There's a lovely, rather horrible, little, Girl Scout song with that name, but I won't gross you out with its lyrics. If you're curious about the song lyrics, google the title and you'll get more than you bargained for! Needless to say, the girls adored it and the title popped into my head when my eldest daughter called to comment on my last blog and wanted to know where the recipe was.
Hah! That's what she gets for telling me I'd run out in a hurry because I don't cook all that much!
**Warning to the faint-of-heart!**
The women in my family are not very domestic, nor are we easily domesticated.
We enjoy eating, but we are not devoted to the concept of being personally involved in getting food from its raw state to the stove and onto the table. I know I prefer either having people around who cook or simply going to places where the food is already prepared by someone else, and I believe the girls feel the same way.
My great-aunt Gillie married for the first time at the ripe, young age of 6o to her childhood sweetheart. He doted on her for over 20 years and spoiled her absolutely shamelessly every chance he got. He'd get up at dawn or earlier, feed the chickens and livestock, gather eggs, milk the cows, make breakfast and then wake up his bride. They were the most loving couple I've ever known, and I've always wanted to grow up to be just like her!
Neither my sisters, daughters nor I lay any claim to being Queens of our kitchen. We lead busy lives, have many interests that don't include food preparation, and, let's get serious for minute, isn't that why Kentucky Fried Chicken was created??
None of my children like the same meals. I had to make a chart to remember who liked which vegetable. Finding something everyone agreed on was about as easy as pulling hen's teeth. I openly admit that I saved myself a lot of aggravation by spoiling my girls when they were young by going to as many as 3 or 4 different drive-thru's so everyone could get the burger or shake or whatever was their favorite. I could get them to settle down in a flash whenever I threatened to cook dinner!
My mother was the self-taught cook in our family, but she taught me nothing. It drove her crazy to have me underfoot when she was in the kitchen. I was 13 before I was allowed to do more than eat meals or dry silverware in there! I was lucky I knew enough to keep from burning water when I moved into my first apartment. I even took Home Ec. for two years in high school and all I learned to do was make an excellent pie crust and chocolate tapioca.
I got to help my best friend in high school, Joe, bake numerous, complicated recipes until he almost burned down his mother's kitchen when he turned the electric burner on High instead of Off. Naturally, she blamed both of us for that one, even though I didn't get a single french fry from that batch. We were summarily found guilty of domestic arson (unofficially by his mother) and punished with a weekend spent cleaning and repainting the room. I'm pretty sure she had to replace the metal cabinets over the stove.
We promised to be more careful in the future and for 3 years continued to whip up a mountain of fudge, cakes, souffles and anything he could think of.
Joe loved to bake and cook. He gave his mom another huge scare the day he decided to barbeque even though it was pouring down rain. They had a lower-level garage (they never used for her car) so he raised the garage door and put the barbeque grill in the opening and cooked some pork steaks for the two of us. Unbeknownst to us, the stairwell leading upstairs made an ideal chimney! She came home and saw the smoke coming up from the basement and thought the worst, of course. When she found out the fire was where it was supposed to be, and NOT raging out of control, she laughed, sort of, and it got to be something of a joke, but not one she really enjoyed as much as we did.
Joe was an only child with two guilt-ridden, divorced parents with "friends." He had a stack of records, a stereo, an alto sax, and his own baby grand piano. Throughout high school,we stayed friends, just friends, and took almost all of the same classes. We worked on homework together, belonged to most of the same clubs at school, sang in concerts, and went to dances and basketball games with as many of our classmates as were interested. I cleaned house for his mom for a while, for clothes, instead of cash, including a beautiful, lavender, cashmere sweater set. It was a great relief for me to be away from babysitting duty at home and have time to just be a teen.
At any rate, neither my mom nor Joe ever put a spatula in my hand so my cooking skills are limited. I have a few dishes I enjoy making for myself, and I put my feet under other people's tables whenever I'm invited, and try to refrain from spitting out things I don't like. My 90 year old neighbor has become my new cooking coach, so I expect to learn a few more tricks from her before she retires, or escapes, from that role.
