Chicken Parmesan Burgers

Oh, Chicken Parmigiana, how do I love thee? I love your crisp, seasoned crust. I love your tangy, herb-studded marinara sauce. I love your ooey, gooey, decadent blanket of cheese. I love the saucy noodles that usually ride shotgun on the plate with you.

I love you. Except for one leeeeetle problem.

You are a Calorie Bomb from Hell. Yeah, I know you think you're all sneaky, because you are chicken--boneless, skinless, chicken at that--which everyone knows is healthy, right?

You little charlatan. You.....Lothario! You seduce us with promises of lean, nutritious protein, add the enticement of a vegetable-studded sauce and then? Ka-blammo! You knock us onto our rapidly-expanding ass.



The proof is in the pudding*. The Chicken Parmigiana entree at the Olive Garden restaurant contains just how many calories, do you think? Huh? I mean, it's only chicken, right? Wrong. The magic number is: 1,090.

'Tis true. You can look it up yourself. And that number doesn't even include the salad and those Crack Breadsticks they serve. 1,090 calories for one meal is seven kinds of wrong, people!

I think I might have a single glass of wine or a Go-gurt left over in the calorie bank after eating Olive Garden Chicken Parm (no salad, no breadsticks. If I eat those, I've hit my calorie allotment for the whole freaking day).

But this sucks! I love you, Chicken Parm! What's a girl--a girl with a firm eye on the size of her backside--to do?

In my case, a girl finds a really kick-butt recipe in Bon Appetit for Chicken Parmesan Burgers. A recipe which, when followed as directed, clocks in at 554 calories. Not bad! If you are on Le Regime, or even a half-assed Regime, you can do like I did and skip the top layer of bread (or skip bread altogether and add a side salad) and make it a knife-and-fork affair.

Any way you dish it up, it will deliver that crave-worthy Chicken Parm taste without the walk of shame in the morning.

Chicken Parmesan Burgers
from Bon Appetit
serves 4

10 1/2-inch-thick slices French bread (4 inches in diameter); 8 slices toasted, 2 slices (crust removed) diced
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese**
4 tablespoons minced fresh basil, divided, plus 12 large basil leaves
3/4 cup purchased refrigerated marinara sauce
12 ounces ground chicken (white meat)
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
1 tablespoon grated onion
1/4 teaspoon salt
4 ounces whole-milk mozzarella cheese, thinly sliced
4 large radicchio leaves

Blend diced bread and Parmesan in processor to fine crumbs. Transfer to pie dish; mix in 2 tablespoons minced basil.

Mix marinara and 2 tablespoons basil in a small saucepan. Transfer 1 1/2 tablespoons sauce to large bowl. Add chicken, 1/2 tablespoon oil, onion and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Sprinkle with pepper; blend. Shape into four 1/2-inch thick patties; coat with crumbs. Heat sauce over low heat.

Heat 1 1/2 tablespoons oil in large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Cook patties until bottoms are crusty, 4 minutes. Turn patties over, top with cheese. Cook 3 minutes.

Cover; cook until cooked through and cheese is melted, about 1 minute.

Assemble burgers with bread, radicchio, basil leaves and warm marinara.

* Proof is in the pudding? Where did that wacky phrase come from, I wonder? That makes no stinking sense.

** Since there are so few ingredients in this recipe, I'm going to urge you to buy the GOOD stuff. Parmigianno-Reggiano from Italy, in the block form. No pre-shredded cheese! The already shredded kind loses it's flavor in like, a day. Okay, enough harassin' ya.

White Trash Motherlode: Pimiento Cheese Spread

Some of you readers know that I spent many of my formative years in Grand Forks, North Dakota. It was a bleak and frigid landscape, but we had some hoo-boy interesting neighbors. The same neighbors I posted about here happened to give us a family code-word/phrase unique to just us. You have those, don't you? Little sayings that pop out of your mouth, things you've heard since you were a child...things that make no sense to anyone else?

Or are we bigger wierdos than I thought?

Anyways, our code-phrase was, "Let me guess--Emil Schraeder did it, didn't he?"



Backstory:

My sister's best friend Lisa had money. Well, let me correct that. Lisa's family had more money than we did, which now that I think of it, probably wasn't very hard.

Anyways, Lisa's mother, Barb, was quite progressive and liberated. She militantly refused to wear a bra and refused to vacuum and sent her husband's work shirts to the dry cleaners. Believe me, such behavior was, in my eyes, downright exotic.

