Registruction

Sean and I have spent the last two weeks working on our wedding registries, and while some of the items we've selected are practical and necessary (coasters and pillows, anyone?) others are downright luxuries. Unfortunately, the three that I'm currently lusting after have the potential to do a lot of damage to my wardrobe, my waistline, and my well-being. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Heart Attack Collection:

Ice cream is my absolute favorite thing in the entire world. If I were sitting outside of an igloo wearing a bikini in the middle of January, I would still embrace a bowl of ice cream. Homemade ice cream is an extra special treat that I'm almost never able to enjoy because A) it's full of fat and B) my mom's great great great grandmother once cranked ice cream in our ice cream maker using milk from a German-speaking cow THAT SHE MILKED HERSELF! Suffice it to say, I've been looking forward to registering for a more modern maker pretty much since the day I met Sean. In fact, Sean probably could have gotten down on one knee and presented me with an ice cream maker instead of a ring and I would have been just as enthused.

This is the fiance's registry obsession. He's been talking about registering for a deep-fryer for a good, solid year, and I've been resisting almost as long. I just didn't think we had enough klass to request such a present. But after months of subliminal deep-fryer messaging (onion riiiiiings...donuuuuuuuts...sweet potato friiiiiiiies...), Billy Bob Sean finally wore me down, so on Saturday morning we kicked off our shoes, hopped on our four wheeler, and cruised over to Walmart to set up our registry. No, that's a lie. We actually registered for it at Target right after we picked out our crystal goblets and our $2,100 gravy boat. And I have to admit that I, too, am now dreaming about all the goodies we could throw in there: cookie dough? peanut butter sandwiches? ICE CREAM FROM MY ICE CREAM MAKER!? Whoa, hold on, I think a few of my teeth just fell out.

I enjoy waffles quite a lot, but I don't eat them very often anymore. Still, for the past few weeks I've had a recurring daydream about getting up late on a Saturday morning, flinging open the windows, and enjoying a batch of waffles covered in whipped cream and strawberries with my hubby while we channel surf through various college football games.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to run 13 miles before I go to bed.

Food, mostly

- As I was browsing the Central Market food court on Saturday night, I happened to notice a sign for "Greek Yogurt & Cucumber Dip," which some of you may know by its more official name--"Holy Buckets, This Tzatziki is Amazing! Is it Available in a Big Gulp?" And that's when I started craving a gyro. I would have gotten one, too, when Sean and I decided to have something exotic for brunch on Sunday, except Sean doesn't like Greek food, so we went to an Indian restaurant instead. And green curry, while delicious, does not a gyro craving satisfy. So I did a little research and lo! Recipes for gyros and tzatziki! Extra points for my mom if we have a pound of ground lamb in the freezer...

- For perhaps the first time in the history of new years, I did not resolve to lose weight. Hooray! Except then I ate a couple of doughnuts for breakfast, cheese fries and a hamburger for dinner, and a few dozen left over chocolate chip peanut butter cookies for a snack, and all of a sudden my jeans didn't fit quite right. The trouble with me is that while I can get down to a satisfactory weight and size fairly easily, my motivation to do so ebbs and flows in conjunction with major events in my life. For example, I wanted to look decent in my Halloween costume, so I chose food wisely (flow). Then I didn't have anything immediate to look forward to so I ate some full-fat ice cream (ebb). Then Thanksgiving was around the corner so I was careful again in the weeks leading up to the gastronomic deluge (flow). You get the idea. I had a pretty good system going this summer that kept me on track in spite of my relatively clear schedule--whenever I looked in the fridge or wanted to sleep through Jazzercise, I just imagined myself in a bathing suit and ho boy did those carrots look good! I'm implementing a similar strategy now that I'm trying to drop a few holiday pounds--whenever I think I'm about to drop dead on the treadmill, I pretend that I miiiiiight end up in some engagement pictures soon (I'm nothing if not delusional. Do not derail my efforts, SEAN!) and I crank that sucker up to 11.

- Speaking of which, I was so sore today after two days of working out (by which of course I mean "walking briskly on an inclined treadmill for 30 minutes") that I had to pop pills just to stand up straight. Oops, out of practice.

- My dear beau is a genius at practically everything. Thinking about putting your mature bonds in a savings account? Sean says: Buy mutual funds, you'll see a better return. Want to buy the large new house with four bedrooms at a bargain basement price? Sean says: What are you going to do with the three extra bedrooms besides pump them full of electricity? Buy a smaller house for the same price and you'll save money in the long run. Having trouble finding a job that you're qualified to apply for? Sean says: In the thirty seconds I just spent searching, I was able to find five jobs that would be perfect for you! I'll find ten more tomorrow! Two things he is not a genius at? Housekeeping and kitchen management. Sean and Sarah--an exercise in symbiosis and traditional gender roles.