Thanks to Joe, I still love baking, and don't mind taking on a challenging recipe, especially if chocolate is involved, up to a point. It took us three times to get a burnt-sugar cake right-no chocolate in that one, but it was a challenge.
That brings me back to my daughter and her complaint about no recipe in my previous posting.
Here's the one her grandma made for the grand-kids.
I've never made it because, despite my enormous love of all things chocolate, I refuse to eat it in this form. I have tried it, but I do NOT like it.
CHOCOLATE OATMEAL NO-BAKE COOKIES
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup cocoa
1 stick butter
1/2 cup milk
1 tsp. vanilla
3 cups quick-cooking, Quaker oatmeal
(some people add in 1/2 cup of peanut butter)
Combine sugar, cocoa, butter and milk in a saucepan. On medium heat, bring to a boil for one full minute.
Remove from heat. Stir in vanilla and oatmeal (and peanut butter, if you will).
Drop by spoonful onto wax paper. Let cool for at least 30 minutes.
Don't bother to tell me whether you like this one or not. I hope you do, if you like that sort of thing.
Personally, I'm never going to waste cocoa on something I already know I don't like! %P
Monday, March 29, 2010
Rumbling down the Road
Another day at work. Another stretch of my patience. Another four days before I have to go back again.
I'm amazed by the variety of people who come through the doors. Some nice, some not so nice, and some who missed out on a whole lot of time in the woodshed with a parent who might have been able to turn them into something that remotely resembles a decent human being.
We have a quite a following of regulars, a few you could set your watch by. They come in on their way to work for a soda, snack and pack of cigarettes. They come by after work for a six-pack, snack and pack of cigarettes. They wander down the street and back again for a four-pack, and then another, and another until they finally pass out or find peace in their lonely apartment.
They come in to play their “numbers” and check for a rare winning ticket—the “Poor man’s tax”—hope clouding experience as they shell out 2 to 20 dollars a day for the dream of easy riches. They come in the middle of their shift to buy a Lunchable and a bottle of water. They come at our shift change with their fist full of scratchers and rap their cane against the counter because the line backs up behind them and they have to wait to buy another fistful of losers.
They come in work trucks and leave roofing dust and drywall and landscaping debris on the floors and in the bathroom. They come in nice cars and want you to pump their gas with a different excuse every time, but mostly because they don’t want to get the gas smell on them, or maybe because they remember the time when you could sit in your car and have the oil checked, tires filled (for FREE!), and windshields wiped clean while your gas was being pumped.
The kids come in after school in packs, and some try to shoplift, while their school IDs dangle from their necks. Duh! The clueless come in alone and try to buy cigarillos with a speeding ticket or gun permit or college ID and then sent in a buddy, who’s sitting in the car right by the front door, to get it when they get turned away. Couples come in, and you know she’s got a real winner when he lets her pay for everything!
They dig in their pockets for wrinkled dollar bills. They bring in a handful of change from their floorboard—gross. They hand you a hundred dollar bill for a pack of gum and $10 in gas when you only have $30 and change in your drawer. A woman comes in with a covey of kids with stringy hair and dirty faces and buys them a bagful of junk food. She pays for it with her Link card, pays for her gin and cigarettes with cash and puts $3 in her gas tank, if she’s lucky enough to have a car at all.
Soldiers come in from the base to get fountain drinks and chew. A father comes in and buys 2-3 gallons of milk every other day. An embarrassed, young man comes up to the counter asking for condoms. An old man curses and throws several twenties on the counter when he’s asked to come in and prepay for gas after dark. An old woman snarls and demands to talk to the manager when she’s asked to put her scrawled list of lucky numbers on a lottery slip.
A young man flirts with me and calls me his future wife. I quip right back and tell him I’m not ready to settle down. “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, didn’t fit, took it back.” He howls with laughter and then shorts me the 40 cents he's supposedly getting from his car. Another bellows to his friend on the phone that I’m the most interesting gas station attendant he’s ever known. It wasn't easy, but I restrained myself from shouting down to the other end of the store that it’s my job, not who I am!