One afternoon, as Barb was hanging up the freshly dry-cleaned work shirts, she noticed one that she didn't recognize. Sure enough, the shirt was quite a bit larger than her husband's size. Upon further examination, she discovered a homemade tag on the inside, emblazoned with the name: Emil Schraeder.

An odd name, don't you think? I mean, even for Scandinavian-heavy North Dakota in the early 70's, this was a goofy-ass name.

Barb returned the shirt to the dry cleaner, only to get a puzzled look and a shake of the head.

"We don't have any customer named Emil Schraeder, lady. Never heard that name in my life."

Emil Schraeder:Man of Mystery.

From then on, whenever something in the Norby household went missing or was mysteriously broken, Lisa and her brothers would insist that they were not culpable.

"Emil Schraeder must have done it," they said, grinning.

Naturally, my sister and I thought this was genius.

So Emil Schraeder ended up haunting not just one, but two houses.

I'm going somewhere with this, I swear...

Growing up, my father had an addiction to a savory crocked-cheese-spread that he could only get in Fargo. Whenever he had business in Fargo, he picked up a jar or two of this delicious little foodstuff.

He'd reverently crack open the jar, grab a knife and slather the orange concoction on crackers or stalks of celery, sighing in satisfaction. The stuff was delectable.

Alas, my father was (and still is) notoriously stingy about sharing "his" food. Daddy is the only person I know who will go to a Chinese restaurant and refuse to allow a scrap of his entree to pass anyone else's lips. His food is his food.

Thus was his attitude towards his Crack Cheese. He guarded it like a junkyard dog.

But Crack Cheese was delicious...

So we sneaked, pilfered, pillaged. Greasy little fingers would leave smears on the refrigerator door, and when my father saw the streaks of cheesy evidence, he would bellow, "Who's been into my cheese?"

Emil Schraeder, who else?

To this day, I love savory cheese spread, although my tastes have advanced to spicier fare than the Crack Cheese of yore. My cheesy bliss? Pimiento-Jalapeno cheese spread from Whole Foods. I love the stuff. Give me a toasted English muffin, topped with that spread and a slice of fresh tomato, and I'm a satisfied woman.

Problem is, as much as I love my Whole Foods snack, it doesn't lovva my ass. Pimiento cheese spread usually contains mayonnaise or butter or God forbid, both. Cheese+Mayonnaise+Butter=Backside Suicide.

So imagine my delight when I stumbled across a lightened recipe for pimiento cheese spread in Eating Well magazine. I made a batch, stirred in some finely diced jalapeno peppers, and was in snack heaven.



Eating Well Pimiento Cheese
makes 1 1/2 cups

1 1/2 cups reduced-fat Cheddar cheese**
1/4 cup low-fat mayonnaise (do not use fat-free)
1 (4 oz.) jar sliced pimientos, drained and chopped
2 tablespoons minced scallions or shallot
hot sauce to taste (or if you are like me, 1-2 tablespoons chopped jalapeno or serrano pepper)
salt and pepper to taste

Mix together. Refrigerate at least 30 minutes to allow flavors to blend. Serve with crackers or crudites.

**Eating Well magazine is VERY, very fussy about the cheese used in the spread. They know their stuff, so listen to them. The ONLY low-fat Cheddar that's acceptable is Cabot or Cracker Barrel brand. And only the kind sold in block form--no pre-shredded cheese allowed. And not lower-fat than 50%. Got that? Disobey orders and your pimiento cheese will not be Crack-Worthy. I could only find Cabot low-fat Cheddar in the white variety, so you'll notice that my spread is a little pale, but it tasted just lovely.

Lunch Box Ennui

Growing up, Mama never, not ever, made me eat the hot lunch at school. Thank goodness; that dreck they served up was nasty. Every day, she diligently packed things I loved to eat and sent me on my way. I rarely traded lunches with anyone, although I often got asked. Why on Earth would I trade Mama's Bitchin' Tuna Sandwich for Kelly Crosby's thermos of tomato soup? Who wanted Kim Maiser's Oreos when I had homemade peanut butter cookies? What kind of idiot did they take me for?

Those carefully packed lunches were proof, in my eyes, that I was loved and cared for. I never tired of them. And then I grew up and got a job and had to pack my own lunches. Packing my own lunch? Not so fun. I sure as shit didn't bake myself peanut butter cookies. When it came to packing my own lunch, I showed a stunning lack of creativity. Lean Cuisines and apples. Turkey wraps. Yogurt, berries and granola. Yawn.

