Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Mommy Moments, and a Plug

My favorite mommy moments have not been on Mother's Day. Although I LOVE the cards, framed pictures, poems and crafts the kids make for me at school, along with the cards from hubby, and eating whatever I want for dinner (Chinese take out this year), as much as I love buying climbing roses in pots for the two women we're lucky to call Mom, the times that I have felt most loved by my kids - thereby making everything else worth it - have happened randomly and unpexpectedly. This makes perfect sense.

When my son Alex was two years old, he put my pasta strainer on his head and pronounced himself "Strainer Man." Strainer Man walked around the house playing his first "guitar", and sang a song of three chords with these lyrics...."Momma....is my....Momma." Very inventive, don't you think? A little guy in the kitchen serenading his Mom while she cooked dinner. Barely tall enough to surpass my knees, with big brown eyes and a gift for timing, he had me at "Momma."

Last summer, as my girlfriend Krissy pitched wiffle balls to her kids and mine in my parents backyard, I, in my bathing suit, climbed walls and hills of iceplant - although this makes me break out in hives - to retrieve the wiffle balls they hit. Alex, reeling from swimming-ball playing-summer evening-Mom let me have 2 (count 'em) Cokes!-type happiness, got into his hitting stance but before he swung, pointed at me and said, "Look at my little Momma,", so endearingly, it made me almost teary. It takes a lot to make me teary.

So I stayed in the iceplant most of that night, retrieving wiffle balls for my son, even though I itched from that damn iceplant for three days thereafter.

Two nights ago, my littlest girl, Melia, who we call Boo-Boos, came out into the kitchen where I was finalizing my son's report. "Come to bed, Momma," she said, but so into what I was doing - pounding away at my laptop like usual - I didn't even look at her when I said "Go snuggle with Poppa, honey,". "No," she replied softly, in babyish diction yet very persuasively, "Boo-Boos wants you," if that wasn't enough, she added, "Boo-Boos wants Momma." I finished Alex's report the following morning and snuggled with my little girl.  I was tired anyway, and little kids talking about themselves in third person is irresistible. 

My proudest Mommy moment with Zoe, my middle child, is undeniably this; at age 3 - not even very close to age 4 - Zoe jumped off a 3 meter diving board at a nearby recreational pool. In her turquiose green tankini with white flowers, Zoe climbed that tall ladder to the top, tender little feetsies I was afraid would slip, but once at the top, she noticed people with hands over their mouths, "Oh my gosh, look at that little girl," and "You rock, kid!". So she stood on ceremony, ten feet high and twelve feet of clear water beneath, and waited until her cheering section got as loud as possible. She even faked a bit and walked towards the ladder as if to climb down, at which point people yelled "No, jump!  We gotta see this!" So she did. Fearlessly, she jumped, and did so every chance she got for the rest of the day. True story.

What would I be without these moments? These are moving pictures I frame in my mind and look at when my kids really, really piss me off. Or just when I want to smile. Or just when I want to know the meaning, and continuum, of life.

I know my mother-in-law has memories like these of my husband, so when I hear her yell at him in Greek and smack him, I let it go and laugh. I know my Mom has memories like this of me, so when she hugs me and says "You are still my baby," I don't fight her. I just hope no one else is listening.

Someone has listened though, and heard me ask for things I never knew I wanted.

#######
SIDEBAR:
Here is a pic from Parenting Magazine of my hubby, Alex and Melia. He's gonna kill me.
http://www.parenting.com/gallery/-/Hot-Dad-Alert!-1000021500/3

Posted by Sam at 12:37:16 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Covering Up

This past weekend, I had two occasions which required covering up a past mistake.

This mistake was definitely an "if I knew then what I know now" kind of mistake. It was the kind of mistake that illicited scorn - harsh, yelling, cursing scorn - from my father right before I did it, yet I did it anyway (and that may be one of the reasons why I continued on the path of stupidity). It was one of the mistakes that people make in their 30s and call "temporary insanity", and, most regrettably, the kind of mistake that stays with you forever.

But I covered it up this mistake because I am resourceful andalso because I got to know MAC Cosmetics very well when they were a Catering client of mine.

The three little daisies tattooed on the inside of my right ankle was invisible at the rehearsal dinner on Friday night. That mistake I feel that everyone sees first on me and judges me about immediately wasn't visible at all as I walked down the aisle as a happy, supportive bridesmaid - the only bridesmaid in her 30s - and with probably the longest list of mistakes, simply because age dictates many things.
 