A disabled man smiles with pleasure when you remember his birth date, another says a soft ‘thanks’ when you tuck his change in his pocket because it’s hard for him to it with his hooks. A woman gives you a hug when you ask how she’s doing today—just a few months since her mother died. A man asks how you’re feeling today because you were sick for two weeks straight. A woman leaves looking less stressed when you tell her a silly joke. A young man loans you a book he enjoyed reading for a school assignment. Another asks how your book is going.
The Harley riders from the shop down the road are coming in more now that it’s warm enough to ride. They rival the church people in politeness.
I miss the wind in my hair and the sympathetic vibration in my soul from the sound of those engines. I'm almost, but not quite, tempted to find a motorcycle man of my own. (They hold up the bike, find the river roads, and keep most of the bugs off of you.) But not today.
For now, I am quite content to remember and smile.
I'm amazed by the variety of people who come through the doors. Some nice, some not so nice, and some who missed out on a whole lot of time in the woodshed with a parent who might have been able to turn them into something that remotely resembles a decent human being.
We have a quite a following of regulars, a few you could set your watch by. They come in on their way to work for a soda, snack and pack of cigarettes. They come by after work for a six-pack, snack and pack of cigarettes. They wander down the street and back again for a four-pack, and then another, and another until they finally pass out or find peace in their lonely apartment.
They come in to play their “numbers” and check for a rare winning ticket—the “Poor man’s tax”—hope clouding experience as they shell out 2 to 20 dollars a day for the dream of easy riches. They come in the middle of their shift to buy a Lunchable and a bottle of water. They come at our shift change with their fist full of scratchers and rap their cane against the counter because the line backs up behind them and they have to wait to buy another fistful of losers.
They come in work trucks and leave roofing dust and drywall and landscaping debris on the floors and in the bathroom. They come in nice cars and want you to pump their gas with a different excuse every time, but mostly because they don’t want to get the gas smell on them, or maybe because they remember the time when you could sit in your car and have the oil checked, tires filled (for FREE!), and windshields wiped clean while your gas was being pumped.
The kids come in after school in packs, and some try to shoplift, while their school IDs dangle from their necks. Duh! The clueless come in alone and try to buy cigarillos with a speeding ticket or gun permit or college ID and then sent in a buddy, who’s sitting in the car right by the front door, to get it when they get turned away. Couples come in, and you know she’s got a real winner when he lets her pay for everything!
They dig in their pockets for wrinkled dollar bills. They bring in a handful of change from their floorboard—gross. They hand you a hundred dollar bill for a pack of gum and $10 in gas when you only have $30 and change in your drawer. A woman comes in with a covey of kids with stringy hair and dirty faces and buys them a bagful of junk food. She pays for it with her Link card, pays for her gin and cigarettes with cash and puts $3 in her gas tank, if she’s lucky enough to have a car at all.
Soldiers come in from the base to get fountain drinks and chew. A father comes in and buys 2-3 gallons of milk every other day. An embarrassed, young man comes up to the counter asking for condoms. An old man curses and throws several twenties on the counter when he’s asked to come in and prepay for gas after dark. An old woman snarls and demands to talk to the manager when she’s asked to put her scrawled list of lucky numbers on a lottery slip.
A young man flirts with me and calls me his future wife. I quip right back and tell him I’m not ready to settle down. “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, didn’t fit, took it back.” He howls with laughter and then shorts me the 40 cents he's supposedly getting from his car. Another bellows to his friend on the phone that I’m the most interesting gas station attendant he’s ever known. It wasn't easy, but I restrained myself from shouting down to the other end of the store that it’s my job, not who I am!