Blessedly, I no longer have to pack my lunch. However, I'm stupid enough to have, as a newlywed, offered to pack my husband's lunch every day. Fresh Love clearly rendered me incapable of brain function. I hated packing my own lunch; what made me think this would be any different?

I'm trying to do better for hubs than I did for myself. I strive to mix things up for him. Lately, since he's still on Half-Assed Regime, I've been packing protein-filled salads. This particular one has a lot going for it--loaded with protein, veggies and fiber-rich barley, it's hearty enough to satisfy the hungriest of bears. The olives and the feta add salty bite, and the lemon and herbs freshen the whole thing up. Pack this for lunch and you won't suffer Lunchbox Ennui, trust me.*



Half-Assed Regime Mediterranean Salad
adapted from Cooking Light Magazine
makes enough for 4 lunches

3/4 cups uncooked pearl barley
water

1 1/2 teaspoons grated lemon zest
4 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
3/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 cup chopped cooked chicken breast
1 cup thinly sliced celery
1/2 cup grape tomatoes, halved
1/3 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/4 cup finely chopped red onion
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup chopped, pitted Kalamata olives
1 (15-oz.) can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
1/3 cup feta cheese, crumbled

Cook the barley in boiling water as per package directions. Cool to room temperature.

Combine lemon zest, lemon juice, olive oil and mustard in a bowl. Whisk to blend.

Combine barley, chicken, celery, tomatoes, red onion, salt, pepper, olives and cannellini beans in a large bowl. Toss with dressing. Add chopped parsley and feta cheese and toss lightly to combine. Cover and refrigerate at least 30 minutes before serving.

* A caveat: if you aren't used to high-fiber foods, you'll fart. Just sayin'.

Cauliflower: Edible or No?

Confession: I've always disliked cauliflower. It reeks in the refrigerator crisper and reeks again when you cook it. And it doesn't taste like, well, anything, does it? Aside from my father, I don't know anyone who can honestly say that they like cauliflower.

Except for my husband. He likes cauliflower. Specifically, he likes his mother's cauliflower. I must say, I was pretty dubious. But my curiosity was piqued, and when I was visiting my in-laws once, I asked my mother-in-law to make it. My mother-in-law hails from Southern India, and she made cauliflower in the method she learned back home.

And guess what? It was delicious! Because cauliflower is such a blank canvas, it really sings when jazzed up with Indian spices. This wasn't any bland lump of white stuff--this was cauliflower with personality. A little aside: my MIL happens to be a veggie genius. Any vegetable she cooks, I like. Even the dreaded okra. I don't know how she does it, but she makes delicious vegetables every time. She's the Veggie Whisperer.

After that visit, I bought a few Indian cookbooks. I've learned a lot, and am still learning. This particular cauliflower curry isn't as simple as the one my mother-in-law made, but it's delicious. It's actually several recipes put together; I don't know how I came up with it, really. I think I was just fooling around one day and this was the result. We like it with basmati rice or warm naan* to soak up the luscious sauce.

My days of cauliflower boredom are over. If you like Indian food, I encourage you to give this a try!

Indian Spiced Vegetables
serves 4 as a main, 6 as a side

1 head cauliflower, cut into flowerets
1 cup chopped onion
2 tablespoons canola oil
1/4 teaspoon mustard seeds (yellow or black)
1/4 teaspoon turmeric
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (if you like it hotter, use 1/2 teaspoon)
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
3 teaspoons ground coriander
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/3 cup water
1 cup coconut milk
juice of 1/2 lemon
1 red bell pepper, sliced
2 zucchini, sliced
1/3 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
Rice or naan, for serving

Heat oil and mustard seeds in a large skillet over medium heat until mustard seeds begin to sizzle and pop. Add onion, turmeric, cayenne, cumin and coriander and cook until onion begins to soften. Add salt, pepper and water and stir until combined. Add the cauliflower; toss until well coated with the spice mixture. Cover pan, reduce heat to low and steam 8 minutes, adding a little more water if mixture dries out. Add coconut milk and lemon juice; stir and re-cover. Cook 5 minutes more. Add bell pepper and zucchini; toss well and cook 4 minutes more. Top with cilantro and taste for seasonings.

*If you've never had naan, you need to. This Indian bread is Food of the Gods. And it ain't even fried. It's cooked in a screaming hot Tandoor oven and goodness, it's delicous. I think you could even wrap the M word in it and suddenly, it would taste good. It's impossible to make, but you can get it at Whole Foods or, oddly, I can get a bitchin' version of naan at my SuperTarget! No lie!

