Shrink-My-Ass-Month: Garlic-Basil Shrimp

Welcome to the first annual Shrink-My-Ass-Month at TheKitchenWitch! I must admit...usually I avoid the bathroom mirror. In fact, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that when I'm exiting the shower, I scuttle past the bathroom mirror like a cockroach.

I've had two kids, people. That mirror is not my friend. So why, why, why did I look in it yesterday? Without clothes on, in broad daylight, which is seven kinds of suicide?

Because I'm one of those freaks who can't look away from a car crash, either. I'm sick that way.

Let's just say that one look at that sad-sack lump of dough and hail damage...Hoo boy. I went sprinting for my sweatpants.

RIP, the ass of my youth. We had a good run. And I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate you more when I had you.

Now I'm not naive enough to believe that I'll ever get my old ass back. That sucker be gone. Still, it just might be time to lighten up things a little in the kitchen for a month or so. Because while my 20-year-old ass is a thing of the past, I might be able to at least get my 39-year-old one back. Maybe.

Mama, in an act of holiday genius, gave me Ellie Krieger's new cookbook So Easy: Luscious, Healthy Recipes for Every Meal of the Week in my stocking this year.

Now seems like the perfect time to try some of these recipes. Because boring rabbit food is suckage. Healthy food can also be delicious, if you put some thought and effort into it.

So hop onto the Lighten Up Boat with me and we'll see what we can crank out. Now if only y'all could go to the gym for me...because I hate that joint.




Garlic Basil Shrimp
from Ellie Krieger's So Easy
serves 4

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/4 pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined
3 garlic cloves, minced
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes, or more to taste*
3/4 cup dry white wine
1 1/2 cups grape tomatoes, halved
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh basil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
3 cups cooked orzo pasta, preferably whole wheat
teensy sprinkle of feta (my addition)

Heat the oil in a large heavy skillet over medium-high heat until hot but not smoking, the add the shrimp and cook, turning over once, until just cooked through, about 2 minutes. Transfer with a slotted spoon to a large bowl.

Add the garlic and red pepper flakes to the oil remaining in the skillet and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the wine and cook over high heat, stirring occasionally, for 3 minutes. Stir in the tomatoes and basil and season the sauce with salt and pepper. Return the shrimp to the pan and cook just until heated through. Serve with the orzo.

*I used 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes and added a handful of chopped kalamata olives, as well.

Per serving (1 cup shrimp mixture and 3/4 cup orzo): 380 calories

I thought the addition of olives and a sprinkle of sharp feta cheese added nice depth to this dish. It's delicious and a stunner to look at. You won't feel deprived eating this, I promise you.

Birthday boy

Has it really been 9 years that you've been mine?

I remember the first day I met you. I opened the door and you were cowering behind your father, clutching his knees. I could see your small fingers digging into his skin.

"He's shy; he'll warm up," your father said.

Your father and I had been dating for just over a month. I was excited and nervous to meet you. My cat, Wallace, howled noisily and circled you both, sniffing.

"I have a cat," you mumbled, studying the back of your father's knees.

"Really?" I said, in an overly loud and too-perky voice. "What's your cat's name?"

You looked at me then, eyes narrowing, suspicious and startled by my familiarity. You took a step back. And another. "I'm not telling you."

It was a bit of a rocky start. I was too eager. You were too guarded. I asked many questions; you answered in grunts. It was not clear if I was for Evil or for Good.



The first time we spent an afternoon alone, while your father worked, you had to call me from the bathroom, crying in humiliation and alarm, needing my help. I could see how much it cost you to do that.

Slowly, carefully, we forged down a common road, sometimes circling each other, sometimes with me following one step behind.

My little man-cub, so cautious and serious. Wise beyond your years. Now you're taller than I am, driving away in your shiny red car.

I wave goodbye and shut the door. And wait for your return.



Happy 17th Birthday, man-cub. Who is now a lot more man than cub. I love you.

My Crack Snack

Some of you may remember my leeeetle tendency to go on a food Jag. I have, proudly, been Jag-free for a few months.

