5:00 Fridays

Allow me to wax about how much I love my readers, and I ain't talkin' about just the people who had anything to do with my birth or the birth of my children. I mean the meat n' potatoes bunch who don't even know me and have no DNA obligations to read my writing or boost my spirits. I thank you all for being my fuel on this little blog journey I'm on. My favorite thing is reader comments and interaction. It's always wonderful to hear your insights and perspectives on the musings and rants that make their way from my brain to your screen.

Today I thank my reader Sandra for sharing a cocktail recipe inspired by...band fruit.

She happens to have a crate of tangerines in her kitchen that are going to rot if not properly consumed. Sandra, being fond of 5:00 Fridays, naturally resorted to squeezing those babies into cocktail creations. As I write this post, a woodern crate of clementines is staring me down. One has already gotten mushy, leaving its most unpleasant juicy stench behind. I also have a slew of oranges and grapefruit rolling around my counter tops and in my produce drawers. Drawers. What a great word to use instead of britches. Does that count as a homonym, I wonder? Maggie will have the final verdict. Am I digressing? Non sequitors abound in my brain.

I'm happy to support the band, being a band geek myself. The only trophy I ever got in my life was for marching band. I might still have the gold sash stashed somewhere. Meanwhile, Mac Daddy has boxes of trophies in the attic for various sports - basketball, baseball, football, air hockey. I like to say that Mac Daddy even married his trophy wife on the first try.

Well, thanks to Sandra now I know what do with all this fruit. I mean really, I can't stuff a clementine into my kids' lunchboxes everyday, and the family is tiring of orange/grapefruit vinaigrette. Our love of citrus has been squeezed out of us.

Until I found vodka.

Rather, until Sandra found vodka and pointed me to it.


Grown Up Juice

1-2 oz. Rain vodka (In Sandra's words: "Use however much you need--you know your liver better than I do.")
Juice from 2 tangerines (or in my case, oranges and grapfruit that we bought from the neighbor's kid)
Splash of lemonade or limeade

Mix all of this together in a grownup juice glass filled with ice. Garnish with a wheel of whatever citrus fruit you have on hand.

Cheers to you and all that vitamin C!

PS
Bonus points if you guess what instrument I played in band. And no, I've never started a story with, "This one time, in band camp..."

The Day My 6 Year Old Asked Me About Abortion

I drive by a particular Catholic church in my neighborhood almost every single day for one reason or another (mostly because that route leads to Target and Trader Joe's). Normally I'm a big believer in letting people believe whatever they want. While I am a vehemently opinionated soul, I do not use my breath to spew my ideals to anyone who will listen (As for this blog, you choose to come here, right? No prodding or payment from me. No payment for me either, for that matter.). I don't believe in proselytizing. I don't believe in incendiary messages spouted from soapboxes. I don't believe in subjecting children to hideously complicated adult paradigms.

What I believe is it is my job, my duty, my honor, to protect my children.

Please check out my post on Deep South Moms about what has me up in arms about what this particular church is doing to pollute precious, innocent minds.

Here's a hint:

No mother of a six year old should have to answer the question, "Mommy, what does 'abortion kills babies' mean?"

My Glass is Half Full. Of Ice.

I haven't seen the teens in about 10 years. I was finishing graduate school in Chicago then. That was my teensy skooch back to the East after eight year stints in Minneapolis and Madison. By teens I mean temps, natch. My own teen years were over two decades ago, and that's the tail end of the rotten pubescent, lemming, un self-aware, unconfident, dorky stuff that make one's teen years so memorable, despite how hard we try to forget.

The temperatures here in Raleigh are taking after stock market line graphs of late and taking a steep dive southward. I didn't move here for this. I remember many a winter not even needing a coat in these parts. It was a welcome change from the mummyesque layering I endured waiting for the bus on 44th Street in Minneapolis or the whip of lake wind chilling me inside out in Chicago. I never did acclimate, despite 10 years out there. Things weren't so bad in Madison because we lived in our own little version of Melrose Place so we rarely had to leave home. That, and we often indulged in Wisconsin's most notable export.

