Sunday, May 31, 2009

Someone else must have thought of this

Strawberry Shortcakes. For breakfast.

Think about it. Fruit, dairy, bread...just like having yogurt with fruit and toast, only much, much yummier. I tried it this morning.

Brilliant idea. If I do say so myself.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Pizza nite

What's the best way to spend $1.50? How about turning your kitchen into a pizzeria? OK, you might have to spring for the sauce ($2), cheese ($3.50) and some toppings (optional, as far as my kids go, but maybe another $5), but you don't have to tip anybody, and it tastes great!

Other things you can do with the $1.49 bag of plain pizza dough from Trader Joes:

1. Make instant focaccia bread. Prepare dough as for pizza, but form into rectangle and place in small cookie sheet. Make some imprints with your finger, so it looks authentic if anyone cares. Brush lightly with olive oil, sprinkle with herbs of your choice and some salt. Bake for 15 minutes at 375. Or make pesto focaccia, by spreading the dough with some fresh pesto instead of the olive oil and herbs.

2. Make cinnamon sticks. Cut dough into 10-12 small pieces. Roll each piece out by hand into a rope about 6-8 inches long and about 1/2 inch thick. Place on cookie sheet covered with parchment or a silpat. Have some melted butter and cinnamon sugar standing by. Bake plain sticks for about 5-7 minutes at 375, until just beginning to brown. Brush with a little butter, sprinkle on a little cinnamon, and return to the oven for 2 minutes. When they come out, drizzle each stick with a little more melted butter, then roll the whole thing in a tray of cinnamon sugar. Churros, anyone?

NOTE: Their pizza sauce is terrific. I often keep an extra to throw in the pot when I'm making meat sauce for pasta.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

What not to pull out of your Netfilx queue when you want to cheer up your husband after a tough day at the office

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead

Not a pick me up. In fact, it just makes everything seem so bleak that you wish the Devil knew all about these people and put them out of their misery when they were toddlers.

Now we'll need to go see Up twice.

Supporting player with star qualities

Like an under-appreciated character actor in Hollywood, it's tough being the side dish sometimes. Even the name is belittling, relative to "main dish" or even the sophisticated, sexy "entreƩ"*. No one ever says, "We're having potato salad for dinner!" But make no mistake, these humble characters are often the best thing on the plate.

Case in point:

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Curse you!

I recently received this e-mail:

"Okay, I'm completely addicted to Huckleberry's salted caramel bars. They're about 2 by 3 inch bars of short bread cookie dough topped with 1/2 an inch of amazing not to sweet not too burnt caramel which has two or five little specs of salt on top. If you cut a bite out and turn it so the salt hits your tongue first, you will cry over how good they are. If there was ever one person on this planet that must try these, it is you my friend. And if you can't get to Huckleberry, I will get you one the next time I go, which might just be tomorrow."

Not only did she go, she brought a tray full of them to my barbecue.

I have a new name for this friend of mine: Crack dealer.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

A few telltale signs that it's just about summer time

1. Gas prices go up for no valid reason
2. Teachers have ceased assigning any meaningful amount of homework, giving you children with way too much time on their hands several weeks before camp starts
3. After a bunch of two hour season finales, every show worth watching is in repeats
4. It's way too late to lose that extra 20 pounds in time for getting in a swimsuit, but you have an outside chance of taking it off in time for putting on a parka
5. Basketball season is getting interesting
6. The grill is on!

All of the above happened here this weekend, so we stayed home (#1), put the kids in the pool (#2), tuned into the NBA Playoffs (#3 and #5), whomped up a whole mess of great BBQ food (#6 and #4, since another few days of good eating won't hurt me), and had friends and family over to enjoy the day (a great idea year round).