But now, dear readers, I must confess. I've been riding a Jag lately, and it's a doozer. I've been snacking on this salty, spicy, sweet and sticky little bit of deliciousness for a week now. I cannot help myself. Like a Siren's song, this snack lures me in every afternoon, seducing me with its wiles.



Attempt this recipe at your own peril. It just might make you want nothing else...for quite some time.**

TKW's Crack Edamame
serves 3 (or 1 obsessed TKW)




1 16-oz bag frozen edamame in the shell*
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 teaspoons sesame oil
2 tablespoons seasoned rice vinegar
2 tablespoons honey
1/2 teaspoon Sriracha or crushed red pepper
1 tablespoon sesame seeds

1/4 cup water

Combine the soy sauce, sesame oil, rice vinegar, honey and Sriracha in a small bowl.

Bring 1/4 cup water to a boil in a large skillet. Add the edamame; bring up to simmer. Cook, uncovered, stirring often, until edamame is thawed and almost all water has evaporated, about 3 minutes. Add the sauce mixture; bring to boil. Turn heat down slightly and cook until mixture is thick and covers edamame like a glaze, about 8-10 minutes. Sprinkle with sesame seeds.

* You could use shelled edamame, but what's the fun in that? I love sucking the edamame out of the pod, licking my sticky fingers--it's good times!

** My husband wants to warn all dudes out there not to become addicted to this snack. Because hubs is WAY worried about those reports associating soy with man-boobs.

Guest Post: TKW's Dad

Happy Holidays, Readers! I hope you are all cuddled up with your gifts and your Valium Salt Licks? As a special holiday treat, I have my very own Daddy-O guest posting today. He spins a good yarn, so make yourself a hot toddy, sit down and enjoy!

TKW's Dad on: How I Got Served Alcohol while Underage and Resembling Wally Cleaver

I entered college in 1952. At that time, most colleges had hard and fast rules against drinking on campus. Still, I think it was the best time in history to attend college--the G.I. Bill had been enacted and many colleges/universities had Upperclassmen who had served in World War 2 and Korea. Because it was rather difficult for these educational institutions to inform returning servicemen in their early to mid-20's--just back from the toil and trauma of war--that they couldn't have a beer. What kind of asshole does that?

So here I was, 17 years of age, sharing space in Freshman housing with all of these older guys--guys who, by the way, definitely knew what T.G.I.F. meant. Now when I say I was 17, understand that I looked younger than that: 6 feet tall, 135 pounds soaking wet. You get the idea. Luckily, a 26 year old ex-Marine took a liking to me, and gave me his spare Military I.D.

Friday afternoons, everybody looking for a party went to a bar in town called The Bob-Inn. The town was dry except for pitchers of beer that flowed from a couple of establishments. Naturally, I was pretty excited to break in my "new" I.D. the next Friday.

Well, lets just say that the owner of The Bob-Inn didn't exactly buy that I was a 26 year old ex-Marine. He looked at the I.D., looked at me, grabbed my wallet and riffled through it...and kicked me to the curb. This wasn't the end of the world for two reasons: One, he hadn't confiscated my new I.D. And two, they served Schlitz on tap and I didn't like that crap beer anyways. It gave me a headache.

So, while the rest of the student body was at The Bob-Inn, I started down the street, hoping to find something to entertain me. About a block away was a place called The Green Lantern. I walked inside and it was almost empty, except for a gentleman behind the bar with a bald head with sides of white hair. I walked up to the bar as casually as I could, sat down, and ordered a beer (which to my delight was Budweiser on tap!). He looked at me for a couple of beats--eyeball to eyeball--and then smiled and poured me a beer. We visited on and off for about three hours, and several glasses later, I left, a happy man.

The next day, everyone asked me what had happened to me, and I told them I'd found a much better place to drink on Fridays. The next week, quite a few of my friends joined me at The Lantern, and the next Friday, even more joined me. Before long, hardly anybody went to The Bob-Inn anymore. The Lantern also had the benefit of Peg, the wife of Jack, the bald owner. Peg started coming in, once the crowds started flowing, and she made the best homemade soup and hamburgers you could imagine.