A disabled man smiles with pleasure when you remember his birth date, another says a soft ‘thanks’ when you tuck his change in his pocket because it’s hard for him to it with his hooks. A woman gives you a hug when you ask how she’s doing today—just a few months since her mother died. A man asks how you’re feeling today because you were sick for two weeks straight. A woman leaves looking less stressed when you tell her a silly joke. A young man loans you a book he enjoyed reading for a school assignment. Another asks how your book is going.
The Harley riders from the shop down the road are coming in more now that it’s warm enough to ride. They rival the church people in politeness.
I miss the wind in my hair and the sympathetic vibration in my soul from the sound of those engines. I'm almost, but not quite, tempted to find a motorcycle man of my own. (They hold up the bike, find the river roads, and keep most of the bugs off of you.) But not today.
For now, I am quite content to remember and smile.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
A Captive of Chronos
In pre-Socratic philosophical works of Greek mythology, *Chronos is said to be the personification of Time. (Not to be confused with Cronus, a Titan)
I can’t count the number of times I’ve said, “Any time now!” especially when I’m hurrying someplace or another, and the driver in front of me isn’t moving fast enough for me. I say it with great exasperation and impatience because, in my mind, whatever and wherever I am rushing to is obviously more important than the person in my way and their destination.
I caught myself doing that again today, and then actually stopped to think about my reaction to a slight delay in the flow of traffic. What is it that I’m in such a rush to get to? Will the world come to an end if I get there a few minutes later? How much of my need for speed is really necessary and how much is habit?
The fact of the matter is I didn’t have a good reason for either my behavior or attitude. Once again I had let my mind slip into neutral in getting from point A to point B without making the slightest attempt to enjoy the time in between.
This is a horrible habit, not only for driving, but for life as well.
It’s occurred to me that sometimes we spend so much time planning, plotting, working and rushing to achieve our life goals—a driver’s license, a marriage certificate, a birth announcement, a promotion, retirement, and so on and so forth—that we lose sight of everything else. We seldom stop to think about the day when we have few goals left to reach. Since I moved to this apartment, I’ve become more aware of how the elderly around me mark their goals by the things they can still do and how much time they have left.
Time, time, how much of it do we waste?
I know I spend too much time on the computer, playing games on Facebook, playing Sims, checking my email account to read out-dated postings and deleting tons of junk mail. I watch too much TV, start projects I don’t finish, and worry about things I can neither fix nor change. I even waste time trying to tune out all the woulda, coulda, shouldas of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
It bothers me that I waste so much time trying to get some rest at night. I’ve had a hard time falling asleep for most of my adult life so I’ve learned to keep a TV or radio on. The late night nonsense and infomercials help me wind down and when I’m not too stressed, they can put me out like a light. Last night I turned them off, but then I started thinking about how every tick tock of the clock by my bed sounded like another minute of my life slipping away.
When I have a choice, I don’t go to bed until I’m really tired. Then it’s easier to fall asleep. I read for a few minutes or play a game of Sudoku, turn out the lights and wake up when I’m ready to start my day. I like second shift work because I can wake up when I’m not sleepy and stay up late every night. It suits my rhythm so much better and I feel less a slave to a clock. Time to go to bed, get up, go to work, and come home.
That said, I have to admit Fridays are my favorite work days, although I have to go to bed earlier and be jarred awake by an eight a.m. alarm. I work from 9 to noon or a little past to put away the grocery order. It’s the one day I don’t have to be entertaining or accommodating for the customers.
I set to work with a box cutter in my back pocket and a price gun in hand, unload boxes and totes, and take note of the items that didn’t come in to neatly fill the shelves or the ones that did come in that we didn’t need. I’m interrupted once in a while to take a brief stint at the register, but when my short shift is over, the rest of the day is mine. I have time to pick up a sandwich of cod cut ups at the Cat and the Fiddle, or look for a sewing or craft or household item at Walmart or JoAnns or Hobby Lobby on my way home. Fridays are a good day for some dog time at my daughter’s.