But tonight, after all of the wedding festivites are over - my brother in law and new sister in law are on a plane to their tropical honeymoon destination - I feel that age, if we are lucky, dictates wisdom.

I got used to not seeing that *** *** tattoo on my ankle.  I love my pre-tattoo ankle. It's blank, it's nude, it's almost adolescent. That ankle, for 48 hours under good, heavy concealer, looked like it didn't have any mistakes yet. This morning when I woke up and had slept with the concealer on, the three daisies tattoo was more visible again, but not completely. The concealer was kind of orange-y. The tattoo looked worse half-concealed than invisible or not hiding at all.

Let's see; blank ankle, half-concealed tattoo ankle, or unhidden tattooed ankle that the world can see, for better or worse?  I've tried them all now.

A tattoo of three little daisies.  Like three little birds, or three little...kids. It is what it is. Mistake or proof of life? Flower or scientific name? Regret or moving on?

I won't say I'll never cover it up again, but I will say, mistakes don't stay concealed very long.
I should know.
Posted by Sam at 21:58:50 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Thursday, May 08, 2008

This Goes Way Beyond Animal House

I usually do not write about current events because I like food more than politics and I stress enough about daily family life, let alone watching the news/reading the paper to know what horrible things happen in the world and could find their way into mine.

But San Diego - which I've idealized in many of my blogs - has been in the news lately for some unfortunate reasons.

1) Fatal Great White shark attack.
2) Padres doing, um, not so well.
3) Huge drug bust in the college five minutes from me, SDSU, where my hubby went to school and my kids attended pre-school.

It seems even paradise has it's troubles.

The up-side: these things keep me grounded. Because if I could go on believeing that my calm, pristine waters do not hold potential peril, I would. If I could look at a college campus and imagine the only bad guys were Neidermeyer and Dean Wormer, I'd stay in that fictitious place. If you told me the Padres had fight in them and there would be some glory this season, I would make a conscious choice to believe you.

Notice, I said, IF. I not only live in San Diego, but in another place where reality and imagination intersect, where I believe my mind set has something to do with the best possible outcomes.

I'm not changing locations, either. My happy place has nothing to with geographical locations, and even less to do with what I know I can't control. It sure has taken me long enough to arrive here.

So when I learn that one of the SDSU busted was getting a Masters Degree in Homeland Security, I'm reminded things are not always what they seem. When I hear about a fatal shark attack in Mexico, not to mention the 16 footer off my piece of shoreline, I get a little scared about our upcoming trip to and planned beach excursion in Cabo San Lucas. And when I see in the paper again that Maddux was denied his 350th career win, I read between the lines. "There is no big picture in baseball," he said. "Everything is right now...The big picture is what you do now." He is so right.

Besides, what are the alternatives...keep my kids from attending college? Never going in the ocean again? Stop watching baseball?

That is what I find most unacceptable.




Posted by Sam at 10:52:11 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Everything Is Gonna Be Alright

Bob Marley got me through college.

No, I am not talking about contraband. I mean Bob Marley and his band, The Wailers, and their prophet-like words (lyrics). They played to me at times when I really, really needed to hear them.

I'm a liberal arts girl, and although while in college I excelled in math, science classes reduced me to a stressed-out, blubbering mess, especially before exam time. I couldn't even re-sell my Human Anatomy textbook because I threw it against the wall so many times during the semester of hell in which I tried to read it.

But the day before my myology exam - the exam which scared me the most - I found and picked up a penny (heads, not tails, up) right outside of the classroom. More importantly, that morning, at work, I had heard a song I'd listened to hundreds of times, but the words had never sunk in.

I was standing in the employee lounge where I worked, getting coffee, and the speakers were tuned in to a local station, 91X, that played "No Woman, No Cry."

Bob Marley sung, over and over, "Everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright, everything is gonna be alright..."

And it was.  Bob Marley songs became a sign for me. I would often hear "Three Little Birds" on the bus I took to class at UCSD ("Three Little Birds" also  reassures me that "every little thing...is gonna be alright"). Before boarding planes, I'd hear Bob Marley at Starbucks. Before my very first sonogram, I heard Marley in my car. On my very last exam in college, I wrote at the bottom, Thank You Bob!. I knew it wouldn't have an impact on my final grade, and I felt it necessary to write a thank you note somewhere appropriate, not only to Marley and his lyrics, but to the Divine force that put Marley in places I could hear him.