Now I gotta tell ya, this added benefit was awesome, since we had a dietician at the college named "Ma" Kuhns, who we swear had gotten such a good deal on orange marmalade that she blew the whole yearly budget on the stuff. She made the worst, skimpiest food and to this day, I cannot look at orange marmalade.

On October 23, 1956, I was spending the evening at The Lantern, and when the clock struck midnight, I looked at Jack and said, "Well, it's my birthday!" Jack smiled at me and said, "And now you're finally old enough to drink."

Somewhat taken aback, I laughed and said, "You've been serving me these past four years without a single question?"

Jack said, "I served you because you came in, were a polite little man and never caused a single problem."

I appreciated that; Jack was a very strapping, big man--nobody messed with Jack. It was sometime later that I learned that Jack was a retired lieutenant from the police force.

It was a great time to attend college. Helluva lot easier back then. Nicer, too. If we behaved, they let us grow up and have fun.

Obviously, my two daughters found something hilarious about this story, because one year I had a convention in Chicago and they insisted that they come, too. Just to see where "Dad went to school." We went up to the campus one November day, froze our butts off, and made a pilgrimage to The Lantern for lunch--just for old times.

Alas, Jack and Peg were gone, but the pub was doing just fine. That Christmas, my girls gave me a mug with this picture on it. It was in my office until I retired and now sits beside my computer at home.



***A message from TKW: you are fully allowed, if not expected, to laugh at the big, horrendous bar-hair that sis and I are sporting in that photo.

In the Eyes of the Beholder

When Mama was young, her family had a Christmas Day Open House every year. When the excitement and flurry of Christmas morning was over, Gramma Rhetta would whip up some of her famous eggnog, set out the snacks, and friends and neighbors would come a'calling.

Mama said she always got some new item of clothing or jewelry for Christmas, and right before the guests arrived, that shiny new finery went on her body. I always kind of liked that image of Mama, hustling to her room, anxious to break out her treasures.

Christmas Day Open Houses were always well attended. Now that I think about it, it makes sense. I mean, as the day wears on, after all of the gifts have been opened and the magic starts to fade...it's kind of boring, don't you think? There's a hella long time between present-opening and Christmas dinner. Hours where perhaps, just maybe, some of your nearest and dearest are sort of grating on your nerves?

It would kind of be nice to have somewhere to go during those dead hours. Somewhere that, hopefully, had a lot of space so you could ditch the relatives for a while and soak in the balm of friendship?

Christmas Day Open House. I like that idea.



A few years back, Mama mentioned to me that her sister, Patricia, kept the tradition of Open House alive on her side of the family. At the Jones residence, Open House flourishes, bright with hilarity and good food and company.

We never had Christmas Day Open House. It was not our family's tradition. When I was a teenager, I asked Mama, "Why don't we do Open House?" I mean, it seemed like such a wonderful idea?

Mama's voice grew hard, eyes narrowing slightly. "I always hated that Open House."

Whaaaaa? Why? How? Whaaaa? How can that be so?

"Because your Grandfather was a drunk. By the time Open House rolled around, he was already well lubricated, and by the time it was over, we never knew which version of Daddy we were going to see. Most likely, it was going to be the nasty version."

Poof! And just like that, my perspective is upended 360 degrees.


Things are not always what they seem.


For Mama, Open House was something to be endured. A trial. Several hours of anxious waiting, watching her father out of the corner of her eye.

Mama doesn't talk much about her father. Mention his name and something shifts behind her expression. There's a reason that scabs are hard crusts with ragged edges.

I am saddened by Mama's wounds, for the Christmases she spent in fear. I cannot take those away for her.

But we heal as best we can, given love and time. And if we keep our hearts open, there are new joys waiting for us.

I'm so happy to be able to spend my Christmases with Mama now, bathed in silliness and hugs and the raucous rattle of children.