In light of all this frigid weather, folks in North Carolina remind me a lot of the good people of Minnesota. All they talk about is the weather. Instead of the usual "Happy New Year" store clerks remark this time of year (I'll give a week more before I start calling people on the importance of message timeliness.), they call out, "Stay warm!" as they bid you farewell. The neighborhood is quiet, eerily peaceful. No kids. No dogs. Um, why does it seem I'm the only one out walking my dog in these tundra temps?

I'm trying to see some silver lining here. Ice is silvery, right? I'm generally a glass-half-full kind of girl. If you find yourself whooping it up and need to be knocked down a few notches, gimme a call. My alter ego is Debbie Downer. I can make you cringe, cry, or croak in a matter of minutes. Mac Daddy is my optimistic counterpart. He sees the good in everything, which is highly annoying and makes me irritable as hell. I sure hope our sons don't inherit this trait and make their future wives ornery. Sometimes a girl just wants to look into her soap spotted empty wine glass and bitch.

It being 2010, a new year and a new decade and all, I've decided to try on Mac Daddy's disposition. I'm afraid it won't suit me at all but I'm going to give the old college try (Wherever does that term come from?! I surely don't want my boys to try half the stuff I tried in college!). Here's my first, if not feeble, attempt to see the glass half full.

Reasons to not hate the cold weather:

1. No snakes in my yard.
2. Ignored dog poop freezes and is easier to clean up. Granted, Mac Daddy is the often the one faced with this since I jet back inside as soon as Lark has done his business.
3. Children chat less when they are cold because the are busy experiencing chattering teeth.
4. It's perfectly acceptable to have dead leaves, grass, plants and such in one's yard.
5. Snuggling.
6. The Snuggie (never mind that I wear Deal's kid sized one that he got for Christmas).
7. No mosquitoes.
8. I don't have to shave.
9. Jeans and sweaters hide more dietary sins than tank tops and shorts.
10. Boots. Way better than flip flops.
11. Oysters are in season.
12. Beer gets cold quickly if you put it in a cooler on the patio.
13. It's cold and flu season, giving me a fine excuse not to shake hands with people.
14. Conversation common denominator makes it easy to talk to anyone.
15. Scarves hide hickeys (I mean, for those trashy girls who get those kissy bruises. Blech.)
16. Knee socks. (I know Denise at Eat Play Love has my back on this one.)
17. Hot Buttered Rum, Hot Toddies, , Hot Sake, Hot Cider, Hot Chocolate
18. Comfort food.
19. I get wear to that cute chenille hat and scarf set I bought ages ago. Be sure to compliment me profusely if you see me sporting it.
20. An excuse to chill out (pardon the expression) with a good read or a must-see flick.

So tell me, what makes the snot freezing temps more palatable for you?

5:00 Fridays

Happy 2010!!!

We're starting the new year, ahem, new decade, with a guest post from one of my favorite writers. I've had the joy of hanging with her at BlogHer and hope to see lots more of her as soon as she digs out from the Iowa snow.

Drum roll.....

I’m Becky, and I blog at Deep Muck Big Rake and hang out with Ilina on Twitter (I’m @BeckyDMBR). We talk lots about drinks and dinner and wine o’clock and recipes and beer-thirty and…well, you get the idea.

I’ve been a Norwegian-by-proxy for almost 20 years, which means we have a Very Norwegian Christmas in our house every year. If you haven’t been in Norway for Christmas, you should try it sometime. Or at least celebrate with a Norwegian.

Christmas lasts forever in Norway. It starts even before Christmas with “lillejulaften” (little Christmas Eve), which is the night before Christmas Eve. The time after Christmas and before New Year’s is called romjul, a time when you visit extended family and friends. Unless you work in retail or in the medical system, chances are good you get the whole time off.

You can find several ways to get into the holiday “spirit” in Norway: juleøl (Christmas beer), aquavit (“water of life” *cough, cough*) and gløgg (mulled wine). Gløgg is especially festive after an afternoon of sledding or snowman-building. It fills your house with the warm, spicy goodness of the season. You can make an alcohol-free version for the kids (although mine still prefer hot chocolate).