Daylight Savings Time began this month. I had 8 clocks and two wristwatches to change. I have a wall clock in the kitchen and clocks on both the microware and the coffee pot. I have a wall clock in the living room, even though the room is open to the kitchen and dining room, the kitchen timepieces are out of my range of vision. I have two clocks in my bedroom, an alarm clock and the old, slightly damaged, wall clock (that sits on the floor under my TV table) and its beat helps lull me to sleep at night. I even have a clock in my bathroom! I guess so I know how much time I have left to get ready for work or how many minutes are left before a show starts on TV. I counted myself lucky that the cell phone and computer update themselves because otherwise I’d have to figure out the setting feature on them, too.
I like to camp or take mini-vacations where time is less important, but even there attention to Time must be paid. Check in Time, Check out Time. Departure Time. Arrival Time. Show Time. Meal Time. Let’s face it. Clock watching has become entrenched in our lives.
Minutes, days, years. The “Time of your life” goes by so fast. One day you’re intensely happy or sad, but most days you are too busy to do much more than keep one foot in front of the other on the path to What’s Next. One day you’re a child. Then you’re an oh-so-smart and smart mouth teen. You learn, work, wed. The days of young wife and mother seem to stretch out to infinity while you’re there, but then the children are suddenly all grown up and the marriage is nothing more than ashes swept away in a storm. You learn again, work and figure out what course your life will take now.
The time for me to be rushing through life passed without notice.
Today I decided to slow down and enjoy, no savor, the slower pace I had years back. I’ve started to contemplate why I think I need to be so aware of Time. I’ve started to think of Time as a gift and not a relentless taskmaster.
Last night I watched “Inkheart” on my computer. Tonight I’m going to the Lincoln Theatre to see “How to Train Your Dragon” with my friends. I think this is a very good use of my time.
I am working through the weekend as usual, but maybe Monday or Tuesday I’ll take time to bake. One of my very dear friends has a birthday on Saturday and I was teasing her about the Gooey Butter cake I was eating with my lunch while talking to her. She enjoys baking about as much as I do, which is a lot, but she had never heard of a gooey butter cake before. I know I’ve baked and eaten many in my lifetime, but for the life of me, I could not explain the texture of it to her. I have since found out it’s a St. Louis specialty.
This one’s for you, Annie! Happy birthday.
Here’s the recipe I use:
GOOEY BUTTER CAKE
Cake: 1 pkg. yellow or white cake mix, 1/2 c. butter, 1 egg
Filling: 1 (8 oz.) pkg. cream cheese, softened, 2 eggs,1 lb. box powdered sugar,1 tsp. vanilla
Mix the cake mix with only butter and an egg.
Do NOT add the rest of the ingredients for cake or you’ll have a big mess.
Mash this into a 9 x 13 cake pan, pretty much the same way you would a graham cracker crumb crust for cheese cake, building a floor and walls.
Mix the cream cheese, other two eggs, powdered sugar and vanilla until it’s smooth and creamy.
Put this into the center of the cake and spread it out to the sides without breaking down any of the cake walls.
Bake for 35 minutes at 350. Don’t bother using a cake tester to see if it’s done because the center is supposed to be gooey!
Lightly sprinkle the top with a little more powdered sugar and let it cool.
Pace your consumption. It’s rich, and yummy, and you should seriously consider sharing. Come on. At least think about.
Sadly to say, Time got away from me. I started this on Friday and didn’t get it finished in Time to post it in a Timely manner. My thoughts have wandered and meandered from here to there in a rather haphazard way, but I truly hope this hasn’t been a complete waste of your time.
BTW: If you really want to waste some time, you could figure out how many times I wrote the word Time or a unit of Time. Too many times, I think
;-D
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Rainy Days and Thursdays
Many years ago, long before blogs were created, I wrote a weekly article that I shared with my friends and family. Now I'm about to embark on a new series of thoughts and reflections about my days.
To those of you who care to visit this site, welcome to my world ;-D, and to everyone else, well, they will never know what they're missing, now will they?! LOL
Today is a cold and rainy Spring day.
Some might look at it as miserable and dreary, but I am not one of them. I think it's a great time to be warm, inside, and merely observing the weather. I am very much enjoying this opportunity to stay home, cook and eat comfort food.