Facing Down My Nemesis

I just about peed myself when I read the March itinerary for Barefoot Bloggers. This had to be some kind of cruel joke. Clearly, some cosmic force had it in for old KitchyWitchy this month, because I was being asked to face my Food Nemesis.

The horror.

I was ordered to make the most evil concoction known to man. That's right folks. The M word.

If you don't know about my traumatic experience with the M word, I suggest you go here.

My husband walked into the kitchen yesterday and saw me sauteeing a mountain of onions.

"Mmmmmm. What's for dinner?" he asked.

"Meat Loaf."

"Geddafuckoutta here," he said. "No way."

"Way," I said. "Some sadistic dillweed at Barefoot Bloggers picked meat loaf as one of the March recipes."

"And you're not just punting on it?"

"Nope. Time to face the enemy. I'm putting on my battle armor, and sheathing my sword as we speak. Meat Loaf, I'm coming for you!"

"Okaaaaayy," he said, backing out of the kitchen. "You have fun with that. I actually love meat loaf."

Freak.


You can find the recipe for Ina's Individual Meat Loaves here.

When I first scanned the recipe, I noticed a couple of things that just weren't going to fly with me. And since I cannot follow the rules to save my life, I had to tinker with the recipe.

First item of note: Ina calls for ground chuck that is 81% lean. There's good reason for this. Fattier meat=moist and flavorful meat loaf. However, my butt doesn't need fatty meat. There's enough jiggle in that trunk already. I'm pretty sure hubs' butt doesn't need fatty meat, either. So I used 93% lean ground chuck.

Which then posed a little problem about how to add moisture back into the meat loaf. I grated up a zucchini and an orange bell pepper and added it to my meat mixture, hoping that would add the necessary moisture and flavor I needed.

Second item of note: Ina directs you to shape the individual meat loaves into six (10 to 11 ounce) portions. Who on Earth is she cooking for? Lumberjacks? The Green Bay Packers? 10 to 11 ounces of meat is hella lotta meat, people!!

I'd actually halved the recipe to start with (I didn't want all of that extra meat loaf staring at me in the refrigerator later), and I shaped that halved recipe into 4 loaves. Each loaf was about 5 ounces--a much more moderate portion.

However, what did this mean for the cooking time? Did I cut the cooking time in half, or would my meat loaf turn out *shudder* RAW in the middle? I was really not okay with that prospect, so I cut fifteen minutes off the cooking time and called it good.

Verdict: Hubs loved it. I gagged. Sometimes, a girl just can't rise above her past. Sorry Ina, I tried.

And where's the picture, you ask? Ahem. Sorry folks. Just TRY to make meat loaf look sexy. Fail. So you'll just have to take my word for it.

My First Pie: A Lard Story

You guys know I don't bake, right? Baking and I don't play well together. Because baking requires adherence to, you know, rules. I don't do rules.

So how does a self-professed non-baker find herself ass-deep in pie dough one fine weekend?

Lard. That's right, folks. Nothing motivates a girl to bake like a hermetically sealed, Fed-Exed parcel of homemade lard.

My wonderful friend Phoo-d wrote this post recently about her adventures in rendering lard from local pigs. Imagine my delight when, while futzing around on Facebook, I got the following IM: "Hey, any interest in some homemade hog fat?"

The thrill, my friends. The thrill.

A few days later, this arrived on my doorstep. I was seriously blissed out.



By the time hubs hit the door at 6 o'clock, I'd worked myself into a froth. "Honey!! Lookee what I got!" I crowed, waving the package around. "This is the coolest thing I've ever gotten in the mail. Ev-er!" I might have even done a celebratory version of the Yummy Dance.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What. Is. That?"

"Homemade hog fat, Dude! I got lard in the mail! Isn't that awesome?" By this time, the girls had gotten wind of my enthusiasm and were now bouncing off the walls with me, singing "hog fat/hog fat/we got some hog fat..."

He reached for a bottle of wine and poured himself a sturdy glass. "Only you," he said, shaking his head and retreating down to the man-cave.

Hmph. Some people don't know awesomeness when they see it. I was stoked.



But then came the realization that homemade lard=baking. I emailed my friend Phoo-d in a bit of panic.

"I've never made pie crust before. Help! This has 'fuck-up' written all over it."

Luckily, Phoo-d has a clear head and walked me through the process. "It's honestly not that hard," she said.

Riiiight.

