I'm a Good Fork

I looked in the mirror the other morning - after wiping a clear spot in all the caked-on tooth paste splatters and the reflection I saw looked like Chris Farley with a hemorrhoid.  That is to say - I don't look my best first thing in the morning.  But who does? Right?  But here's the thing, I don't improve as the day goes on - I just kinda ripen, if you know what I'm sayin'.

So, this year I've pledged to improve a lot of things, my health, my mind, my body . . . well, you get the idea.  Anyway, one of the things that I've decided to do is learn Italian.  I think it is a beautiful language and it's been on my "To-do list" since my sophomore year in college.  I mean since there are so many Italians in Texas and I thought it would be nice to be able to converse with them . . . . . huh? . . . . Exactly! 

To give you a rough idea of the pace at which I tackle my "To-do lists," I'd like to share a little snippet of my daily activities.  The other day I found a letter that I had written to a dear friend concerning my daughter that I'd forgotten to mail.  I figured it just needed a little updating to send, so I steamed it open and after "Olivia is . . ." I whited-out "teething" and wrote in "driving."  I think, perhaps, this particular instance speaks volumes in describing my whole being.  Just to be clear, I'm what comes after the snail when referring to pace.

So, what was I saying?  Oh yes . . . . Italian . . .

I bring up the Italian for two reasons;  (No. 1) Yum!  and here I refer to the men and the food . . . . Am I right?!  and (No. 2)  I'm, as they say in Italian, una buona forchetta - which means that I'm a good eater or rather, quite literally translates to - I'm a good fork.  Please pay particular attention to the "r" in the translation - because without it I sound a little slutty.  And to be honest, I have been a bit of a food floozy lately and in 2010 my diet would have probably fallen on the slovenly side of things more than anything else.  I'm not suggesting that I'm a glutton, but in my family gravy is considered a beverage.

So, it's back to gym with me.  But this time I'm taking the whole family and we are gonna get healthy and in shape and all that junk.  Things have been going really well so far.  As a matter of fact, I've already been to the gym three times this week and yesterday I was named "Miss Varicose Vein" for my region.  Last year I shared stories of Naked Nana and others, but this year my gym stories will probably revolve more around the frightening fact that while I was asleep and away from the gym I went out of style. 

So, I think I will close this post the same way I closed last year's rant on exercise and getting in shape.  Though none of this has anything whatsoever to do with the "vintage" or the "inspirational" premise of this blog, my reasoning behind sharing this is to tell you that there are muscles in my body that have not been flexed since the last Bush administration . . . and now they HURT!! . . . and I feel VINTAGE!

Image courtesy CafePress

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Fire-resistant Menus "R" Us

I don't remember exactly how long I was in the grocery store, but my presence there began on a road not so much paved with enthusiasm as sporadically littered with an enthusiastic resistance.  This is my first, and most likely my last, time to be solely responsible for Christmas dinner.  Being blessed with two aunts, a mother, and three siblings who are thoroughly marvelous cooks, I can say with a solid degree of authority, that I am a lousy cook.  I spontaneously screw up the order and amounts of ingredients in cakes, of course, unless I buy them in a box and all I have to do is add an egg.  I will, without thinking twice, serve a steak so rare that with a little help from a vet, it could recover.  I cook so poorly I'm amazed my children and da Hubbs have not put in for transfers.

Over the years (45 to be exact) I have taken cooking as seriously as someone like myself could.  I knew my motivation was rooted in fire-resistant menus;  I wouldn't cook it if it was likely to burst into flames.  Clearly roasting was out of the question, as was braising, sauteing, and everything involving a ladle.  I've been thinking about our Christmas dinner menu for some time now, wondering what food items I deemed durable enough to withstand my underqualified, indifferent, likely-to-send-send-you-to-the-emergency-room-with-food-poisoning" culinary skills.  And then it hit me . . . .  we'll begin with cheddar whizzy shot straight out of the can into our mouths, along with little square Spam bits eaten with toothpicks a -la-the Rainman followed by fruit roll-ups and Altoids.  But I had a hunch that the family might object.  So, I closed my eyes right there in the snack aisle and shook my head like a Magic 8-Ball waiting for a different idea.  I think it it is fair to say that I am often epicuriously  lethargic.

The good news is that "fully cooked" has turned out to be the magic password for cooking for the holidays, just the way "let's get take out" would on a weekday or "there's no food in the house" works on the weekends.  In theory, this should solve my problem . . . . . right? . . . . .  well, I'll keep you posted.  But in the mean time here are some marvelous food blogs that keep me laughing and inspire me to solve my "crappy cook" conundrum:

The ever creative Amateur Gourmet

The witty, tongue twister of a blog named Spork Or Foon

And a blackly hilarious blog called Suicidefood

Photos and logos courtesy Amateur Gourmet, Spork Or Foon, Suicidefood and Amazon

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Matt Moore: Chief Cook, Bottle Washer and Gentleman Extraordinaire

Here's a list of the types of guys I dated before I met da Hubbs:

1.  Basketball players
2.  Art majors
3.  Rednecks who viewed the movie Deliverance as a motivational video
4.  A kind of sub-category of the above type:  Guys who at one point in their lives have strayed into illegal activity involving rifles, shotguns, body parts and/or Hefty bags.

But . . . . never, ever, did I date a guy like this:

Matt Moore, author of Have Her Over For Dinner and Nashville-based singer/songwriter, knows that the way to a woman's heart is through a home-cooked meal. A lesson learned from an early age from his mother and grandmother.

Fine dining and expensive nights on the town are all well and good, but there’s something very intimate about a date at home. To be honest, I'm more likely to remember and appreciate the preparation, forethought and effort da Hubbs has made for a night in, complete with a homemade meal, than I am a pricey nosh at a restaurant. And I think it is for that very reason that I'm draw to Matt's book.  Whether you are an expert in the kitchen, or a novice who relies on the microwave, Matt has got you covered. His secret to a great meal starts with great ingredients. He suggests that rather than waste your time on expensive marinades and seasonings, instead spend your time and money on quality ingredients. Using great ingredients and simple preparation are the keys to an outstanding meal.  The book offers more than 100 recipes ranging from Italian to Southern Eclectic to Vegetarian. Matt’s recipes emphasize the basics, without requiring dozens of ingredients, and even covers stocking the kitchen, pairing beer or wine with food, lighting, and cleaning up.  You can find copies here and here.  I found Matt through a great online magazine called Southern Flourish. You can find more info about Matt and his book on his blog or Facebook fan page.

I plan on getting my son, Noah, a true gentleman in his own right, a copy of Have Her Over For Dinner.  And if he would like to test a few of the recipes out on his darling mother - well, then . . . . I guess that would be okay . . . . I'm "thoughty" and selfless like that!

Photos courtesy Matt Moore

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