I rarely get up as early as my neighbors, but someone was banging around in the hall this morning and woke me up before 9. I couldn't get back to sleep after taking my asthma meds so I got some running around done before the *"Breakfast Club" got together in the common room.
*BTW--The "Breakfast Club" is not really a club, nor do we eat breakfast together. It's a group of mostly the same people who sit together and chat, in between breakfast and lunch, while waiting for the mail. Here in the apartment, the mail and food are the two most common factors that bring people together. BC is a good place to catch up on news about who is in or out of the hospital, who has moved in or out, and who's upset with whom this week and why.
My morning errands included buying bottled milk from Farm Fresh, groceries from Shop and Save, a venti Chai tea from Starbucks and not the model paints that I'd set out for, but these were not to be found at any of the three stores I visited looking for them. I wanted to blow and paint eggs for Easter. Maybe I can find the paints at Hobby Lobby on my way home from work tomorrow. Maybe I won't blow and paint eggs this year after all.
Today's comfort food is:
Mom's Hamburger Goulash
Hamburger - diced onions - minced garlic
tomato sauce - diced tomatoes - tri-color rotini
Brown the hamburger, onions, and garlic in a large dutch oven.
In a separate pan, boil water with a glop of olive oil on top to keep the pasta from sticking together. The rotini needs to go in once the water is boiling and cook for about 8 minutes or until the center is not darker than the edges when you bite into one of the pieces.
Drain the meat if it is fatty. Add the tomato sauce and tomatoes to the meat after it's brown. Add the noodles when they're done.
Add salt and pepper to taste when you scoop up your bowlful. I like sea salt, not because it may or may not be healthier, but because I love the taste of full granules bursting on my tongue when I slurp them down.
I did not give measurements for the ingredients because they vary every time. Mom made me crazy when she did this because I was very much by-the-book when I was trying to learn how to cook her way, but now I understand why she did what she did and do it myself. Too bad I can't tell her that.
Today for this recipe I used half of a large, bargain package of hamburger. I cooked the entire package of meat with the onion and garlic and will freeze the rest for another meal. I chopped a medium, yellow onion and put about half of it in with the meat, and used a large spoonful of garlic from the jar in my ice box. I added a large (28 oz.) can each of tomato sauce and diced tomatoes, and a 12 oz. package of rotini. (Avoid the 5-color rotini--the beet one spoils the flavor. ICK!)
Don't worry about making way too much. This dish is perfect for leftovers, yummy and tomato tart the first time and it only gets better each time you reheat it.
I have now eaten my fill of Mom's Goulash, in a small rice dish to keep the potion size down. I have lost inches in my waist since I've started living here and cooking at home, and, no I don't think it's due to eating my own cooking, thank you very much. I think it's because I have almost completely stopped eating fast food!
Yesterday I got home from visiting my dear friend who has been storing my books and furniture for ever so long now. I brought back two CD towers, my tea cabinet, coffee table (still unassembled in the box), the doors to my craft cabinet (hopefully I'll remember how to put it back together), and two boxes of summer clothes. Not a bad load for a little Honda--you gotta love their interior capacity, but it was actually a pain having to shift UNDER the CD towers! If it's not rotten wet tomorrow, she's bringing up a couple of bookcases and I'll be able to start unpacking more boxes.
There was a bit of mold on the furniture that I wiped down with Murphy's Oil Soap. At this point, I'm simply praying for the survival of my books. (In between my prayers for my sister's return to full health!)
I've got cleaning, clearing and napping on my schedule for this afternoon and evening along with movie watching from the Red Box (movie rental) from in front of Shop and Save. Of the above list of "Things To Do" I think the nap is at the top.
Long, cold, rainy Spring Days are things to cherish and celebrate, along with my family of friends that I hold so dear.
To those of you who care to visit this site, welcome to my world ;-D, and to everyone else, well, they will never know what they're missing, now will they?! LOL
Today is a cold and rainy Spring day.