Time of the year

Hello, friends, c'est moi! I've not been doing much more than jobbing of late, but I thought I'd stop by to say...
...Hydrangeas! I love them!
...I'm making an eggnog cheesecake tonight (you know, as if one without the other wasn't enough to make you lose a button).
...It turns out that the one movie you cannot get from Netflix is A Muppet Christmas Carol, which is really a darned shame this time of year.
...I am so jealous of everyone who's whining about finals (um, what?). Riddle me this: Why oh why did I not keep livin' the dream right on in to graduate school? And why oh why are the only schools that I'd like to go to so soul crushingly expensive?
...The kiddies in my old high school's theater department really do put on great musicals. Last weekend we saw their fabulous rendition of White Christmas, and after the cast had taken their final bows and "snow" had fluttered down over the audience, I walked out singing "Sisters" and "Count Your Blessings..." and didn't stop until the next morning.
...Know who's celebrating a birthday on Saturday? Hum? That's right: Jake Gyllenhaal! (Who is beautiful, P.S.)
...As a gift wrapper, I am an utter failure. Not only does it take me 10 minutes to wrap one box, but by the time I'm done the only saving grace is "Oh well, no one really looks at the paper before they rip it off anyway."

Easy As

I hope all of you lovelies had a delicious Thanksgiving! I'd like to thank those of you who voted in the pie poll and made my holiday particularly exciting :) Some of the results were obvious (pecan was the peoples' choice, OF COURSE) while others were somewhat surprising (No love for apple? What's up with that?). And I'd really like to know who voted for sweet potato because I've never tried it. Is is much like pumpkin? (If there's a textural similarity then you can have my piece. Yucko!)

Anyhoodle, I weighed the votes against my personal preferences and family input and in the end I could not settle on just one pimp-worthy pie. So yes, Virginia, I pimped TWO: pecan pie became pecan bars (PEE-CAN or PIC-KAHN? I'm partial to the latter, although I once had a prof who called it PICK-IN. Contemplate that.) and apple pie (EVEN THOUGH IT RECEIVED NARY A VOTE) became apple pie cheesecake. And wouldn't you know it, my grandma W, the queen of fried, mashed, jellied, and baked goods, the iron-fisted tyrant of the kitchen (whom I love dearly), served homemade pecan and apple pies right next to my versions! I fretted that experience might trump innovation as I crammed two helpings of baked mac 'n cheese and Aunt Carol's stuffing into my mouth and helped prep coffee for dessert, but then--a revelation! My offerings were almost completely decimated by the end of the night and my grandma was hovering over what remained of my pecan bars and nibbling at the stray pieces. They liked me! They really liked me!

And do you know what I like, friends? Food porn. There, I've said it. Most of the good stuff that I've seen is from Smitten Kitchen and Bakerella, and while I'm not much of a purveyor of gastronomic entertainment myself, I still like to lug my DigiReb into the kitchen from time to time and pretend. I did so while I was making Thanksgiving treats and completely confounded my mother, but I ended up with some pretty tasty shots (click to enlarge because heaven knows these are FAR from actual size):

[Bottle was brand new before I got my hands on it. Mmm, sticky sweet pecan bars...]

*Note to self: make a photo station out of black foam core board so that the counter tops don't interfere next time.

Pie there!

Yesterday was Turkey Day on the patriarch's side, and after we'd all stuffed ourselves full of turkey, dressing, and mashed potatoes and rolled on the floor clutching our distended bellies for half an hour, we descended on the desserts table. The options on the table were nice and varied--chewy chocolate chip cookies, berry cobbler, grandma's toxic pumpkin and pecan pies (she's not a baker, you see)--but lacked one key offering: my dessert. My instinct to bake for the holidays was crippled by a busy weekend that began with a Friday evening dinner party, evolved into a matinee movie and high school football playoff game that began on Saturday evening and ended in the wee hours of Sunday morning, and was punctuated by a sleepy trip to Waco and back yesterday. Still, I couldn't help but feel misused as I scanned the dessert table yesterday afternoon, so I vowed to make it up to myself by baking something outstanding for the matriarchal Thanksgiving on Thursday.