Highly recommended.  As is this steak.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

When life gives you lemons

The dessert menu arrives. An apparently harmonious party of dining companions suddenly splits, decisively, into three distinct camps: The chocolate people, the vanilla people, and the fruit people. A smart restaurant will, of course, have a way to satisfy all three, hence the now standard after-dinner choices:

Flourless Chocolate Cake (camp chocolate)
Brownie sundae with hot fudge sauce (ditto)
Creme Brulee (camp vanilla)
Cheesecake (ditto)
Fresh Berry Crisp (camp fruit)
Lemon Tart (ditto)
Apple Pie (ditto)
Ice creams (chocolate, vanilla, fruit sorbets, something for everyone)

I am most definitely in Camp Fruit*, with brief forays into Camp Vanilla if caramelized sugar is involved. I also believe strongly that Camp Fruit can co-exist with Camp Vanilla when ice cream, vanilla sauce, or fresh whipped cream is attached to the fruit item, particularly if said fruit item is nice and warm, and the vanilla part starts to slowly melt and...

I digress. My point is, I've seen a lot of dessert menus in my time, and therefor I've had a lot of lemon tarts in my life. Having just put down my fork, I can now say with some authority and experience that I have just had one of the all-time great lemon tarts. Unbelievably good. As in RIDICULOUS. So when life gives you lemons, or even if you have to run out to the store and pick some up, make this Lemon Tart.

Adapted in part from Tartine, a great book for baking.

Friday, May 22, 2009

A letter from Lucy

A note left under my son's pillow by our tooth fairy.

California Dreamin'

Cell phone rings.

Me: Hello?
[Five to ten minutes pass]
Me: Uh huh.
[Another span of time. Pasta has boiled over.]
Me: Really?
[Rest of family tucking into dessert]
Me: Mm hmm.
[Water drains from bathtubs, toothbrushes put away]
Me: Isn't it getting late there?
[Infomercials begin on all major channels]
Me: Well, I have to get up in an hour or so. Can I call you back?
Husband, groggily: What did your sister want?

New message from my sister in my inbox.

Scroll down.
Scroll down.
Page down.
Scroll down.
Page down.
Paragraph break.
Scroll down.
Scroll down.
Final sentence: "More later!"

Chat box opens up.

Many sentences and smileys.
I start to type a reply.
Message from system: Your sister is typing...
Three subsequent conversations appear before I am able to reply to the first one.
Message from system: Your sister is typing...

Now she knows how to skype. I really hope we have enough bandwidth to handle it.

We go through all of this because she's in Michigan and we're out here, and we can't stand it. Especially since she's been kind enough to give birth to my niece, whom I adore more than I can possibly say, and to spoil my own kids rotten as their doting Auntie. Everyone in both families counts the days until they come out to visit, and cries our eyes out every time they leave again. Our biggest wish was that somehow they could move here, and we could all be together.

All I can say is, be careful what you wish for. Her husband did get transferred to a job 30 minutes from our house, and they sold their place in Michigan last month. But the plan went crazy from there. He's here, they are there, with her tenure track position, school obligations and the highly uncertain future for his company all contributing to keeping their little family unit miles apart. It's awful. On Tuesday, the moving truck came, and a five year old watched the only home she's ever known get boxed up and shipped out for storage.

I feel good and bad that the only thing that is apparently making this bearable is the idea of coming here.

My sister reported finding her daughter banging against the empty walls of her room. When she asked what was going on, the reply came: "I'm trying to push the house to California."

After her performance in a dance recital, offered anything she wanted as a celebration.
Her: Anything?
Her mom: Anything.
Her: Can we go to the airport and go to California?

Cell phone rings.

Me: Hello?
My niece: Hi Auntie Shar!
Me: Hi Honey! It was a big day today, huh? The moving trucks came.
Her: [Long pause] Would you prefer 5 or 6 weeks until we come to California?
Me: I would prefer 5 weeks. Or no weeks.
Her: Me, too.

Maybe it's Legoland, or the day at the Pier, her cousins or the dog or the pool that she's longing for, but I'm hoping it's the Auntie Shar part of California that she's clinging to, when everything else is falling apart.