Happy Holidays to you and yours. Thank you for sharing some of your time with me this year. I'm so grateful for my friends, new and old.



Wishing you all a magical holiday season.

Gramma Rhetta's Famous Eggnog

6 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups brandy
1 cup rum
1 1/2 quarts milk
3 cups whipped cream

Separate eggs. Beat yolks until very thick and light lemon colored. Gradually add sugar, beating constantly. Still beating, add brandy and rum, gradually. Chill for 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Add milk gradually and fold in whipped cream. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form. Fold into the eggnog. Store in covered jars in refrigerator for a day before serving.

Ladle from a glass punchbowl and sprinkle with nutmeg.

Winter Veggie Blues?

I'm getting winter veggie burnout. I'm not big on squash, and broccoli gets old after a while, and all of the roasting vegetables (parsnips, carrots, butternut squash)...well, let's just say that I was tired of them in October.

I decided to tackle the Leaning Tower of Food Rags in my living room, specifically looking for recipes that would tempt my palate and relieve my veggie ennui. Because veggie ennui sucks.

I came across this recipe from Gourmet magazine (June, 2009) and was intrigued. I also was a little intimidated, because it's a bit time-consuming. Not time-consuming like lasagne from scratch--but still, this wasn't a 15 minute affair.

But then I thought about it. Maybe the reason I'm so bored with veggies is that I expect them to be quick and easy. I'll spend an hour making chicken saltimbocca, but veggies? I don't give them that kind of love.

And maybe that's the problem. Perhaps, if I took a little more time and care, my veggies wouldn't induce snoring. It was time for some Veggie Love around here!

I tweaked the original recipe a bit, because I thought this thing begged for cheese, and I wasn't disappointed. I didn't have bulgur on hand, so I used quinoa; it adds nice texture to the dish and ramps up the protein nicely.

So grab a knife and a fork and dig into one of these suckers. It'll do your body (and your tastebuds) good!

Bon Appetit and Happy Holidays, Veg-Heads!





Grilled Portabella and Bulgur Salad "Sandwiches"
from Gourmet Magazine, June 2009
serves 4

For Tomato Vinaigrette:

1 large garlic clove
1 pint grape or cherry tomatoes
1/2 cup flat-leaf parsley leaves
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon finely chopped rosemary
1/4 teaspoon hot red-pepper flakes


For Salad:

8 large portabella mushrooms, stemmed
1 small red onion, cut lengthwise into 1/2-inch thick wedges (keeping root end intact)
2 medium yellow bell peppers, quartered lengthwise
1 medium zucchini, halved lengthwise
1 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 cups boiling hot water
1 cup medium bulgur*
1/4 cup pine nuts, toasted
2 1/2 oz baby arugala
1 firm-ripe avocado
~ Author's additions: 1/2 cup feta cheese, crumbled and 1 jalapeno pepper, chopped

Make Viniagrette: With motor running, drop garlic into food processor and finely chop. Add tomatoes, parsley, oil, vinegar, rosemary, red pepper flakes, 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper and pulse until tomatoes are finely chopped but not pureed.

Make Salad: Gently scrape off gills from underside of mushroom using a spoon. With a damp paper towel, clean mushrooms. Toss mushrooms with 1/2 cup vinaigrette in a 13x9-inch glass baking dish. Let stand, turning occasionally, 20 minutes.

Brush vegetables with olive oil and season lightly with salt and pepper. Heat a grill pan over medium high heat. Add vegetables and grill, turning occasionally. Bell peppers take about 6-8 minutes; zucchini takes 6-10 minutes; onions take 8-12 minutes; mushrooms take 10-15 minutes.

Transfer mushrooms to a plate. Place remaining vegetables on a cutting board, cool, and chop coarsely.

While vegetables cook, pour boiling water over bulgur with 1/2 teaspoon salt and let stand until water is absorbed, about 5 minutes. ** I cooked 1 cup quinoa as per package directions and substituted it for the bulgur.