When I graduated from college, I noticed these lyrics in other songs. Old songs, new songs, the verses manifested like magic. While hubby and I were planning our wedding, broke but happy, we'd sing "Danny's Song" by Kenny Loggins, at times we were sure no one could hear us. Most people only sing the first two lines of the chorus in Danny's Somng, teetering off at "...I'm so in love with you, honey..." because it's very sentimental to sing Kenny Loggins songs unless you are Kenny Loggins. But if you keep singing or listening very carefully, he says "Everything is gonna be alright."

And it was. And it is.

Marley could keep me calm before an exam, and I believed Kenny Loggins when he said love can run on it's own evergy and not necessarily money in the bank. But parenthood, what a different story. Nothing I read - or wrote - in college preapred me for that. Even the strongest marriages get shaken up with the change that a child brings. With my first little vulnerable baby, I was scared all the time. I would stay up at night and just look at him sleeping, praying and promising that I would never let anything happen to my little guy. He was so fragile.

Like a little bird.

I had Marley in my CD changer, and I still played "Danny's Song", though I sung "House at Pooh Corner" to the baby. It's not a leap to say I was an anxious first-time mother and what I needed was a new sign to renew my faith in things.

"Lullaby" by Shawn Mullins was serendipity over the air waves. It found me - and put my baby to sleep - with the coveted lyrics..."Everything is gonna be alright," with a "rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye..." thrown in to make it sweeter like honey stirred into warm tea. And as you may know, I do not believe in coincidence.  

It's no coincidence I have three little (ceramic) birds on my front porch, in addition to the other three little birds, Alex, Zoe and Melia who live in this musical nest with hubby and me. It's no coincidence that someone or something somehow hears what's inside my head and my heart and responds accordingly with melodic words, the easiest way to reach me. It's no coincidence that I have heard all of these songs in the last week, when I am stirring, stirring like usual, at one turning point or another.

What is called by some a coincidence, or serendipity, is really a sign, that everything is designed, everything is part of a plan, and even if it may seem scary at first, everything, every little thing, is gonna be alright.

I promise you a penny.
Posted by Sam at 12:01:28 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Shark Dreams

I was five years old when Jaws came out. My grandfather took me to see it and typical of my Grandpa, he fell asleep as soon as he sat in a chair ; a chair in a movie theater, a patio chair next to the grill, or the rocking chair in my parent's living room so he wouldn't have to listen to my Grandmother. So I sat in the theater - alone, basically except for the sound of Grandpa's snoring - petrified, but unable to look away from the unintentional Hitchcockian-type scary movie that was based on a true story, well written, and superbly acted. 

Today, it remains my favorite movie still. Every Memorial Day, July 4th and Labor Day I scan through the online television guide to see if it is on cable - TNT, TMC, whatever - because I like it more when it is on television as opposed to watching it n DVD or DVR, for the same reason I am thrilled when my favorite song comes on the radio, although I have the CD in my disc changer. 

But I digress.

The mechanical shark in Jaws left an imprint in my developing childish mind. I have had recurring dreams about sharks since I was a child. To this day I have these shark dreams when life is plodding along happily and without any joy obstructions. Sometimes these dreams expectedly show up in my REM cycle when stress is pulsing through me quicker than oxygen and reason. I can count on shark dreams during Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, but those are more benign and scientific. 

In my shark dreams, I am chased, pursued while water skiing, they appear beneath the surface as I stand on a sinking boat, circle me as I am treading clear - sometimes murky - water, and do their gliding thing all around me as I sail in wooden, white day boats indicative of a New England Cape town.  

I love the ocean, but it's inhabitants scare me so much. I can't stay away from the water, but fear for our safety every time I am near it. Sharks, tsunamis, rogue waves, rip currents, random accidents involving sting rays flying into boats...danger, danger everywhere. Two fatal shark attacks in one week on the Pacific Coast - one in my city for the first time in 50 years - and I'm ready to stay in the pool and not go to the beach all summer long.

So last night, the big great white that has visited me so often in my subconscious mind since childhood paid me a dreamland visit again.  I was at the beach with my husband and children. I was on the shore, my husband and two of my three kids in the water. I scanned the surface for shark fins, and guess what? I found one.