The absolute easiest way to make gløgg is to use a bottled mix and just add water or red wine. (Many Scandinavian stores sell the bottles online. You can also check German stores for glühwein mix. They’re similar.) Or you can make your own.

I tried both this year.

Here’s a recipe from the cookbook, The Norwegian Kitchen, written by The Association of Norwegian Chefs.

2/3 cup port wine
2/3 cup sherry
2/3 cup Madeira
1/3 cup red wine
4 whole cloves
2 cardamom pods

Combine in a saucepan and slowly bring to a boil. Serve warm in cups with raisins and blanched almonds. Place a teaspoon in each glass.

I prefer the mix. It’s sweeter. Whatever you prefer, play around with it and have fun.

“Skål!”

Have a wonderful New Year! Godt nytt år!

A New Year's Eve Whine

The year was 2003. I was five months pregnant with Bird. We had bought and renovated an 80-something year old house. We were planting roots.

And then I got laid off from my job at an advertising agency. Funny how it's so easy to fire a pregnant woman, yet it's a stretch to hire one. I did get another job, though that agency was toxic, and I left soon after Bird was born. Our once comfortable life was beginning to crack a tish. The year proved to be bittersweet, with the sweet beating out the bitter.

Bird was a lovely, easy baby. He brought us so much joy and completely changed our perspective of the world. You'd never see me without a camera as I snapped every little milestone and cornerstone. I started my marketing consulting business (What, you mean you thought the words on this screen pay my student loans? Not by a long shot.). Baby Deal came soon after, 22 months after Baby Bird.

2004.
2005.

Our lives were complete, if not completely chaotic. We juggled two more house renovations, two jobs, two kids, one breast cancer scare, all on our own without the benefit of family. What could have torn me and Mac Daddy to shreds actually made us stronger. We became our own little hub, knowing it was up to us to protect and nurture this little foursome we call Family. well, we call ourselves The Curried Cheeseheads too as a nod to our mixed Indian and Wisconsonian heritage.

Every year since that fateful layoff in 2003 we have chanted on New Year's Eve, "This is gonna be our year." So far our mantra has failed us.

We haven't caught up to where our lives (and bank accounts) were. We've faced some scary illnesses, bid farewell to friends, battled some demons, lost our beloved pets, and buried a father.

Life's hardships are de rigeur. Our downs are not as low as others', and our ups are grander than most. But, there was so much left unaccomplished this year. So much stress. Too many financial obligations. Not enough time. Too little of everyone and everything to go around. I'm not complaining, though I am admittedly whining a bit.

I'm letting 2009 go with a sigh. A great big exhale.

Then I'll hold my breath for a moment. Count my blessings. Kiss my family. Cuddle my dog.

Inhale.

Welcome 2010. This is gonna be our year.

Baba Ghanouj from Scratch

Here's a recipe I posted a while back on Foodie Mama. It's a real crowd pleaser, and since we're still in for a few more days of entertaining, I figured I'd pass this along. Have some red wine or Sambuca on hand.


I'm from the kind of family who travels for food. We talk about what we ate 12 years ago at a mom n' pop place in Palm Springs, the extraordinary apple strudel we had in Heidelberg, the ostrich we enjoyed in Walnut Springs, the eisbein we shared at a neighborhood pub in Berlin. We talk about food. A lot. Chances are our dinner conversation revolves around what we ate once upon a time or what we're going to eat next. In my family food is the great equalizer among us.

And now my sons chime right in. They share memories of eating with their fingers while watching the belly dancers at the Moroccan restaurant in Savannah, squishing the injera at the Ethiopian restaurant, gasping in awe at the flaming haloumi in Chicago, squealing at chef's knife tricks at the habachi grill, and tossing the crawfish tails into the hole cut into the table at the Crab Shack on Tybee Island. Bird and Deal clamor to visit places like Hawaii, Italy, India, and France just to try the local flavors that we talk about. Their latest kick is Greece. The boys don't know this yet, but Mac Daddy and I are trying to swing a family trip to Greece next year to celebrate our tenth anniversary.