Add vegetables to bulgur with pine nuts and remaining vinaigrette and toss. If you want to add feta cheese, cool mixture slightly and mix in cheese (and jalapeno, if desired).

Place 1 portabella on each of four plates. Pack salad mixture into a 1-cup measure, then unmold on top of portabella. Top with arugala and another portabella, right side up. Serve with avocado.

Crack Cookies

Beware: Crisp, buttery, nutty, chocolately substance coming your way. You will be addicted after the first munch. Because these suckers are wicked good and not at all too sweet. And, when dunked into a warm latte, they are irresistible.






Coconut Pecan Biscotti
recipe from some ancient edition of Bon Appetit Magazine
makes about 45

1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sweetened shredded coconut
2 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup finely chopped pecans
optional: melted chocolate for dipping*

Using an electric mixer, cream butter and sugar in a large bowl. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in coconut. Mix flour, baking powder and salt in a medium bowl. Gradually stir dry ingredients into butter mixture. Mix in pecans. Cover and refrigerate dough 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350. Line cookie sheet with parchment. Turn dough out onto a floured work surface. Divide dough in half. Shape each half into 2-inch-wide log. Transfer logs to prepared baking sheet, spacing evenly. Bake until logs are golden brown, firm to touch and tester inserted in centers comes out clean, about 35 minutes. Cool logs on cookie sheet for about 20 minutes.

Reduce oven temperature to 325.

Transfer logs to work surface. Discard parchment. Cut each log diagonally into 1/2-inch thick slices. Arrange cookies flat sides down on unlined cookie sheets. Bake until golden and crisp, about 15 minutes. Transfer cookies to racks and cool completely.

If desired, dip one end of biscotti into melted chocolate; cool on racks.

* As IF this step is optional!!!!???? You want to dunk in chocolate. You do.

Store at room temperature in an airtight container.

White Trash Motherlode:Fruitcake is whack

If any readers are not familiar with the awesomeness that is the White Trash Motherlode book, I encourage you to go here

As I was busily making Holiday Granola, chopping "good" dried fruit, like apricots, cherries and blueberries, my mind wandered to the dark side. You know, the side where the "bad" dried fruit hangs out, drinking Miller High Life and listening to The Scorpions?

"Bad" dried fruit: pineapple, figs, dates, and those neon red/green thingys that they say are cherries but whaaaaa?

Tuck into a couple of those red cherry thingys and you'll have Red Dye #3 poisoning in no time.

And, as it often does, my mind wandered from a bad thing to a totally wrong thing.

Which happens to be fruitcake.

Wild Uncle Johnny, for some crazy reason, loved fruitcake. And he'd send one our way every Christmas. Mama would eat a piece, just so she could be honest when she thanked him. That's Mama for you--she'd rather gag down a piece of hideousity than tell even a leeeeetle white lie. Thank God she didn't pass that trait down to me.

Nobody else in our house would go near that neon brick of wrong. Every year, fruitcake -1 slice got hucked into the garbage. The cessation of the Gifting of the Fruitcake was the only good thing about Uncle Johnny's death.

Luckily, giving fruitcake during the holidays has fallen rather out of favor in my neck of the woods. I don't know anyone who makes it, which means I don't have to pretend to eat it.

And if you are one of those freakshows like BigLittleWolf who likes fruitcake, I just shake my head at you.

Three Wrongest Things About Fruitcake:

~the aforementioned neon Alien Cherries
~the egregious waste of butter...lovely, creamy butter...totally sacrificed on the altar of bad fruit
~the directions "pour brandy over fruitcake, wrap tightly, and store in a cool, dark place for one month before eating." Ummm, hi Salmonella! Nice to meet you. Welcome to my holiday gathering!

But, gentle readers, there is even one thing more wrong than the above list of offenses.

I give you this recipe from the White Trash Motherlode Cookbook. Not only does it have the Alien Cherries; if you look closely, you will see that this recipe contains not a drop of booze.

Assholery! Brazen Assholery! Because don't people know that the addition of copious amounts of alcohol is the ONLY redeeming quality of fruitcake???