I dreamed it. I made it happen.  I guess you say the seed was planted years ago but I nourished my own nightmare because my mind is strangely quirked that way. 

After I yelled "SHARK!" in my dream, and I think everyone got out of the water fine, I said to the shark, "There you are," calmly. "Here I am. Have you seen me now? Am I free to go?" he replied (I'm sure it's a he, it was a male voice I heard). "Yeah.  See ya," I said. He swam away, the tail fin making two strokes, "See," and "Ya". 

The sharks never get me, or anyone else (well, once my dreams replayed the Quint getting eaten scene when I was 22 years old). They're always just there, reminding me that beauty coexists with caution. Realistically saying to me that worry is my drug, obsession is my fix. And showing me that I don't control everything, however hard I may try. Death is imminent, but not around every corner. So shut up, Sam, dream a happy dream...let the fascination of an awesome creature move you into respect, and let fear swim in the other direction.

I woke up at 3:30 am, like I usually do, and knew I had a choice; calm my mind and go back to sleep, or stay awake, obsessing about this or that, until it was time to get out of bed and get the kids ready for school. 

With a sleepy but successful focus, I was able to go back to sleep after my latest shark dream. And after that shark dream, I had a different dream about filet mignon and baked potatoes. I looked into the brown eyes of someone I know in this dream and I said, "I love meat and potatoes," as I sliced pieces of filet to equal the number of hot, buttered, sour creamed baked potato pieces waiting for me. I enjoyed a meal in my dream with no fear of judgement or calories. With no worry.

I still have the 10,000 Dreams Interpreted book I got for my 16th birthday. It sits on a shelf, in three diferent pieces, but still held together by the red and black cover. It was useful to me once, but I don't think I need it anymore.

Posted by Sam at 08:34:08 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

55 Strawberries, 9 Years, Gratitude Check

5:00 am - I arise and start melting chocolate in a double boiler.
5:10 am - I finish my coffee.
5:15 am - I am done with my coffee and begin dipping 55 ripe, crimson red, luscious local, coastal strawberries into dark chocolate (a little heavy cream added for gloss).
6:00 am - I walk into my son's room with a card, singing "Happy Birthday."
6:01 am - Not morning person son screams "STOP SINGING!".
6:02 am - I depart son's room after gently placing the card on his nightstand.
6:30 am - Present dressed son with scrambled eggs, bacon and maple & brown sugar Cream of Wheat he requested for his birthday morning breakfast. He eats Cream of Wheat only.
7:30 am - Drop son and older daughter off at school.
7:45 am - Make deposit at bank.
8:30 - 9:30 am - Spinning class in which I simultaneously try to calm and balance my physical and inner self while planning out the rest of my (son's birth)day while listening to "I LIKE TO MOVE IT MOVE IT" over the gym class speakers.
10:45 am - In shower while toddler watches Caillou on Sprout, neighbor calls from work and asks if I can get her daughter from school because she is cold and just finished STAR testing and wants to come home.
10:45 - 10:55 am - Before leaving the house, sweep up crushed Goldfish crackers and an unmentionable ...thing... my toddler decided to crush into the carpet.
11:09 am - Leave junior high school with neighbor's daughter, on my way to son's classroom.
11:14 am - Pick older daughter up from Kindergarten classroom and ask teacher if she can join us in my son's classroom for the chocolate covered strawberries I made at 5:00 am.
11:17 am - Arrive in son's classroom, sing Happy Birthday without getting yelled at, take pictures, hand out strawberries to students, get coaxed into making white chocolate covered strawberries on the last day of school.
11:30 am - School dismissal.
11:35 am - Son gives left over strawberries to his "bro's" in the next class.
11:45 am - Back home. Too tired to make even chicken dinos. Order pizza for son since it's his birthday. Get older daughter ready for her friend's birthday party at 1:30.  Leave voice mail for husband "PLEASE GET HOME EARLY I NEED YOU HERE!"
12:13 pm - Decide to plan the rest of my day - including one baseball practice, one t-ball game, a celebratory dinner at my son's favorite restaurant and hopefully a drive thru stop at Starbucks for a doppio - while blogging.
12:15 pm - Pizza delivered by a young kid with a KORN belt buckle. Tell kids to clean up rooms or they get no pizza.
12:17 pm - Son dictates what is watched on tv.  It's his birthday, no one argues (for once). Husband calls and says he's held up at work. Go to Plan B, I usually have one.
12:21 pm - Emotional, physical and mental status check: Gee, my day is pretty charmed. My life is pretty good. I am exhausted - everyday seems to get busier as I squeeze more things into it - but is that my biggest complaint? Definitely not. But I know enough to know even the happiest people wage silent wars in the background and inside. But they are still happy, I note. Follow Plato's advice. Be kind to everyone, including myself, and emphatically to my son. He gets a pass on everything except beating up his 6 year old sister. Nine years ago I was gifted with this little guy, and began my parenting journey. I remind myself that it is exhausting. I say a quick prayer that it never, ever ends. I did all that in one minute? No wonder I'm tired.
12:29 pm - Concede to my sensible self, wrap up my blog and start on the dishes. At least I got to write a little today, even if it was just my blog. As I fall asleep tonight (can that be right now?), I will map out my writing schedule for tomorrow, my day off from the gym, no practices, no games, older kids at school, just me, my laptop, the laundry, my toddler, and Caillou. Make myself a note to send out bills.
But today, what is left of it, Happy Birthday to My Son, Happy Every Day, to me.