More later.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Trivia Quiz

Cheesy Pennies Trivia Quiz #1

Q. Which of these memorable lines from a classic 1984 film was also a prominent part of today's message of the week?*
  1. "Why is there a watermelon there?" "I'll tell you later"
  2. "Laugh-a while you can, Monkey Boy"
  3. "Doomed is your soul and damned is your life"
  4. "No matter where you go, there you are"
  5. "Martians. In New Jersey."
  6. "Home is where you wear your hat"
  7. "Don't tug on that, you never know what it might be attached to "
  8. "Take her to the Pitt. Go, Big-booty. Use more honey. Find out what she knows."
A. No matter where you go, there you are.

The lesson for today: Be present in what you do, and make the most of your time! Maximize the impact of your efforts by being 100% invested in what you are doing right now. If you are at work, be at work. When you're with your family, don't get distracted by the computer or your blackberry (guilty! guilty! guilty!). Step into the gym and stay focused on your training. You can pick up your worries about what to get at the grocery store or Obama's health care plan after class. With focus comes results. And perhaps, even recognition from afar:

"May I pass along my congratulations for your great interdimensional breakthrough. I am sure, in the miserable annals of the Earth, you will be duly enshrined. "

*Extra credit if you can name the film without clicking on the link!

Monday, May 18, 2009

Two for one

When a new cooking magazine arrives in the mail, I tend to follow a fairly well-established ritual:

1. Be very excited that it wasn't more Pottery Barn catalogs clogging up the mailbox
2. Put the magazine aside until I have some quiet time to go through it
3. Turn on the bathroom fan and settle in
4. Dog-ear the pages that have a recipe I think sounds good
5. Put dog-eared magazine in the stack of other dog-eared magazines from prior months, and vow to clip and organize the recipes on the dog-eared pages into a handy notebook so I can easily whip something up when I get inspired to try a new dish
6. Consider going online and bookmarking the online version of the dog-eared recipes (so I don't have to do all that clipping) into a handy, easily indexed, searchable, personalized online collection so I can easily whip something up when I get inspired to try a new dish
7. Check my e-mail instead
8. Get take out
9. Eagerly await next month's issue

But this month, I took a whole new approach. I actually tried the dog-eared recipes before I put them in the stack. And you know what? Some of them sucked! I consider myself a pretty good judge of what might taste good, but I am fallible. Seriously fallible. Thank god! I might have been holding onto that cheddar cheese biscuit recipe for years, feeling guilty and overwhelmed by the ever-growing stack of dog-eared pages, but now I can straighten out that corner and just move on. It's liberating, I tell you. I feel great.

And the good recipes are coming straight onto this blog. Can you say indexed, searchable, personalized and online? I thought you could.

The unqualified winner this month? The Brown Butter Raspberry Tart.

The fixer upper of the month? Blueberry Jam Sandwich Cookies. Check out the original photo of these things in the magazine. Who could resist, right? Not me. I dive in.

I start with the jam. The recipe calls for boiling the berries, butter and pectin together. I don't know about you, but when I boil something, there's usually liquid involved. Fix number 1...add some lemon juice. Presto! Amazing jam.

Onto the cookies. Make as directed. Taste dough. Not nearly lemony enough. Apply fix number 1 again...add some lemon juice. Presto! Tasty, tangy shortbread cookies.

Now, the grand finale. Assembly into the delectable cookie sandwich bite so tantalizingly shown in the glossy photos. Yep. There they are. Beautiful. I take a nibble and realize that looks aren't everything. These two things have no business being together. Jam is squishy, cookies are crunchy, and it's just a big mess.

But I have been loving that jam on bread for days, and every single lemon cookie was gone within 24 hours.

Two recipes fixed up and adapted from one in the June Issue of Bon Appetit. Voila!