I stacked the deck a little. I consulted Cook's Illustrated and found their Best Recipe for pie dough. I also invited Mama over; she spent many a long North Dakota winter wrestling pastry dough. She knows what she's doing. With Cook's Illustrated, Mama, and Phoo-d's generous offer of "call me if you get into trouble," I was ready.

The hardest part was figuring out what kind of pie to make. Shameful admission: I don't really like pie. My husband doesn't really like pie either, except for pecan. I was not going to waste my pie-making efforts on an audience who doesn't really appreciate pie.

Luckily, there just so happens to be someone in my life who loves pie.



Daddy's favorite pie is cherry. Alas, it's totally not cherry season. But apples? We've got them in spades, so apple it was.

Mama and I donned our aprons, rolled up our sleeves and dove into the world of pastry dough. I think we did just fine.



We did so fine, in fact, that we also made quiche. I don't do pie, but I love me some quiche. This made a light and satisfying dinner when paired with a glass of wine and a crisp green salad. And yes, my man does eat quiche.



American Pie Dough for Fruit Pies
from Cook's Illustrated
makes dough for one double-crust 9-inch pie

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting dough and work surface
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sugar
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled, cut into 1/4-inch pieces
8 tablespoons lard or vegetable shortening, chilled
6-8 tablespoons ice water

Mix flour, salt and sugar in food processor fitted with steel blade. Scatter butter pieces over flour mixture, tossing to coat butter with a little of the flour. Cut butter into flour with five 1-second pulses. Add shortening and continue cutting until flour is pale yellow and resembles coarse cornmeal, with butter bits no larger than small peas, about four more 1-second pulses. Turn mixture into medium bowl.

Sprinkle 6 tablespoons ice water over mixture. With blade of rubber spatula, use folding motion to mix. Press down on dough with broad side of spatula until dough sticks together, adding up to 2 tablespoons more ice water if dough does not hold together.

Divide dough into two balls and flatten each into 4-inch wide disks. Dust disks lightly with flour, wrap each in plastic, and refrigerate at least 30 minutes, or up to 2 days, before rolling.

Apple Pie
from Cook's Illustrated
makes 1 pie

1 recipe American Pie Dough for Fruit Pies
2 pounds Granny Smith apples (4 medium)
2 pounds McIntosh apples (4 medium)
3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons juice and 1 teaspoon zest from one medium lemon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1 egg white, lightly beaten

Prepare and shape dough into two disks as directed. Refrigerate until needed.

Remove one piece of dough from refrigerator. If stiff and very cold, let stand until dough is cool but malleable. Adjust oven rack to center position and heat oven to 425.

Roll one dough disk on a lightly floured surface into a 12-inch circle. Fold dough in quarters, then place dough point in center of 9-inch Pyrex regular or deep-dish pan. Unfold dough.

Gently press dough into sides of pan, leaving portion that overhangs lip of pie plate in place. Refrigerate while preparing fruit.

Peel, core and cut apples into 1/2-to-1/4-inch slices and toss with 3/4 cup sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, salt and spices. Turn fruit mixture, including juices, into chilled pie shell and mound slightly in center.

Roll out second dough disk and place over filling. Trim top and bottom edges to to 1/2-inch beyond pan lip. Tuck this rim of dough underneath itself so the folded edge is flush with pan lip. Flute edging or press with fork tines to seal. Cut four slits on dough top. If dough is very soft, place in the freezer for 10 minutes. Brush egg white over top of crust and sprinkle with 1 tablespoon sugar.

Bake until top crust is golden, about 25 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees; continue baking until juices bubble and pie is golden brown, 30 to 35 minutes.

Transfer pie to wire rack; cool to almost room temperature, at least 4 hours.

Asparagus, Sun-Dried Tomato and Fontina Cheese Quiche
adapted from Mark Bittman
makes 1 quiche


1 disk American Pie Crust for Fruit Pies, without added sugar in the recipe
6 eggs, at room temperature
2 cups grated Fontina cheese
1 cup cream
1 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup blanched asparagus tips
1/4 cup sun dried tomatoes, sliced

Preheat the oven to 425. Prick the crust all over with the tines of a fork. Line crust with tin foil and weight down with rice or dried beans. Bake 12 minutes. Remove from the oven and carefully remove the weight and foil; turn the oven down to 325.

Combine eggs, cheese, liquid, seasonings and vegetables and beat until well blended.

Place the baked crust on a baking sheet. Pour the egg mixture into the crust, right to the top. Carefully transfer the baking sheet to the oven and bake 30 to 40 minutes, until the mixture is set but is still moist; it should still jiggle just a little in the middle. Cool on a rack and serve warm or at room temperature.

