Category: Life

Cooking for Studly: A Rousing…

Success!

I’ve had three lovely glasses of wine, and can now report that dinner was a huge hit. Studly walked in the door and declared something “smelled good enough to eat!’ Thank goodness, since that was the intended purpose.

Truthfully, I thought the chicken was slightly overcooked, but Studly Doright declared it was just right. He is a fan of the slightly overcooked, you see. The seasonings were absolutely perfect. I believe I’ll add a little olive oil to the mix next time, maybe that will make it a little more moist. I’m open to suggestions.

There is one thing that’s missing–someone to clean the kitchen. I hardly ever have to do the clean up when we go out for dinner.

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Studly gave the meal two thumbs up!

Peace, people!

Cooking for Studly: In Progress

My roast chicken and potatoes are in the sixth hour of slow cooking. The odors emanating from the crockpot are seriously mouth watering. Since I could no longer resist the instruction manual’s admonition against lifting the lid, I did so very briefly. Mmmmmm.

The chicken is tender and appears to be as potentially tasty as it looks. Now is the time my anxiety kicks into high gear. In my limited cooking experience I tend to screw a meal up in the final stages of cooking. So the time is ripe for doing something ill-advised.

I never know what form the screw up will take–over cooking? Under cooking? Dropping said meal? Realizing too late that the instructions were continued on another page that I didn’t read? Opening the lid one too many times? Oh yes, I’ve done them all, and more.

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Damn! I opened the lid again, but I need input. How does it look to an experienced cook? I wish I had an “add aroma” button on the iPad.

Studly should be home around 5 p.m. Eastern time. I’ll cook corn and put together a salad to complete the meal. And just for good measure, I’ll have a fortifier, or two, ready. Tell me, white whine or Blue Moon or both? I think both.

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What’s the old adage, “Cooking Lasts, Kissing Don’t”? I’m planning on puckering up anyway, just in case the cooking goes awry.

Here’s the recipe:

Slow Cooker Roast Chicken and Potatoes
Serves 4

1 whole chicken, skinned (4-5lbs.)
4-5 garlic cloves (Studly doesn’t much care for garlic, so I used only 2)
1 onion, quartered
4-5 golden potatoes
2 tsp. Kosher salt
1 tsp. Paprika
1 tsp. Onion powder
1/2 tsp. Dried thyme
1 tsp. Italian seasoning
1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp. black pepper (I used freshly ground pepper because I feel chef-like turning the grinder.)

1. Scrub potatoes, prick with fork, wrap in foil, and place in bottom of slow cooker.
2. Clean, skin, and rinse chicken; pat dry.
3. Stuff cavity with onion and garlic.
4. Combine seasonings and rub over chicken.
5. Place chicken over potatoes, breast down.
6. Cook on high 4-5 hours or on low for 8 hours.

Because I’m really slow at prep work, I got the chicken ready last night, and let it hang out in the fridge wrapped in foil. I sure hope that was ok.

Peace, People!

Cooking for Studly: The Adventure Begins

Today is the day! If you’ve followed my blog at all you know that I am:

1) a 58 year old narcissist
2) married for 38 years to a man I lovingly call Studly Doright, and
3) about to embark on a long overdue adventure in cooking for Studly.

By cooking, I mean real, healthy “cooked at home” meals. Heretofore, my cooking has consisted mainly of heating things in the microwave and making reservations at my favorite restaurants. I excel at both.

In preparation I’ve bought some kitchen gadgets. I even know what some of them are.

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I’ve also solicited advice from friends and complete strangers. Pinterest has been consulted. I’ve got this.

Here are my choices for tonight’s dinner:

1) Chicken Tortilla Soup
2) Chicken Stroganoff
3) Roast Chicken and Potatoes

Notice a commonality? Yep, chicken. That’s because Studly really likes chicken and very little else.

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I am open to suggestions for future healthy, EASY meals for two. Just keep in mind that Studly will not consume seafood of any kind, any type of pasta with marinara sauce, ground turkey, meat loaf, mushrooms, any vegetables except for corn and green beans.

He does like plain old steak and potatoes, some Mexican food, rice, and the aforementioned chicken. If food poisoning doesn’t kill us, boredom most likely will.

Wish me luck, and send recipe suggestions! My life might be in your hands.

Peace, People!

IMPORTANT!

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Judging from the mail we receive everything is either URGENT, IMPORTANT, or requires our IMMEDIATE ATTENTION! If it weren’t for important mail, we’d get no mail at all.

Final offer!
Don’t delay!
Send money now,
You need to pay.

Important info.,
Warranty expired
Sensitive materials
Attention required.

Immediate action
Subscription ends
Please respond and
Tell your friends!

Presence requested
Don’t hesitate
Your lucky number
Past due date.

Our last notice
Final contest
It’s no wonder
We’re all stressed!

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Join Me, Won’t You?

The older I get the more I realize I am averse to commitment. It’s not that I have anything against groups or clubs or associations, it’s just that I don’t want to be a part of any of them. Or maybe I subscribe to Groucho Marx’s rule of thumb concerning club membership:

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Most of my adult life I wanted to be part of a book club. After three months of club membership I was ready to call it quits. The other members were lovely, the book picks intriguing, and the conversation lively, but on the downside I felt had to ATTEND. And I had to read the books someone else chose within a predetermined time frame. I did enjoy the wine, though.

