a weed, NO POTTY ACCIDENTS in WEEKS!, loves going to the park to play with her cousins (or anyone for that matter), has successfully cut her TV intake to less than 8 hours a week (not her choice, of course). When she can't watch regular TV (only on Wednesdays) she will ask for her "Jesus Movie" which is a narrated scripture slideshow or "animal movie" which is BBC's Planet Earth. We will almost always let her watch these shows as they are spiritual and/or educational (clever girl!). She received her first ever french braid last night after bathtime which was a bigger accomplishment for her mother but props to her for standing still long enough for me to muddle through it. She asks all the time to go to school and is always disappointed when we tell her she has to be five. As an update since the last blog, she played with her new flannel board during church today and was better behaved than she has been in weeks! Yay!

Some recent, funny Audrey-isms:

When kissing me goodnight she pats my cheeks, "Mama you're not ouchy. Daddy is ouchy, he has polka-dots on his face!"

Singing to herself the other day, "Patty-cake, patty-cake, bakers man, bake me a cake as fascist you can..."

Oh, and she LOVES playing kickball.

Henry: still growing like a weed, is walking so well it's strange when he decides to crawl and is "this close" to running, has been trying to cut his molars for weeks and just might break them out in the next few days, loves his mom and dad so much that he doesn't like when they leave for ANY reason at all (even if it's to get him some milk), will stay in nursery only if mom or dad is in there with him (he just MIGHT be ready to go in by himself by the time he is 18 months old), loves going on the swing at the park, loves when dad throws him high up and catches him. He is learning how to go down stairs backward, but most of the time forgets and starts going up again. He does the cutest little "ant stomping" dance where he stands and stamps his feet and giggles.

He is also learning what the camera means and is turning into quite the ham.

In case you haven't heard, Ben has been accepted to UofU and starts there this fall. He will be gone a lot more, but (hopefully) will be done in 2 years or less. We should also be paying in-state tuition (hooray!). He gets up for work at 2:30 every morning and catches naps here and there throughout the day, but it's been great to have him home for the summer. He works out in the yard every Thursday and has made some serious improvements. He and Dad built my garden bed (which I love!), the new side yard gates, and miles and miles of pruning, weeding and mowing. He's still a devoted NASCAR fan (boo) but has recently started watching movies with yours truly (yay!)

As for me: The crafts, if you read regularly, have been logged. I have at least another 20 projects waiting in the wings though, so look out! The gardening has yet to be logged... it's going fairly well. I have corn, pumpkins, watermelon, cucumber, carrots, radishes, beans, lettuce, peppers, sunflowers and various flowers sprouting all over my garden. I also have an enormous quantity of elm seeds trying to sprout as well and are getting mixed up with the flowers.

My writing has been waylaid by special events going on in the Flyff world. I know; waste of time, but it's a FUN waste of time. I also picked up some new reading habits lately and haven't been getting to sleep until after 11pm every night, which wouldn't be bad if Ben didn't get up at 2:30, Henry at 4:00 and again with Audrey at around 6:00. I've taken to letting him out of his crib at 6 and letting him and Audrey play in the room until I can drag my fanny out of bed.

I made some amazing shish kabobs tonight that were a hit with the crowds here (thanks for grilling them, Ben). It's astounding what a little fresh rosemary, olive oil, salt and pepper can do. They were too pretty to eat, but we did anyway and they were awesome! I will be attacking the leftovers tomorrow at lunch time.

Keep an eye out for more new blogs. I have a few brewing in my noggin... Until then.

Nun's Puffs and Chocolate Cocktails

Who ever heard of a relaxing Mother's Day. Not me, apparently. Instead of lounging in my bed, receiving breakfast in my repose, I was up early frantically stirring a hot pot of sticky dough. Shortly after I realized that it wasn't going to behave EXACTLY like the recipe said it would, I took it off the stove, separated it into muffin cups and popped it in the oven.
The result were a dozen light, crispy and hollow puff balls.

I had made these once before a little over two years ago. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to sprinkle sugar on the dough before putting the pan in the oven, and all I had to serve them with was honey. Not too bad, but not very exciting either. So, this time, I was prepared.

Strawberries and Cool Whip! They were excellent! As light and airy as they were, I walked away from the table feeling over-stuffed. It was probably all the strawberries.

Mr. H isn't a fan of strawberries, so he enjoyed a banana.

After Sacrament Meeting, the ward handed out a nice little poem and chocolate for the ladies. I can always get behind a little chocolate.