In the mean time, we have to settle for the Greek delights we can find in our fair city. Since no one's baba ghanouj is up to snuff, I've tried my hand at making it myself. I have no idea if it's authentic but I do know it tastes damn good.

Baba Ghanouj

• 1 large eggplant or 2 small eggplants
• 2 cloves garlic
• 3/4 cup tahini (You can make it, but I just buy it to keep things simple.)
• juice of 1 lemon (Fresh lemon is imperative! I will totally hold it against you if you use the stuff that comes in the plastic lemon shaped bottle.)
• drizzle of olive oil
• teaspoon cumin
• pinch of cayenne
• handful flat leaf parsley
• salt to taste

Score the eggplant several times and roast at 350 degrees for about an hour. Let it cool. Scrape out the meat, seeds and all, from the eggplant into a food processor. No skin or stem! Add the rest of the ingredients. Pulse until it becomes the consistency of creamy dip. A few chunks are okay so don't over process or the baba ghanouj lest it turns out too runny. Serve in a bowl garnished with a few black olives and sprigs of parsley. Cut pita bread into wedges and serve along with some carrot sticks, cucumber slices, or whatever crudite tickles your fancy.

I happened to use a Ninja Kitchenfor my baba ghanouj.

Full disclosure here: I got to go on a blogger junket to New York to see the Food Network's Robin Miller demonstrate the many uses of the Ninja Kitchen. I was lucky enough to get one for free so I have waved buh-bye to my old blender and food processor. The Ninja Kitchen makes perfect dip, smoothies, soups, and all kinds of other stuff. I will tell you that former attempts at making baba ghanouj resulted in the wrong consistency so the Ninja Kitchen worked perfectly for me. A blender definitely won't cut it.

Opa!

5:00 Fridays

I love egg nog. This statement will not be a non sequitor in a moment.

Read on.


Merry Christmas!

Feliz Navidad!

Joyeux Noel!

Froliche Weinachten!

Ho! Ho! Ho!

We shared a lovely Christmas Eve by the outdoor fireplace with dear friends (who luckily enough, happen to be our neighbors). The children frolicked in noisy abandon as only children can. We stuffed our jelly bellies full of smoked salmon, fennel salad, steamed shrimp, crostini, apple/cranberry pie, and chocolate truffles. There was much merriment to be had, and Christmas spirit(s) flowed.

We all remarked how stress-free and footloose and fancy free our celebration was. As the kids get older the hovering gets easier. Bird and Deal know to stay in the yard, they can claw their way through tussles, and there are enough dart guns, remote control cars, and stuffed animals to go around. Lark was an exhausted little champ who happily retired to his crate to escape the onset of Kid-dom ruling.

After our friends went their merry ways we perched the boys at the kitchen table with a plate of smoked salmon and set to cleaning up. They then showered (must be clean for Santa!) and donned their matching plaid Christmas jammies. So cute it would melt the Snow Miser's frigid heart. We settled in under blankets to watch the old Rankin Bass Twas the Night Before Christmas and romped in the yard to sprinkle glitter and oat reindeer food.

Now that the boys are tucked in bed and sleeping (not even pretending!), Mac Daddy and I opened a beribboned gift from a neighbor. Lo and behold, my most favorite of Christmas spirits was there!

And so it is with an iced crystal tumbler full of this I toast you this Christmas. Merry Christmas to my delightful readers. I hope your season is so bright so you gotta wear shades. I know you're all so Hollywood like that.

Evan Williams Holiday Egg Nog

Da Bomb.

First of all, let it be known that I love me some egg nog. Our family friend Ty makes some killer homemade stuff that I cannot replicate to save my life. I settle for the grocery store brands and spike it myself. Then I get a work out just swallowing that gloppy thick stuff while I trick myself into believing it's the real deal.

Evan Williams does it all for me. And it's oh so good.

Not treacly sweet. Not fake. Not so thick you could condition your hair with it.

Evan Williams is the Avis of straight bourbon whiskey in the US. It's "extra aged," which I can totally identify with.