White Trash Motherlode: Jell-o Squares

My 5th grade class was so enormous that we actually had two teachers, Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Black. There was another, smaller class also, with one lone teacher, but, as my older sister had told me years before, the lucky kids got Reed & Black. There were reasons for this.

First was the issue of sheer entertainment value. Mrs. Reed was a short, voluptuous redhead who loved to experiment with hairstyles and crazy outfits and gaudy make-up. We kids would arrive every morning, having no idea what kind of glitter-bombed treat was in store for us. Mrs. Reed would prance into class like some exotic bird, and our jaws would drop, awestruck. It was like La Cage Aux Folles, without the gays.

The second reason for the superiority of Reed & Black was the fact that both women were, in fact, incredibly nice human beings. They weren't yellers and they laughed easily and liked to have a little fun, which isn't a common trait in teachers of the 5th grade.

But the most compelling virtue of that classroom was that both teachers loved to eat. And they encouraged festivity. Every two months, the class of Reed & Black would have a group pow-wow. The important topic at hand? What to serve for Theme Lunch.

Theme Lunches were hoo-boy fun; we'd pick a theme, like Mexico Day or Italy Day or Barbecue Day and run with it. We'd decorate the room accordingly and enjoy a potluck lunch in keeping with the theme. Every two months, after we'd decided on a theme, letters went home, asking parents for contributions to the meal.

I don't think this kind of parent participation would fly nowadays, but in the late 70's, parents were game. Everyone, from tall to small, thought Theme Lunches were the bee's knees; I never heard anyone complain.

Every time Theme Lunches rolled around, Mrs. Reed would call me up to her desk a few days prior.

She'd smile her fuschia-lipped smile and bat her glittery eyelashes and pat her teased, bouffant bun, and say, "Sweetie? Would you please ask your Mama if she'd make those Jell-o squares? You know how much I love them."

Which made me pleased as punch. I was the only kid who got requests. And, let's face it, Mama's Jell-o Squares were rockin'. They didn't fall apart, or wobble precariously, or melt...even when packed in a Springtime lunchbox. They had a toothsome texture and were a staple around my house growing up.

In fact, Mama's Jell-o Squares were so popular that, when I had them in my lunch, kids would offer to trade me Chee-tos for them. Yeah. I know.

That whole 5th grade year, I was Mrs. Reed's Jell-o Square Pimp. I'd bring them to Theme Lunches and she'd shake her plump little rear in excitement. When the school year was almost finished, I was beckoned to her desk again.

"Sweetie," she said, batting her 4th of July eyes, "would your Mama part with that Jell-o square recipe? I'll just be so sad without them when you're gone."

The next day I came, recipe in hand. God forbid a girl deprive such a magnificent creature of her Crack Snack.

Mama's Jell-o Squares


5 tablespoons Knox gelatin
2 1/2 cups cold water
2 cups cold water
4 (3-oz) packages Jell-o
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup clear juice, such as white grape

Sprinkle gelatin over 2 1/2 cups cold water. Let dissolve.

Mix 2 cups cold water, packaged Jell-o and sugar in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Remove from heat and add softened gelatin and juice. Mix well.

Pour into a 9x13 inch pan and refrigerate overnight. Cut into blocks.

Neighbor Friday: Drama For Mama

Happy Friday, readers! I'm so pleased to introduce Becca from Drama For Mama. I love Becca's honesty and humor, she's not afraid to admit that she's human and that mothering isn't always 100% bliss. I love this post of hers below. I know you will too!

For more neighbor fun, check out The Never-True Tales by clicking the icon below!




And heeeeeeeeere's...Becca!

***


Si"Bling"s

Too tight squeezes. Loving shoves. Silly Head Butts. We all have witnessed the treacherous bond between siblings. The fine line between adoration and hate. The heavenly feeling as you watch your children play so nicely together and the painful pangs as you watch them tear each other apart and wonder, "why is it that I wanted more than one?"


I always knew I wanted more than one child. And when Hannah was about 18 months old and started clearly showing signs of believing the entire world revolved around her (and yes, I was the enabler), I decided to get moving on number 2. The next 18 months were painful and emotional for me. And I BEGGED with all my being for a miracle. But three miscarriages, an ectopic pregnancy and 2 IVF treatments later, my wiggly, alien looking adorable, miserably collicky, precious little boy was placed in my arms. I didn't know he'd be a HIM until he was removed from me and I heard the room chanting, "It's a Boy! It's a Boy!" and my first reaction was, well, nausea. Maybe a bit from the anesthesia but also because I had imagined Hannah with a sister. A girl she could have tea parties with and push baby dolls around with. Two giggly girls snuggled in a sleeping bag in their bedroom. Two girls sharing their deepest darkest secrets with one another until the wee hours of the morning. Two girls swapping shoes and jewelry and holding hands as they got their ears pierced. Friends. Soul mates. This scenario came to a quick close when I got a Luke instead of a Phoebe.