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Fairy failure

Things get lost a lot around here. My keys. The permission slip for today's field trip. The manual for the dryer. The cat. Most of these things are not supposed to disappear, and in fact are often happily relocated after you have turned the place upside down for an hour or so (the keys), uncrumpled all the paper in the trash (the permission slip), gone online and found a pdf (the manual) or loudly dumped some food in a dish (the cat).

We also seem to have lost an incredible number of teeth. By we, of course, I refer to the children. When they lose their first tooth, it is an occasion of celebration and much hoopla. All the wiggling and jiggling with their tongue, avoidance of corn on the cob and apples, and jovial teasing about strings and door handles and needle nose pliers. And when it falls out, circulating the photos with the adorable gap in the front to all the relatives and singing endless rounds of "All I want for Christmas..." even if it happens in July. It's all so innocent and cute. Until.

Madison got $2 from the tooth fairy
Dillon got a silver dollar from the tooth fairy
Ali got $20 from the tooth fairy

Call in to Ali's house: What the @#*/!? 20 bucks? What planet are you from? Do you understand that these kids are talking?

"Honey, everybody's tooth fairy is different. Let's just see what happens, OK?"

Our tooth fairy is named Lucy. She pays $2 normally, $3 for molars and an extra $1 if your tooth falls out on your birthday or on a major national holiday. She leaves notes written on colored stars (pink for her, orange for him) with silver writing. She dots her i's with hearts and loops her l's, unlike anyone else in our house. She's generous enough to leave a reward even if the lost tooth is on the blacktop at school or in a box of popcorn at the movies, so long as you leave her a note of explanation. She can have a local Michigan tooth fairy (a distant cousin of hers) handle things while you are away from home. She's been great, really, especially since she had no idea that her tour of duty would literally span close to a decade, and counting. She's a hard working fairy, but apparently she's not a psychic.

We had another round of loose teeth this month, with both kids poking around in their mouths and rotating the offending items at the dinner table. Finally, my daughter comes in beaming from school and announces that hers is out. We high five, and she sets about writing a note to Lucy. I look over at my son, and I notice that his is gone, too.

"Hey! Did you lose your tooth?"
He looks at me, a little sad, a little accusing, and a little triumphant, and says, "I lost it a couple of days ago. I put it under my pillow and nothing happened."


He turns 13 tomorrow. That's the official time when I'm supposed to realize he's not a kid anymore, and he's supposed to start being disappointed in me. But I know already that innocence is another thing that's been lost around here.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Two, Four, Six, Eight...

Who do we appreciate! Teachers! Teachers!
Yaaaaaay, teachers!
Surprisingly, when we parents offered to don outfits with kicky little skirts and take up our pom poms, these wise educators opted instead for a lunch of homemade goodies. Yay, teachers!*

Given the spread they got today, it's no wonder these folks put up with our kids so cheerfully all year. Luckily, you don't have to spend thousands of hours with my daughter to have your reward. Enjoy!

Monday, May 11, 2009

Nary a tater tot in sight

When I was in elementary school, hot lunch was pretty much something goopy with tater tots on the side, served by an old lady (someone at least 40, maybe 50) in a uniform. This trend in educational nutrition continued through upper school. Finally, in college, the genius introduction of a salad bar* to the dorm cafeteria seemed to signify that school lunch had, at last, become worthy of the name.

For my kids, this sordid history is their version of me saying I used to walk five miles to school in a blizzard or that we didn't have cell phones. They just don't believe it. Why? Because this is what they get for hot lunch in elementary school:
  • Hand-rolled sushi with edamame and jasmine rice
  • Pasta with made-from-scratch sauce, garlic bread and salad
  • Freshly grilled burgers, hot dogs, chips and fruit
  • Tacos with all the fixings
  • Roasted lemon-garlic chicken wings
  • Teriyaki skewers, pot stickers, and Popsicles
  • Tandoori chicken, pita bread and fresh veggies