Enjoy this recipe. Make it for your mother-in-law or that cousin who can arm-fart Jingle Bell Rock. Good Times.

Best Fruit Cake
makes one cake in an angel-food cake pan

1 can sweetened condensed milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 pound coconut
1/2 pound red cherries
1/2 pound green cherries
1/2 pound pineapple
1/2 cup pecans
1/2 cup Brazil nuts*

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Mix all ingredients together. Pour into a pan lined with foil or waxed paper. Bake 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

*Brazil nuts? Are you freaking kidding me? Nobody eats Brazil nuts. Just ask every bowl of mixed nuts I've ever served. Why do they even PUT Brazil nuts in the nut mix? I am sensing another rant coming on...

For more awesomeness on the fruitcake debate, check out BigLittleWolf's Fruitcake Love.

Silver Linings

I will admit up-front that when it comes to the "half-full or half-empty" philosophy of life, I'm the one stomping her foot and saying "Which one of you dillweeds drank half my Mojito?" Guilty.

When things hit the skids, I hit the bottle. And the complaining. And the wallowing. And the Cheetos. I'm really quite the treat in times of trouble.



Strangely, I grew up with a Mama who refused to let anything get her down for more than a minute. The Matron of Let's-Make-Lemonade, if you will. Sometimes her optimism annoyed me so much that I wanted to pull my teeth out; still, I had a lot to learn from Mama.

Mama is a self-proclaimed "tough old bird." She's almost impossible to rattle and I've seen her cry maybe a handful of times, and she would never be so undignified as to wallow.

This season, I'm channeling my inner Mama. Because old KitchyWitchy needs to toughen up, Uma Thurman style. Although rather than kill Bill, I just need to kill the cranky.

Without going into the minutiae, just know that there's some Karmic Assholery afoot at Chez T.

So I've allowed myself to suck my thumb in the fetal position for a couple of days, but now it's time to squint for that silver lining. So come on out, wouldja?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Well, damn. I guess I'm going to make my own silver lining.

Money suddenly gotten a leeeeeeetle tight this holiday season? Check. Probably is true for most of us right now in this great nation. But when the going gets tough, the tough make homemade gifts.

I've talked before about Awesome Stepkid R. and our holiday salsa project. It's a wonderful tradition, but this year Awesome Stepkid R. is incredibly busy and hasn't been around much. And to make salsa *without* my handy little henchman would make the Wicked Stepmonster even crankier.

So this year, I'm making Homemade Granola. Because it's easy, delicious, fairly inexpensive to make (if you buy the fruits and nuts in bulk) and this recipe makes a huge batch, which is a good thing!

Also, you can customize it any way you like, really, as long as you keep the fruit/nut/grain ratio the same. I didn't put raisins or dates in mine, because a lot of people in my life don't fancy them.

Bake up a big pile of healthy granola, slap it in some festive packaging, share it with people you love, and look forward to the Good Life in 2010. No wimps allowed.



Holiday Granola
based on the Four Seasons recipe in Bon Appetit (12/2009)
makes about 11 cups

4 cups toasted whole grain cereal (such as Mueslix)
3 cups old fashioned oats
1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts
1 cup sliced almonds
3/4 cup coarsely chopped hazelnuts
1/2 cup honey
1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/3 cup dried blueberries
1/3 cup dried cranberries
1/3 cup golden raisins (I used chopped dried apricots)
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Preheat oven to 275. Mix whole grain cereal, oats, walnuts, almonds and hazelnuts in large bowl. Bring honey and oil just to boil in a small saucepan; drizzle over cereal mixture and toss to coat evenly. Spread mixture onto a large rimmed baking sheet. Bake until golden brown and dry, stirring every 15 minutes, about 1 hour 30 minutes. Scatter dried fruit over. Sprinkle cinnamon over and toss to incorporate evenly. Cool granola completely in pan on rack, stirring occasionally to prevent clumping.

Can be made 2 weeks ahead. Store airtight at room temperature.