The first thing Hannah said when she came into the hospital room to meet her new little brother was, "Mommy, I thought it was going to be a girl?" It wasn't so much sadness as confusion in her voice. Somehow, she had convinced herself of the same future with a sister, just as I had in my mind. I told her that having a little brother would be JUST as special as a sister and that they'd grow up to be best friends all the same. I thought in my head of all of the older sister/younger brother siblings I had known in my life and I realized that their relationships were some of the strongest I knew as far as siblings go. The doting, motherly older sister and the well cared for little brother. I quickly convinced myself that my mismatched pair would also have a fantastic friendship as they grew older.

Over the past two years since Luke was born, I've watched my kids go through many stages. The helpless little brother being dragged around by his arm. The clueless little brother happily being dressed up as a princess. The curious little brother sticking his nose into anything and everything his older sister is doing. The nurturing older sister helping her little brother put on his pajamas. The motherly older sister helping her little brother learn to use a spoon. The newly independent little brother not wanting his overpowering big sister anywhere near him. The Elaine-like dancing older sister teaching her rookie little brother some crazy moves. The worried little brother hiding his possessions from his usually bossy and grabby big sister. The strong little brother pushing his big sister out of his way. The concerned little brother hugging his big sister tight when she's throwing a tantrum and flailing about on the floor. In all of these situations though, the one consistent is that when all is said and done, one is always looking out for, or just looking for, the other. The first thing Hannah says in the morning is, "Is Luke still asleep?" And the first thing Luke always "says" when he enters a room is, "Ha Ha (Hannah)?"

And that's what I "want". One always looking out for the other. I'm not sure how to ensure a healthy sibling relationship between my kids. I unfortunately can't have my kids model their relationship after mine with my brother. As much as I've always (and still do) dreamed of a loving friendship with my brother, I sadly don't have one. When people hear that I have an older brother only 2 years my senior they think I'm so lucky. They think he must have always been so protective of me, that I must have always looked up to him and cherished him. But I didn't. And he wasn't. Our relationship was fraught with jealousy and competitiveness. He always had a way of making me feel bad about myself and I never could find the words to tell him that and fix it. He was always the one with too many words (go figure he's a lawyer now) and I always had too few.


So what can a parent do to help their kids foster the strongest, most secure, most trusting relationship between siblings? Anything? I wonder as they grow whether I should step in to guide them or step back to let them build their friendship on their own. I would think just keeping them a part of one another's lives, going to each others activities, letting them get to know each other's friends, having them participate in each other's worlds would be a good start. And stepping back as they go through the necessary and common stages of hating one another. Most important, I would think is ensuring self confidence in each of them separately, so that the competitiveness is minimized, but I also want to give them confidence as a pair. For them to believe that together, they can conquer the ups and downs of life. That they don't always need to go it alone. That they should be "accessories" for one another. When something is missing, the other will keep them warm, make them smile, make them feel strong and beautiful.


This morning I watched Hannah show Luke how to carefully slide down the stairs on his belly instead of trying to climb down the stairs like a "big person". "You won't fall on your face this way Lukey because you're already going down on your face." She taught him. And he listened. And watched. And then copied. How many times have I told him to go down on his belly? Countless. But his sister only had to show him once. And that's my new dream, beyond the giggly girlie sisters. To have my kids trust each other even more than they trust me.

***

Thank-you SO much Becca, for this very sweet post. As someone with a "complicated sibling relationship" herself, I found so much solace here.

You're Screwed: A Veggie Tale

Things were getting just a leeeetle dicey in the refrigerator. See, I'd just come off a 3-day jaunt to Las Vegas. So I'd already sort of cleaned us out in the fresh produce department. Monday dawned, and I had to deal with a 17 year-old and a tailbone which may or may not've been broken. With a potty-hating 4 year-old in tow. Note: Awesome Stepkid R. is no Shawn White.

