As promised, here are recipes for Shepherd’s Pie and baked apples. Enjoy!
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Author: Whitney
God save the queen.
I’m a little behind on the news, due to events beyond my control. But in my sickly haze I’ve been keeping up with all the news on Prince William’s engagement to Kate Middleton. Hooray! I love a royal wedding.
Well, you know I actually love anything about royalty. And that’s apparently not a well-kept secret, since Heather called me last week for the lowdown on what all of this means. I’m informed on the royal goings-on, traditions and monarchical implications to a level that even surprises me. Let’s just say that I have trouble remembering the DuPont Identity formula, but I can give you a history of England’s royal succession during the past few hundred years on a moment’s notice.
I don’t know why I’m so enamored by royalty — maybe it’s the fairy tale and the glamour, the pomp and circumstance, the observance and appreciation for history, social etiquette and tradition, or just the dynamics of a large, extended, dysfunctional family. One of my earliest memories is of getting up early to watch Princess Diana’s wedding with my mom — pretty amazing, since I was 4. Keep reading »
Sick of being sick.
Hello, readers. I’ve unexpectedly been away for a long, eventful couple of weeks. Mostly I’ve been knocked down by the worst cold known to man that won’t respond to antibiotics, Mucinex, antihistamine, Sudafed, Robitussin, cough drops, lemon tea (see below) or even my old friend Nyquil. I’ve spent much of the last two weeks laying around in my bed or on the couch partially buried in a mound of used tissues. (You’re welcome for that lovely mental image.) When I was little, my family went to these Saturday library sales, and I found an old book called “The Sick of Being Sick Book.” Inside were dozens of games you can play while bedridden, like shooting a basket from across the room with your balls of Kleenex or cough drop wrappers. I sure could have used that self-entertainment recently, and I wonder where that book could be …
In the midst of all of that, my mom had unexpected, emergency surgery the week before Thanksgiving. I ran down there in time to check her out of the hospital and wait on her for a couple of days while she regained her strength. (Well, until I became the patient.) I was completely amazed at the generosity of family and friends, a whole community that came out of the woodwork to help us. They cooked meals and even organized a food delivery schedule to get us through Thanksgiving. They’ll pick up again with more deliveries on Monday. Keep reading »
And so it begins.
Thanksgiving is a mere two weeks away, and the Black Friday planning is already kicking into gear.
My father is sending me www.blackfriday.info emails to update me on who has pre-released their Black Friday deals. By the time the day arrives, we should have a well-organized and choreographed plan ready to set in action.
Black Friday shopping with my dad is a recent, yet firmly entrenched tradition, and we approach it with the stealth of The Italian Job. Before stores started publishing their ads in advance, we would gather all the newspaper inserts on Thursday night, circle our target items, prioritize the importance of obtaining that product before it sold out and map our stores in the order of attack. Keep reading »
The end of Daylight Savings, and Shepherd's Pie.
Hello, faithful readers. I appear to be falling behind in my updating, since it’s nearly Thursday and I’m going to tell you about my weekend. As in last, not this. But I’ve just crossed a big school hurdle, so I hope to have a bit more time now (until the next one comes along).
Over the weekend, another finance exam was looming, and that always means stress cooking. Luckily, the exam is now behind me, so I hope we can avoid discussing the WACC, NPV or dividend policy if at all possible. I know that will be an inconvenience for you. This weekend was also our switch back from daylight savings, which afforded me a much needed extra hour of sleep. I hope you also used your hour wisely! From here on out our days will be shorter, we’ll leave work in the dark and the weather only gets colder. Soooo, I’m ready for April already.
There’s something about this time of year that makes me crave a certain meal — Shepherd’s Pie and Baked Apples. Keep reading »
I ♥ NYC.
When I was 7, my mom won a trip to New York City over Thanksgiving. We stayed at the Waldorf-Astoria (in the smallest room known to man), saw some Broadway shows and ventured out to watch the parade. My parents let me walk in front of them because they said I was good at parting the crowds. I just held my hands out in front of me, clapsed together like a rudder, and weaved through the sea of people. (Hey, I was 7.)
In middle school, my mom, grandmother and I flew up for one-day shopping trips during Christmas season. (My mom scared an elderly Asian lady in Macy’s when she put her arm around her from behind, thinking she was my grandmother. Oh, how we’ve laughed about that over the years.)