I know. They're totally spoiled, but it's an amazing part of the school. Every Friday, parents come together in the kitchen, put on their aprons, and make a homemade hot meal for everyone. As a multi-year veteran of this system, I've worked this hot lunch thing from many angles. As a baker, dropping off my five dozen Toll House cookies on my way to work in the morning. As part of the pasta team, where I learned the secret of how to boil an absurd amount of water in time to feed 130 carb-crazed children (start early, and use every pot in the place). But now I know the place to be is the Tandoori Chicken team:
  • We've got the mood music (direct from India)
  • We've got people on the team who can set up chafing dishes in their sleep
  • We've got a former professional chef chopping our herbs
  • We've got ice cream for dessert
  • We've got incense burning on the patio
  • We've got homemade pesto and an avocado and tomato fresca sauce for our vegetarian pasta eaters
  • We've got the most delectable Teachers' Salad**
  • We've got the dishwashing system down to a science

But most of all, we've got Laila's famous chicken. Read 'em and weep, burger guys. Tandoori Chicken rules!

Mother's Day

Highlights for me:
  1. Sleeping in until 8:10
  2. Seeing how happy my mom was when we drove up to take her to brunch
  3. On the way to this same brunch, which by the way features a ridiculous dessert bar with a chocolate fountain and bowls full of gummy bears: "Mom, don't you think it would be a really good idea for us to go to Menchie's on the way home? Since it's Mother's Day, we'll get Dad to pay."
  4. Listening to a song my daughter composed for me on the piano
  5. Having this same girl turn to me, livid with rage, during a performance of Ain't Misbehavin': "Mom, I thought you said this was a play! All they are doing is singing! They haven't stopped singing since we got here. Nothing is happening! What kind of show is this, anyway? Jeez!" Long pause. She pats my arm. "At least you like it."
  6. Getting two solid hours to myself in the afternoon
  7. My mom: "You don't want dessert with your dinner tonight, do you?" Me: "Um, no, I guess I really don't."
  8. My son giving me the gift of a completely organized school backpack
  9. Winning the coveted Mother of the Year award
  10. My husband buying me a dozen roses when our yard is full of them

Friday, May 8, 2009

In which death is discussed and laughter ensues

Being an good mother, I decided it was an excellent idea to prepare the children ahead of time for the viewing on the day before the funeral. Consequently, I broached the topic as we were in the car headed to Forest Lawn Memorial Park.

Me: You two have never really been to a memorial service. What we're going to now is a viewing, where everyone can come and say their own good-bye to the person who died, and comfort his family. We're there to tell Elena how much we love her and miss her, but you should know that there will also be a dead body there.
My son: I have too been to a funeral.
Me: You were two, so I don't think you remember.
Him: But I have been to one.
My daughter: Was I there?
Him: No.
Me: Yes, but you were a little baby.
Her: See!
Me: So, you understand about the coffin?
Him: How can they do that? Won't the body be gross?
Me: Well, that's what morticians do. It's their job to get the body ready to be buried. Or, they can also get it ready to be cremated.
Her: I would hate to have that job.
Him: If you get cremated, you turn into ashes, right? Wouldn't there be bones left over?
Me: No, they have special ovens that are very hot. Afterwards, your family gets the ashes and they can either keep them, like in the movies when someone spills a jar of dust on the floor and says "Oops, that was my mom!", or...
[Fit of giggles from the back seat]
Me: ...scatter them somewhere that was special to you. Grandma wants to be cremated and have her ashes spread over the ocean.
Her: And have the fishes eat her?
[More hilarity]
Me: I think she just likes the idea of floating all over the world.
Her: I think the fish would eat her before she got too far.
Him: I would want my ashes to be scattered over the 101 freeway. So if you hit a bump in the road, it would be me.
[Gales of laughter. Sustained for several minutes]
Me: You can also donate your body parts to science, to help people who might need an eye, or a kidney, or so they can study the disease that killed you.
Her: A dead eye can't see. That would be a total rip-off for the person who got it.
Him: How do they know which one to do with your body?
Me: You write it down in your will.
Her: Do you have a will?
Me: Yes.
Her: Can I have one?
Him: How much money do I get?
Me: A will is important so your family knows your wishes about all of your things when you die, and especially what to do about your children.
[A discussion ensues about what will happen to them. General satisfaction after many detailed questions, although I make it clear that the outcome will vary widely depending on whether we die tomorrow or when they are in their mid-30s and don't need to have a grown up drive them to school.]
Her: In my will, I am going to make sure that he doesn't get any of my stuff.
Him: You don't have any stuff that I want, anyway.
Me: Guys, please. Do you have any more questions about what's going to happen today?
Her: Do we each get to throw some dirt on the coffin? I think I would be good at that.
[I decide they are ready, and change the subject]