We lucked out in the coccyx department. Alas, the grocery store didn't happen. Tuesday, I had a sitter scheduled for a few hours, so I diligently began making out my list over my morning coffee. And then I heard it. The Ultimate Morning Buzzkill. Bleeeeaaaarrrrggg. Bleeeeaaaarrrrgg. Mommy! Hurry!

The Potty Pariah had the barfs.

I cancelled my babysitter and my grocery plans. Hubs was on call, so an evening trip to the grocery store when he got home from work wasn't happening. I looked in the refrigerator. A few leaves of lettuce. Some barely okay grapes. A shriveled, sad lime. A few cherry tomatoes. Half a red onion. A fistful of cilantro. Not good. I was off the hook for dinner, though, because when hubs is on call, it's panini night at Chez T. Whew.

Guess who still didn't feel good on Wednesday? Guess who was fouler than foul in temperament? No way was I taking a pissed-off Potty Pariah to the grocery store.

I was officially screwed.

I should have just planned on phoning my local Chinese joint come 6 o'clock, but Miss Cheapskate couldn't do that. Because she had fish thawing in the refrigerator that needed to be used ASAP.

So, I opened the freezer and the pantry and found: corn and black beans. Corn tortillas. Bing! The light went on.

The fish got a quick dusting with a Southwestern seasoning mix and I got to working on this side dish. Not bad for a desperate housewife. Not bad at all.



You're Screwed Southwestern Salad
serves 4

1/2 of a package (16-oz.) frozen corn, thawed
1 can black beans, rinsed and drained
1/4 cup red onion, finely chopped
1 jalapeno chile, seeded and chopped
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
generous handful of cherry tomatoes, halved or diced
juice of one small lime
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
dash cayenne
crumbled cojita (or goat cheese) and tortilla chips, to serve

Mix the corn, black beans, onion, jalapeno, cilantro and tomatoes in a large bowl. In a small bowl, combine the lime juice, olive oil, salt, pepper and spices. Whisk together; pour over corn mixture. Toss well. Taste for salt and adjust seasonings to your taste.

Sprinkle with cojita cheese. Serve with tortilla chips. Pray for recovery tomorrow. Set aside Chinese takeout menu, just in case.

Born-Again Virgin! Umm, Sorta.

I'm a barley virgin. I know! To be over 40 and still a virgin at anything is an incredible feat! I've never cooked barley...thus, my virgin status.

Now I've eaten barley in vegetable soup, but that's been my only experience with it. And barley in canned soup is a mushy, tasteless mess. No wonder I didn't have any compulsion to expand my barley horizons.

But we're trying to eat more whole grains at Chez T., and barley is a terrific choice. It's full of fiber, has twice the protein of rice and, when made correctly, is nutty and slightly chewy and delicious.

My husband loved this side dish. Loved it. I think he even uttered a "wow" when he took his first bite. It takes a little longer to cook than rice, but it's worth it. The caramelized onions give it a rich, sweet depth and the mushrooms add satisfying heft. The peas and fresh herbs brighten the whole thing, and hey, who doesn't love a good scattering of nutty, salty cheese? The crunchy nuts on the top? Icing. We were smitten.

I served this to my husband as a side dish next to some grilled steak, but I went Veg-Head and just plopped my portion into a big bowl. Comfort food!



Baked Barley with Mushrooms and Herbs
adapted from Cooking Light Magazine
serves 6

1 tablespoon butter
2 cups chopped onion
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups mixed dried mushrooms, put in boiling water to re-hydrate
2 cups sliced shiitake mushrooms
1 1/2 cups pearl barley
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 teaspoon fresh thyme, chopped
1/2 teaspoon fresh rosemary, chopped
4 cups vegetable broth, heated to a boil
1 cup frozen peas, thawed
1/2 cup toasted chopped pistachios or hazelnuts
1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese


Preheat the oven to 350.

Melt the butter in a Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and sugar; stir well to coat onions in butter. Cover the Dutch oven, reduce heat to low, and cook 25 minutes or until caramelized, stirring often.

Meanwhile, pour boiling water over dried mushrooms. Soak, drain and slice.

Add fresh and re-hydrated mushrooms to Dutch oven. Increase heat to medium and cook until mushrooms begin to soften and brown slightly, about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add barley, soy sauce, salt, pepper, thyme, rosemary and boiling vegetable stock. Stir well to combine.

Cover the Dutch oven and bake for 1 hour or until barley is tender but still pleasantly chewy. Let stand 10 minutes. Add peas and stir to heat through.

Sprinkle toasted nuts over the dish, toss to combine. Add salt and pepper to taste. Top each serving with a generous sprinkling of Parmesan.