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One of the longest commitments I managed was to the sorority, Beta Sigma Phi. The camaraderie was great and I developed lasting friendships, but had Studly not urged me to continue my membership, I’d have opted out in the first year. I did enjoy the wine, though.

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I could list a dozen groups to which I’ve belonged for less than a year. Heck, for less than a month. I’m not sure what this says about me as a person. I like the idea of belonging to a group, just not the reality. I might be open to joining a wine club, though. Anyone want to come with me? No commitment necessary.

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Peace, people!

Tarzan and the TV Evangelist

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Around the time I was four my family lived in Lubbock, Texas, in a two-bedroom rental house with wood floors. I remember the floors clearly because I spent a lot of time planted on my butt in front of the television set on Sunday mornings watching a) Tarzan, b) televangelists, or c) both of the above.

To say my choices in TV viewing were limited is an understatement. We only had access to three stations at the time and two of the three featured oily preachers eager to snatch pennies from a gullible preschooler’s piggy bank. I remember begging my mom to allow me to send all of my money to these showmen who seemingly worked miracles of Biblical proportions, and who would gladly work more if they just had more funding. My mom was nobody’s fool, though, and she gave me a lesson in ‘con men for Christ,’ one I’ve never forgotten: the slicker the hair, the sicker the con.

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The other available station ran a Tarzan movie every Sunday morning. I loved Tarzan, Cheetah, and Jane (in that order). I could emulate the ape man’s famous yell even better than Carol Burnett in her prime. For much of my childhood my pretend play revolved around living in a treehouse high up within the canopy of the African jungle with a chimpanzee while avoiding evil hunters and rallying the wildlife to save the day, always just in the nick of time. Like Tarzan I could communicate with elephants and lions and wrestle crocodiles and snakes. I was pretty amazing for a four year old.

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While Mom and Dad had the opportunity to sleep in on Sunday I rabidly flipped between Oral Roberts and Tarzan, alternately observing faked miracles and faked animal footage. Thank goodness I never got Tarzan and Oral Roberts mixed up! Of course Mom probably would have let me send money to Tarzan, and Reverend Roberts might have been quite compelling in a loincloth.

Peace, People!

Gift

I have this
Weapon in my
Arsenal.
A .22 caliber
Walther pistol,
Black, sleek,
Potentially deadly, an
Unexpected gift
Given by someone
Who loves me, but
Does not always
Know me.
In the middle of the
Night after
Opening this gift
I woke up in a
Cold sweat;
Shivering from the
Weight of
Responsibility.

Now, I cannot bring
Myself to
Hold, or
Load, or
Fire, or even
Look at the
Damned thing.
Yet,
It takes up
Valuable
Space in my
Home.
Space that would be
Better served by
Books and
Poetry about
Peace, and
Love, and
Dragons, and
Rock and roll.

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http://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2015/01/defensive-gun-ownership-myth-114262.html?ml=m_t3_2h#.VLhdIdS9KK3

Perspective

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Sometimes up is down
All depends on where one’s bound
Adventure awaits

I seldom attempt haiku, but there was a challenge circulating on WordPress, and I can never pass up a good challenge. Funny thing is, I’m not exactly sure what the rules of the challenge were. It had something to do with the picture of the escalator and a haiku. I think. Is there a prize???

Hey, Good Lookin’! What Ya’ Got Cookin’?

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In just a week my “full time/part time” job will be at an end. Yea! I will continue administering assessments to 2, 3, and 4-year-olds at various preschools in the area, but I’m stepping away from the intervention arena.

My new gig won’t pay as much, but it will truly be a flexible, part time role. Studly is fine with me making less money, as long as, (drumroll) I take on all of the cooking duties.

I don’t cook. It’s basically against my religion. Twice a year, on Thanksgiving and Christmas, I ignore the basic tenet (thou shalt not cook) of The No Cook Cathedral of the Coast and prepare a meal. This might not seem like a big deal to some, but in my religion it’s basically the same as ignoring the commandments against infidelity and idol worship.

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My culinary skills are pretty basic. I can boil water. I am qualified to operate a can opener. I’m surprisingly adept at microwaving. But, the stove is off limits unless I have adult supervision. And knives are a no-no. No–a NO-NO-NO!! If I had a dollar for every time I’d sliced into some portion of my hand I’d be able to retire comfortably to a remote Caribbean island, and perhaps purchase a prosthetic appendage.

But I’m going to take Studly up on his offer. I’m going to refute my no cooking religion and embark on a new adventure: Cooking for Studly. Heaven help us both. Speaking of which I’ll probably need to find a new religion, too.

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Peace, People!

Ocean

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Ocean

Messages of anger,
Hate, and despair
Tucked in blown glass
Riding atop
Waves of arguments:
He said!
But they were!
You should!
All rebuffed with
Words of hope,
Love, and peace.
Wrested from the
Brink of anguish
Cresting swells of
Sweet, sweet
Acceptance for
Ourselves and others,
Our lives and loves,
Without a care for
What any might
Think or say.

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