We had a veritable herd of family come over for dinner. Barbeque Time! Hamburgers and Hot Dogs were on the menu. (I made a variation on Ric's Fresh Relish for the hot dogs. Cucumber, Yellow Bell Pepper and Purple Onion finely chopped! Yum!)

I put together a little gift for the visiting Mom's.

                                        

Chocolate Cocktails!

After setting them up on the table, I very carefully explained to the nieces and nephews that the tempting little treats on the table were for their Mom's and if they considered having an inclination toward even thinking about touching them, I would visit them in fiery vengeance and destroy them.

After the hustle and bustle made their way back to their homes, we rounded out the evening with a rousing game of Phase 10 in the dining room.

Like I said; not remotely relaxing. It did have it's enjoyable moments and I STILL have leftover chocolate. You almost can't get better than that.

How would you like your baked potato?

With or without a little piece of Idaho?


Today is the second day of my new calorie counting die with a t. It might actually be considered a life-change but that might be too optimistic. I started the day off well: A banana-peach smoothie for breakfast which totaled a whopping 275 calories. Yay me! No wonder I was starving by the time Ben came home from school at 11:15.

One of the first things he asked me was, "So, when's your cheat day?"

"Uh... since I only just started this yesterday, I haven't really given much thought to a cheat day."

"Oh," short pause, "So, where do you want to go for lunch? Barty's Lard Cafeteria or Golden Corral?"

"Are those my only choices?"

"Well, I was going to mention The Cellulite Cafe but they're a little pricey."

Indeed.

So, off to Golden Corral it was. The awesome thing about GC is that we can get plates of sample style food for the kids and we don't care if they don't eat every little thing. Plus, they're free until they're 4! Woohoo, free food!!

Henry had a food orgy. By the time he was done, there was food all over the floor, his lap, inside the plastic bib pocket, all over his face and in his hair. He had his first try of juice as well, which REALLY excited him and so happened his first ever juice-stache.

Audrey enjoyed herself too. She was a bit pickier than Henry, but since she was free, I couldn't make myself care too much. She loved the juice too.



I blew my calorie counting efforts completely. My British blood called out to me and most of my meal consisted of fish and chips. I can argue with myself that fish is really good for me and I don't get it as often as I should, but I really can't justify the batter dipped and deep fried qualities. Sitting here, I just realized that I didn't even get myself any fruit. Shame on me. My thighs will be bubbling all night long. By my figuring, the only thing that would bring me back down to my calorie allotment for the day would be about 4 pounds of celery.

After the kids and I had our plates in front of us and were happily filling our tums, Ben wandered out to forage for himself. He came back with a pile of french fries and the fixings for a super loaded baked potato.

"Filling your starch quota for the century?"

"Yep."

Ben peeled the foil off his baked potato and I noted distractedly that he brushed a little dirt off the tuber. Not too unusual unfortunately. I can't tell you how many times I have been disappointed by the quality of potato washing at restaurants. The skin, honestly, is my favorite part of the potato. Load it up with butter and it's a heart stopping, juicy, satisfying pile of cholesterol. It always saddens me when I have to leave the skin because I just can't work up the nerve to eat a little dirt.
The next time I looked up, there was a little mound of Idaho on his plate. Ew.

"Erm. I wouldn't eat that potato if I were you."

"I wasn't planning on it. Do you think I should ask for a manager?"

"Oh yeah. The whole batch could be like that."

A few minutes later, we had a manager who asked us politely what he could do for us.

Ben smiled ruefully, "I really wanted a baked potato today," and showed the manager his plate with the unappetizing, grey mound resting on it.

Since he was standing at my left shoulder, I didn't see his face, but I can imagine his smile turning to horror at the sight.

"That's just disgusting. I'm SO sorry!"

He went on to say that he loved to eat the potato skin himself and was horrified that one of their potatoes looked like that. He took Ben's potato with the promise that he'd be back shortly, warning as well that the whole batch would be tossed so it obviously wouldn't be replaced with a new one.

When he came back he notified us that the person who prepped the potatoes that day was getting a serious talking to and that it would never happen again. He apologized again, asked for our receipt and left again.

Ben opted for a nice, big, healthy-ish salad, which he was kind of bummed about. But, since his meal, and mine ended up being free, we didn't complain much. Woohoo! Free food!

Batten Down the Hatches, Baking, Skis and Squash

Ben and I have been fairly impressed with the weather people/meteorologists since we moved to Utah. They actually report on the weather! What a concept!