Posted by Sam at 12:37:24 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Gotta Cook (and an Egg Salad recipe)

When our phone has rung before 7:00 in the morning, besides jumping frantically upright and saying to my husband "Somebody died, somebody died!!", I'm mentally in another place besides half-asleep doomsdaying...I'm already in the kitchen cooking to placate the effects of the imagined disaster.

When I know someone who has fallen ill, had an accident, or just a routine cold, I'm ashamed to say my first response - even before I ask "Are you alright?" - is "Do you need me to make you dinner?".

When someone tells me there is a get-together, party, or gathering of people to celebrate something, before I even check my calendar to see if I am available, I unconsciously ask, "What can I bring?", and I am most definitely not volunteering to make goody-bags.

I want a reason to cook. I want to put food - lots of it - in front of people and get feedback.  I am always hoping other people have brought their culinary specialties so I can acquire new fabulous recipes to add to my repertoire.

I'm a culinary martyr, opportunist, and worker bee.

Why is that, I wonder. Is it ethnic? Let's see, I'm a WASP, also Jewish, baptized Greek Orthodox so there is no way to tell. Is it genetic? Good question, because people in my family transport casseroles in Pyrex dishes as well as send 'In Sympathy' cards. Inconclusive. Is it media-influenced? Maybe, I love when Daryl Hannah, in the movie Steel Magnolias, says "It's in the 'Freezes Beautifully' section of my cookbook and I want to make something for their family that freezes beautifully!"

Right now I have chicken in the slow cooker and also eggs hard-boiling, and why? In case I can be useful, I guess. Because it's something I do well, I suppose. Because it's easier for me to deliver to someone shredded chicken with mango-chipotle barbeque sauce, and a side of mango salsa in Tupperware than it is to look them straight in the eye, let down my defenses, and say, "Incidentally, and despite my best efforts to the contrary, you've gotten to me."

I just have a problem saying things like that.

But if you're hungry, sick, really like food, or planning an event, I'm your huckleberry.

EGG SALAD
6-7 eggs, hard-boiled
1 tsp. mustard powder
1 tsp. coarse grain salt
1/2 tsp. white pepper
1/2 tsp. cayenne
1/2 tsp. paprika
3-4 tbsp. mayonnaise (you may like less)
1 tbsp. yellow mustard (I do this because hubby likes to go heavy on mustard)

Mix all ingredients, except for hard-boiled eggs, together.
Dice hard-boiled eggs.
Add to mayo-mustard-spice concoction.

The Egg Salad can be scooped onto lettuce leaves (I prefer Romaine or Butter Lettuce), into hollowed out tomatoes, and of course spread in between bread slices (French Bread works well, it's inviting). It'll keep up to 4 days in the fridge, if it lasts that long. Egg Salad is very comforting, and to keep up or regain your strength, protein is essential. 

Be well =)
Posted by Sam at 11:01:20 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Friday, April 18, 2008

Sunshine Induced Insanity & Artichoke Pesto

I can't stay inside today, just can't. It's prematurely summer here. And it's Friday. Signs of seasonal, sunshine induced insanity are everywhere, I've been listening to recent reactions.