Cookie of the Week: Prayer Bars

Isn't this a sweet little picture? Three small girls, formerly human popsicles, warming up together in the bath after a frolic in the December snow?

Sweet little picture, my ass. Because you know what happened in that bath? As we were drying off with warm towels, the cute pig-tailed child, Britt, pointed to a couple of spots on her leg and told my mom, "These bumps are getting really itchy."

"Oh, boy," Mama said, knowing full-well that a chicken-pox epidemic was blazing it's way through North Dakota schools. "Well, since the girls have already been exposed to it, I guess you can stay and play. Might as well get it over with."

My sister was wicked excited to get the chicken-pox. Getting the chicken-pox meant one thing to her: loafing on the couch, watching Josie and the Pussycats, skipping school.

My sister stuck to Britt like glue for the next couple of hours, instructing Britt to breathe on her every few minutes. I wasn't yet four years old, had no idea what the chicken-pox meant, and was deeply jealous that my sister got to attend school. Because, of course, anything I couldn't participate in yet seemed like The Shit.

We did, indeed, get the chicken-pox. However. My sister got about 7 little bumps total on her body. The girl who deliberately and gleefully contaminated herself got the mildest case of The Pox the world has ever seen. She was back to school within a week, sullenly swinging her lunch box as she left.

Moi? How interesting that you ask. I was absolutely riddled with itchy, red, oozing, miserable lesions. They were everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean everywhere. Did you know that you can get a pretty poxy bump on your eyeball? No? Well, let me assure you that you can. Inside the folds of your little lady bits? Yeppers. 'Tis true. Between your toes? Check.

I had the most ferocious case of The Pox that our doctor had ever seen. I spent the holidays slathered in Calamine Lotion, soaking endlessly in baking soda baths. Mama resorted to making me wear socks on my hands, so I couldn't pick or itch my bumps; it was harrowing. Pox in your hoo-ha? Seven kinds of wrong, people!

Not surprisingly, there aren't a lot of pictures of me that holiday season. You can thank Britt for that.

You can also thank her mother, Nikki, for this awesome cookie recipe. This cookie is so rich that it's almost like candy, so cut these into tiny squares. While Toffee Cookies may be my Waterloo, my Mama favors these. We had them every year, and she'd swear at herself later for making them. Irresistible little morsels, these guys.

And a lot more pleasant than a holiday with The Pox.



Prayer Bars


First Layer:
1/2 cup butter
4 tablespoons cocoa powder
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1 beaten egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup chopped nuts
2 cups graham cracker crumbs
1 cup shredded sweetened coconut

Second Layer:
1/4 cup butter
3 tablespoons cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 teaspoons dry vanilla pudding mix
2 cups powdered sugar

Third Layer:
1 giant bar German's Sweet Chocolate (7 oz. bar; any sweet chocolate will do)

1. Melt butter and stir in cocoa. Add sugar, egg, and vanilla. Mix in nuts, graham cracker crumbs and coconut. Press into the bottom of a 9x13-inch pan. Chill at least one hour.

2. Melt butter, cream, and vanilla is a saucepan. Add pudding mix and cook, stirring constantly until thickened slightly. Remove from heat and add sugar. Blend well and spread over first layer. Chill at least one hour.

3. Melt chocolate bar and spread over bars. Chill well.

Let cookies come to room temperature before cutting or else they will crumble. Once cut, store in refrigerator.


*********

And now, drum roll, please!! The winner of the Whimsical Wednesday contest is J. Harker!! I love his nerd humor and snark and the hideous examples of student papers...but most of all, I am wondering whatcha gonna do with this, Cowboy?---Congratulations, J. Harker, you are now the proud owner of: Chubby!







And that's the reason I had to do such a fast contest--because J. Harker can sell Chubby for, like, 10 times his worth on Ebay tomorrow if I Fed-Ex the little fucker. I know, I know, try to contain your excitement! J., gimme your address and you'll be getting your Zhu-Zhu on in no time! Hi-five and a Herky!