When I was in college, my dad and I spent fall break in New York, just walking around the streets and hitting all the tourist sites. We climbed the Statue of Liberty, where I had a heights-related panic attack on the spiral stairs, and took a photo at the top of the World Trade Center (freezing, since it was October). I remember feeling so let down coming back to my dorm room that night after I’d spent the morning walking in Central Park. Keep reading »
Cooking Spree: Pimento Cheese
Growing up, I thought pimento cheese was disgusting. I guess it was because the only kind I ever ate was from a plastic tub in the grocery store that had been sitting there for who knows how long. It was pink and overly mayonnaise-y, had no distinctive taste (especially not of cheese) and was just grody all around.
One year, I went to a July 4th picnic and someone brought homemade pimento cheese — a revelation. You could see cheese in it, the pimiento wasn’t overpowering and it had a hint of garlic. That was the first time I realized there was another kind of pimento cheese.
I’m not sure why it’s a southern staple (or why we spell it wrong), but you’ll find pimento cheese on menus and in homes all over the South. The classic way to eat it is sandwiched between two slices of white bread, but you’ll also see it stuffed into celery sticks, in grilled cheese or melted atop a burger. Yum. I prefer to eat it with something crunchy for texture, so I serve mine with Triscuits. Something about the salty crunch with creamy cheese just works. Keep reading »
Guess who’s coming to dinner.
Sometimes I wish I was Italian. Maybe it’s because I want to be Giada de Laurentiis when I grow up, or that I love wine and food, that the countryside seems breathtakingly beautiful, or that I think they’ve got the right idea of living and celebrating “la dolce vita.” Or maybe it’s because I haven’t yet found an Italian dish that I don’t love.
Pasta, garlic, tomatoes, olives … all right up my alley.
That’s why I was so excited for the cooking marathon this past weekend. A few weeks ago, my stepmother went to visit her Italian aunt in upstate New York and brought back an old-world Italian recipe for tomato sauce (“gravy”) with a variety of meats. She did a dry run-through last weekend, and my dad requested that she make tons of sauce to freeze for later. The idea was to prepare and cook all day so there would be leftovers … until my stepmother invited everyone she knew to dinner. Keep reading »
Like an alcoholic in a liquor store.
I stopped by the library’s Friends of the Library book sale at lunch today, which was nerd-o-rama to say the least. Men and women who looked like they hadn’t seen the sun in a few weeks were running through the aisles with red eyes and crazy hair, stuffing books into their NPR tote bags. Luckily my crowd reflexes are still sharp, and I dodged a few of them before it got ugly.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m also a book nerd of the highest order. Some of my most vivid childhood memories are of waking early on Saturdays and heading downtown to these enormous warehouses to spend the day book spelunking with my parents. I think we filled all the bookshelves in our new house that way.
When I moved to New York, I introduced both of them to the Strand. Big mistake, since I come by my bookaholism quite genetically. For us, just visiting that store is like being an alcoholic in a liquor store, a dieter in a chocolate shop, an addict in a pharmacy. I know my dad ordered their books online, and I made several car trips down with a boxload of special requests. I think that’s technically called trafficking. Luckily, in NYC you have to purge as much as you bring into your house, otherwise you’ll soon be sleeping on it. That curbed my “problem” for awhile, but now I have 2,000 square feet to fill. Be worried, very worried. Keep reading »
Lamentations.
It’s been a terribly hard few days on the job, driving me nearly to tears with frustration. And I’m not a crier. I’m trying to take solace in the fact that it’s a paycheck, not a life’s work, and my life is full in other areas. Hey, it’s not even the first time I’ve faced hardships here, so if I didn’t walk out then, I probably won’t now either. Mortgage to pay, and all that. It’s just depressing when the place you have to be for 40+ hours of your week crushes and demeans your soul.
Outside of work, I’m constantly pulled in 14 directions, and I’m afraid I’m failing on all counts. I’m a bad friend/daughter/loved one/employee/student/member/blogger/person right now, and I offer you all an apology for that. I started this blog as a creative outlet, but I feel like everything I have to say is a downer. (Kind of like this post.)
Don’t worry, I’ve had really fun visits from friends in the past week, which have been like rays of sunshine amidst the monotony. I know it will improve, somehow, some way, since I know who’s in charge, and that karma’s a bitch.
But I didn’t need any more stressers in my life; I have enough “character building” on my plate right now, thanks. If the posts are few and far between, that’s why — as my mom told me, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
Probably good advice.
South & Sundry 