Some might look at it as miserable and dreary, but I am not one of them. I think it's a great time to be warm, inside, and merely observing the weather. I am very much enjoying this opportunity to stay home, cook and eat comfort food.
I rarely get up as early as my neighbors, but someone was banging around in the hall this morning and woke me up before 9. I couldn't get back to sleep after taking my asthma meds so I got some running around done before the *"Breakfast Club" got together in the common room.
*BTW--The "Breakfast Club" is not really a club, nor do we eat breakfast together. It's a group of mostly the same people who sit together and chat, in between breakfast and lunch, while waiting for the mail. Here in the apartment, the mail and food are the two most common factors that bring people together. BC is a good place to catch up on news about who is in or out of the hospital, who has moved in or out, and who's upset with whom this week and why.
My morning errands included buying bottled milk from Farm Fresh, groceries from Shop and Save, a venti Chai tea from Starbucks and not the model paints that I'd set out for, but these were not to be found at any of the three stores I visited looking for them. I wanted to blow and paint eggs for Easter. Maybe I can find the paints at Hobby Lobby on my way home from work tomorrow. Maybe I won't blow and paint eggs this year after all.
Today's comfort food is:
Mom's Hamburger Goulash
Hamburger - diced onions - minced garlic
tomato sauce - diced tomatoes - tri-color rotini
Brown the hamburger, onions, and garlic in a large dutch oven.
In a separate pan, boil water with a glop of olive oil on top to keep the pasta from sticking together. The rotini needs to go in once the water is boiling and cook for about 8 minutes or until the center is not darker than the edges when you bite into one of the pieces.
Drain the meat if it is fatty. Add the tomato sauce and tomatoes to the meat after it's brown. Add the noodles when they're done.
Add salt and pepper to taste when you scoop up your bowlful. I like sea salt, not because it may or may not be healthier, but because I love the taste of full granules bursting on my tongue when I slurp them down.
I did not give measurements for the ingredients because they vary every time. Mom made me crazy when she did this because I was very much by-the-book when I was trying to learn how to cook her way, but now I understand why she did what she did and do it myself. Too bad I can't tell her that.
Today for this recipe I used half of a large, bargain package of hamburger. I cooked the entire package of meat with the onion and garlic and will freeze the rest for another meal. I chopped a medium, yellow onion and put about half of it in with the meat, and used a large spoonful of garlic from the jar in my ice box. I added a large (28 oz.) can each of tomato sauce and diced tomatoes, and a 12 oz. package of rotini. (Avoid the 5-color rotini--the beet one spoils the flavor. ICK!)
Don't worry about making way too much. This dish is perfect for leftovers, yummy and tomato tart the first time and it only gets better each time you reheat it.
I have now eaten my fill of Mom's Goulash, in a small rice dish to keep the potion size down. I have lost inches in my waist since I've started living here and cooking at home, and, no I don't think it's due to eating my own cooking, thank you very much. I think it's because I have almost completely stopped eating fast food!
Yesterday I got home from visiting my dear friend who has been storing my books and furniture for ever so long now. I brought back two CD towers, my tea cabinet, coffee table (still unassembled in the box), the doors to my craft cabinet (hopefully I'll remember how to put it back together), and two boxes of summer clothes. Not a bad load for a little Honda--you gotta love their interior capacity, but it was actually a pain having to shift UNDER the CD towers! If it's not rotten wet tomorrow, she's bringing up a couple of bookcases and I'll be able to start unpacking more boxes.
There was a bit of mold on the furniture that I wiped down with Murphy's Oil Soap. At this point, I'm simply praying for the survival of my books. (In between my prayers for my sister's return to full health!)
I've got cleaning, clearing and napping on my schedule for this afternoon and evening along with movie watching from the Red Box (movie rental) from in front of Shop and Save. Of the above list of "Things To Do" I think the nap is at the top.
Long, cold, rainy Spring Days are things to cherish and celebrate, along with my family of friends that I hold so dear.
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