This past Saturday, my girlfriend Yesenia told me that I had to boss my wisteria around or I would get no bloom. "Listen, you give me the billowy purple blossoms I long for, the ones like I see in Sunset or Southern Living magazines, or I'll rip you out from the ground, you understand me?" I felt crazy saying that to a plant, but it felt good.

Last night, Matt Vasgersian, Padres announcer said, "If we are here 17 innings tonight, I am going to eat my hat." When I woke up this morning, saw that the game had gone to 22 innings (longest in 15 years), my husband asked me, "Do you think Vasgersian ate his hat?" 
"No, I think Mark Grant [the other Padres announcer] probably ate Matt Vasgersian," I replied, to which we both laughed, simultaneously, no subconscious was that was a stupid joke? discomfort, just the type of laughter shared by two people who know each other very well.

During dinner yesterday, my daughter, Zoe said, "Momma, I just can't stop eating this food whatever it is, I know it's healthy and good for me because it's green so can I eat it all plllleeeeeeeeeeezzze?" Watching her down that artichoke pesto - comprised of pine nuts, parmesan, and olive oil wrapped around and through whole wheat penne - I bounced a bit on my tippie toes with a wooden spoon in my hand. I am winning the battle against sugar and helping to build a healthy little person. I let her eat it all and my husband was so pissed.

I don't care how silly things look or sound sometimes.  Feeling good is good enough. I forget how good the sunlight feels warming my skin after windy, overcast days. I am always surprised at how sweet artichokes can be, especially the ones I grow in the vegetable garden besides my bedroom.  I drink in my children's appetite for life, and food, and this is why I spend so much time talking to botanicals and toasting pine nuts.

These are the things I am supposed to footnote in my script. These are the gifts I asked for as I rubbed my belly, bursting with baby. These are the things I'll remember as the sun goes down.

I can't stay inside today, I need more.

ARTICHOKE PESTO
 (rough estimates)
1 jar of artichoke hearts, in oil (do not drain the oil)
1/2 cup toasted pine nuts
1/2 cup parmesan cheese (not the powdered stuff!  I use Grana Padano)
Dash coarse grain salt
1/2 bunch Italian parsley

Add all ingredients in a blender or Cuisinart. Pulse, pulse, pulse until smooth. Pour over pasta or eat with a baguette. It's really that easy.




Posted by Sam at 12:02:38 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Thursday, April 17, 2008

You May Not Say "Project" To Me, Got It?

I dislike projects.  I rebel against structure.  I want to do my own thing, according to my own spontaneous, random whims, and the only deadlines I can handle are the ones I set for myself (not even those).

So it drains my creative energy and sometimes even joy measure when I have to do a report with my kids for school, or when the hall closet becomes so packed with items that it barely shuts.

Nevertheless, I acknowledge the way the world works, which is why I have posted on my fridge a long but realistic to-do list. Item #1: my son's Earth Day report.

We have to travel to four regions; desert, mountain, ocean, and river valley to observe, photograph, and describe in paragraph form 20 indigenous plants and animals. We've known about this since last September. We're (almost) halfway done with it now (Earth Day is on April 22nd). I guess we have to apply some structure for the next few days, some focused intention, and ignore any whims that dare creep into our time accounted for days.

Damn.

But I accepted it, I did. I plotted out the next week in my day planner, I embraced the projects with gratefulness and an "I'll feel so good when it's done!" attitude, even though I waited until the kids went to bed before complaining to my husband, "WHY do they have so much homework, do the teachers think we have nothing else to do?" Poor little me.

Then the report got postponed....by 3 weeks! 

I am so self-absorbed I thought I was being rewarded for maturely encouraging academic diligence. Truth is, I despise projects as much as my kids. What kind of Mom am I, excited that I get to avoid the hard stuff for three more weeks? What kind of Mom am I, I have preferences? 

I guess I am who I am. I guess I've stopped beating myself up about it. I think, we all get along just fine, and I submit as often as I look a gift horse in the mouth.

About the only project I like right now is my life. I don't mark it my day planner because it just has a way of happening...and it's probably the only project that holds my interest.
 


Posted by Sam at 12:10:04 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

You Had Me at Nutmeg

I am determined to make Thai food at home that tastes similar to - no, better than - the Thai food I get in the restaurants.

I've eaten Thai food for years, I've watched Food Network Thai specific shows, and I've read Thai cookbooks. I know my subject matter, and I know how to improvise. And I get lucky sometimes.