In New Mexico we were often aggravated into making fun of the horrid excuses for weather reports and the people responsible for them. We had our favorite personalities that did their best, but their co-workers and, unfortunately, superiors were often lacking. As a result, the two main weather people we would watch ended up being called "Tepature Girl" and "The Weather Salesman". Yes, I know it's spelled temperature. That's how SHE said it. The Weather Salesman was relatively new to the station when we moved and his predictions must have drawn some flak because he ended up selling his weather reports. Hence the name. He even came close to saying "I told you so" once when his prediction ended up being surprisingly accurate.

As I was saying, the Utah weather people have been fairly impressive to us. To actually get a substantial weather report has been refreshing, even to me. That's saying something.

The reason why I mention all this is because for the past week we've been eagerly anticipating the season's first snow storm. It is supposed to hit the area within a few hours. The wind and rain has been visiting off and on since 2am or so. We may not get snow where we are, but the cold is on it's way.

I am unusually excited for the change in weather for two reasons. The cold weather, for me, signals the real end of summer and fall taking hold. I love autumn as it brings out a festive mood in me that carries me through the rest of the year. The second reason I am enthused is because cold weather means that I can bake with impunity. (Normally, baking is discouraged during the warm months because Mom's bedroom becomes a dry sauna.) To give you the idea about the upstairs room getting so hot, even during the coldest months, Mom opens her windows wide while baking is going on in the kitchen.

Visions of homemade bread, apple pie, cookies, cakes, crisps, and other such goodies are dancing in my head. I picked up a couple of cheaters packages of cookie dough the last time I went to the store.

In other news, Audrey is steadily growing out of her clothes. Her feet are huge. Ben says that she's walking on skis. Henry is also growing well and fast. He has added some solid foods to his diet. This has provided some amusement for anyone watching his face while he tries new flavors. Squash was my personal favorite in the funny face promotion.

Cake Mania

A few weeks ago, Albertson's had a sale on cake mixes and frostings. (Other things too, but they have little or no significance to this particular blog.) So, I was standing happily in the baking isle looking at the various cakes and frostings. For many years, I have prided myself in baking entirely from scratch, but time has slowly gotten the better of me and speed is now of the essence. Otherwise, my poor family would never experience cake. I normally try to look for cake mixes that I know I would have great difficulty in scratching out on my own: Carrot Cake, Party Rainbow Chip, Lemon, Strawberry... but, I also end up getting the occasional Yellow, White and Chocolate for the possible cake emergency.

So, I was standing happily in the baking isle looking at the various cakes and frostings.. (deja vu anyone?) I was trying to remember how many cake mixes I had at home that were potentially frosting-less so that I could get enough for all my little cakey friends. I can't remember now what I concluded and ended up walking out of the store with, but it will potentially keep me in cake for the foreseeable future... or in other-words.. about 3 months.

I finally got up the energy to make cake this afternoon when Audrey went down for her nap. I took inventory of my cakes and frostings and found that I had miscalculated the amount of frosting I needed and ended up with much more than the mixes I have. Oh well! (More cake for meeee.. heeheehee!)


AAAAANYway. I was pondering my cake cravings and recalled something I read in an email about how you can make your store-bought frosting go further by whipping it in a mixer. (This only works with the non-whipped kind.) So, I thought, "Hey! What a great idea! Then I'll have the equivalent of twice the amount of frosting! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!" In order to use all the frosting, I theorized, I'd have to make two cakes. Two rectangular cakes in matching glass pans sounded a bit boring to me, so I ended up making 12 yellow cupcakes, a rather thin 8" round yellow cake (left-over batter from the cupcakes), and a nice, big 13x9 rectangular spice cake.

After the cakes cooled a bit, I rather hesitantly dumped my vanilla frosting into my Kitchen Aide mixer and turned it on the highest setting. Ben hovered nearby in interest. It didn't seem to do much to begin with and I was starting to worry that there was some key ingredient that I had forgotten and was necessary to fluff out the frosting. So, I went to the computer to search online. There is nothing on store-bought frosting except for the from-scratch-snobs who turned their nose up at the idea of anything like that. (This coming from an ex-snob.) While I was searching away, I hear a "Wow!" from Ben as my mixer suddenly seems to remember it's job and kicks into high gear. I went back over to find my batch of frosting had suddenly turned a whiter white and was now rather whippy looking! Hooray! It must have taken all of 3 to 5 minutes.


I had just enough frosting to top 10 cupcakes (two had muffin-top breakage and had to be forfeited down our gullets), the little 8" round and the entire spice cake. Not bad for a tub of frosting for $1.50! The other really awesome thing was that the frosting wasn't so heavy that it tore the cake up (a problem I have had in the past). All in all, it was a wonderful experience and I will now be eating cake for the next 3 or 4 days!