While my dad's family is into cakes and cobblers, my mom's family prefers more traditional pies and cookies. That said, I'm loath to make a plain Jane pie when there are so many recipes out there for pies with pizazz. And anyway, it's really fairer to say that my mom's family prefers desserts that are pie-shaped, so they wouldn't be opposed to something unfamiliar as long as its pieces had pointy tips and rounded back ends.

In the end, I'm leaving it to you, dearests, to supply me with Thanksgiving dessert inspiration: vote below on the type of pie I should pimp or leave suggestions in the comments section, s'il vous plaît :)

Which pie do you always have room for after the turkey's been gobbled?

Choco-fall-ic

Remember on Tuesday when I mentioned the co-workers' plea? And the special request that Sean be extra nice so that I'd deliver the goods? Well, he done just fine by me:

These are the Pumpkin Patch cuppycakes that walked right through the door of Sean's place of business yesterday morning and into the gaping mouths of his sugar-happy colleagues. (I regret that I did not take a better picture, but I was veeeeery pressed for time.) You see, I made two pans of brownies for Sean's co-workers about a month ago and won their hearts. They told Sean last Friday that it was high time I make them another treat, and well, I just don't have it in me to turn down a baking challenge.

I spent about five hours on these puppies and when my mom saw what I had done, she cooed and fawned the likes of which I've never seen. I opted not to taste one, but Sean figured he'd better make sure he wasn't offering his colleagues glorified dog food and dug right in the night before delivery. Nope, not dog food, he said in so many words.

When I checked my email at 9:00 this morning I found this from my beloved: "You are officially the office hero! The whole office is running into the break room saying 'oh my god, look at these!' People are having them for breakfast, lol!" A little later he forwarded me about seven thank you emails and even reported receiving a hug of gratitude!

Of the two of us, Sean definitely holds the logic, perseverance, style, street cred, and sweetness cards, but I've got pocket Betty Crockers and two Martha Stewarts on the flop and I'm totally going to make Sean the most popular guy at work.

Dessert storm

Between whisking me across country for some debauchery in the Nevada desert (which part of Nevada is not the desert, exactly?) and requiring me to help him move into the Metroplex, my dear beau has been prodding me to update my dadgum blog already! And I would have I suppose, if I hadn't also needed to attend a surprise substitute orientation and to take on a new position as evening aide to my autistic cousin in the midst of everything else. But things have finally slowed down enough that I was able to do one more nice thing for my beloved and then write this post about it, so pour yourself a tall glass of milk and enjoy!

Yesterday I made homemade chocolate chip brownies, and for the first time IN MY TWENTY TWO YEARS ON THIS EARTH I did not use a box of mix. You see, I made brownies all the time when I was a little girl, but since my ability to combine mix, eggs, water, and oil with fifty strokes of a wooden spoon always won me rave reviews, I never had any desire to make brownies the hard way.

But my familiar world of convenience baking came crashing down all around me last week when I decided to make Brownie Truffles to celebrate my sweetheart's first day at his new job. Sure, the recipe looked simple enough (melt some chocolate in that pot, beat some eggs in this bowl, pour into a prepared pan and twenty-five minutes later voila!) but it also looked like a RECIPE for BROWNIES. Until about eight years ago I didn't even know those existed anywhere other than on the backs of boxes of Duncan Hines: I thought brownie mix was as basic an ingredient as eggs or baking soda (which, coincidentally, does not have a place in scratch brownies. WHO KNEW!?). I was so intimidated that you'dve thought I'd never held a teaspoon in my life.

Since baking the brownies was only part of the truffle recipe (the other part involved rolling them into balls and covering them with cocoa power, instant coffee, and sugar) I finally convinced myself that I could use a mix for the first part and no one would ever know the difference. So I walked into my kitchen yesterday morning, opened the cabinet door, looked at the box of Ghirardelli mix (see, I even go for the fancy mixes!), and thought "If I call myself a baker, but am scared to make scratch brownies, then I'm nothing but a sham! That's it, if all of the ingredients for scratch brownies are in the house then I'm going to make scratch brownies!"

I've read tons of different food blogs and cooking magazines that extol the ease of making brownies the old-fashioned way, but I've always brushed the claims off as so much hooey. After all, food blogs and cooking magazines wouldn't have much of an audience if their writers didn't convince us that it really isn't that much easier to make everything from a mix. Except the food writers were sort of right: apparently it really only takes about five minutes longer to make brownies from scratch than it does to make them with a mix. And I can't speak for your relationship with your kitchen, but mine is more than happy to spend an extra five minutes a day with me.

[Technically a truffle, but really just a balled up HOMEMADE BROWNIE!]