But for years in the kitchen cooking Thai food, I experienced let down after let down, or missing ingredients that left the wrong after taste lingering, and fear of culinary failure that kept me from completing a fantastic Thai dish.

I decided it was time for that to change.

I stood at a local organic market last week in the Asian foods aisle, and as I looked at all of the different ingredients, I could feel a great entree being born in my mind. I could buy Pad Thai sauce, of course, but that is a short cut I didn't want to take. I could wait until I was more prepared, come to the store with a list of ingredients from a downloaded recipe, but I didn't want to wait that long to savor Thai flavors. The only concession I was willing to make was to buy Thai seasoning in a bottle, like I do when making a pasta sauce with Italian herbs, or Herbs de Provence with roasted chicken.  That's not really cheating. 

So I read the list of ingredients on the Thai seasoning blend...sesame seeds, chili pepper, coriander, onion, red pepper, shrimp extract, garlic, cinnamon, nutmeg (NUTMEG!!), lemon oil.

Into the shopping cart the Thai seasoning went.  I love nutmeg, I get absolutely drunk from the scent of it, and I add it to anything I can, except for maybe my Special K Red Berries in the morning. But I have considered doing that.

So confidently, I attempted the Thai signature dish that was destined for me and a new family recipe.  When I took the boneless, skiness chicken breasts from the package and placed them in the slow cooker, I did something I don't normally do...I measured what I added and wrote it in recipe form. I owe my amiga Karrie a Thai recipe, and I felt I needed to be precise.

What I turned out was a Thai dish I was proud of, that I liked more than any Pad Thai I have ever purchased, and albeit a long list of ingredients, something I am going to make for years to come.  It is just as good cold as it is warm - hubby took it for lunch the following day and ate it like a cold noodle salad - it is low fat, and most of the work is done by marinating and the slow cooker.  I would call it Slow Cooker Thai Chicken (boring) but I like to call it, You Had Me at Nutmeg. Because that was not the source of my inspiration, but concreted my intuition. Nutmeg is synonymous with euphoria for me, each time I taste or smell it, it's like falling in love. And perhaps what was missing from my previous attempts at Thai food was nutmeg, an ingredient I never anticipated, but brought all of the flavors together harmoniously in the end. In fact, I think there should be a day named after nutmeg, and the vanilla bean too (and a holiday for chocolate, but that is another blog).

So here is the recipe...enjoy.

YOU HAD ME AT NUTMEG Thai Slow Cooker Chicken
For the marinade and cooking sauce...
3-4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
(2) 14 oz. cans coconut milk
Zest and juice of 1 lime
1 tbsp. fish sauce (yes, I know it stinks, use it anyway)
1/2 tbsp. dark soy sauce
2 tbsp. Hoisin sauce
1 tbsp. Thai seasoning (see ingredients above if you can't find a bottle of it)
1/4 cup miso paste
Coarse grain salt, a dash

For the final dish...
1 package rice noodles (the thick ones) cooked according to package directions
1 cup unsalted peanuts, smashed
2 tbsp. fresh ginger, minced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 bunch fresh cilantro, chopped
1 cucumber, julienned or grated on cheese grater
3 carrots, shredded or grated on cheese grater
Red pepper flakes to taste (I used about 1 tsp.)
2 tbsp. rice wine vinegar
2 tbsp. Hoisin Sauce
3 tbsp. sweet chili sauce (if you can't find any in the store, here is a link to a recipe...http://www.recipezaar.com/120670)
1 tsp. sesame oil
Juice of 1 lime

Optional: scrambled egg, bean sprouts, dried shrimp

Marinate chicken overnight.  Add the chicken plus the marinade into the slow cooker.  Cook on low setting, 8 hours.  When done, shred chicken using 2 forks.

When chicken is shredded, place in bowl and add: ginger, garlic, red pepper flakes, sesame oil, rice wine vinegar, Hoisin sauce, sweet chili sauce, and lime juice. Mix well. Set aside.

Cook rice noodles. When done, drain noodles and place in serving dish. To keep the noodles from sticking, you may want to add a little seasme oil or canola oil to them. 

Add chicken mixture over rice noodles.  Top with cucumber, carrots, peanuts and cilantro.

And as Sandra Bullock as Sally says in Practical Magic...
...Throw salt over your right shoulder
Plant lavender for luck
and fall in love whenever you can...


Posted by Sam at 17:31:47 | Permanent Link | Comments (0) |