When we get back in the car after the visit, there are audible exhalations after the strain of all the good behavior. Then I hear:
Mom, how do you know what happens after? After you die, I mean. Are you still there, somehow?
Me: The real answer is, noone knows. But I like to think you are, to everyone who loves you. You will always be there for them.

They are both quiet for a long time. Nobody laughs on the way home.

One more thing to worry about

It's wildfire season again here in southern California. There is one raging in Santa Barbara at the moment. It is approximately 77.3 miles away from here. This is a conversation that I had today with my mother:

Mom: I'm so worried.
Me: About?
Mom: The fires. I think they might be getting close to Oprah.
Me: [Nope. I got nothing. Keep mouth shut.]
Mom: She'll let us know at 3 o'clock.
Me: [Still nothing.]
Mom: I really hope she's OK.
Me: Me, too.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

That's funny, I feel like I need to go to bed

The message of the week today was "Resistance makes you stronger." If this is true, then mothers of pre-teen girls should be winning every Olympic medal that they have.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Winning is good, but sharing is better

When I say "progressive school", you might immediately think of:

Hands-on learning
No grades or standardized tests
Colorful artwork
Orff instruments
Cooperation and group problem solving
Some kind of livestock and/or organic garden
A bunch of artsy-fartsy parents with Obama stickers on their Priuses

And you'd be 95% right on the money.

But I'm here to tell you it's not all peace and light and everybody gets a trophy*. For at least one day a year, it's about coming in first. Despite the deceptively joyous atmosphere of a sunny Sunday at the all-school fair, amidst the peals of childish laughter and the patter of little feet going from hand-painted game to hand painted game with butterfly tattoos on their shiny faces, a brutal pit of vipers lurked under the eaves at the annual chili cookoff. Beneath the torn jeans and organic cotton tees beat the hearts of fierce and ruthless competitors who would stop at nothing to win.

We should know, because they were all gunning for us:

"My husband says you're going down this year."
"I heard they were up until 2 am in Brentwood."
"My daughter signed me up so I could beat you."
"That kid who votes for you every time has a soccer game today. What do you think about that?"

It's not even my chili. My husband makes this every year. But I admit it. I was nervous. A little edgy. There was an incredible, melt-in your mouth entry with smoky pork butt and our own secret ingredient, corn. Someone used buffalo meat. No one made veggie chili (a sure fire way to lose). A lot of people seemed enamored of the entry with the mole undertones of chocolate and cinnamon. It was going to be close.

It'll be OK, I thought, if someone else wins. Nice even, in keeping with the spirit of the school. But what kind of lesson is that for my child, who spent her Saturday afternoon squeezing out pound after pound of sausage until her little fingers were all gross and slimy? Am I going to give her a big hug and say, "It's OK, honey. It's not whether you win or lose, but how good it tastes to you that counts?"

I don't think so. That may be fine in math class, but not this time. Not this day. Victory came, and it was sweet and good.

But the lessons of progressive education have not been entirely lost on me. Everything, even an unbeaten chili recipe, is better if it is shared with friends.**

Monday, May 4, 2009

A hole in the system

One of my favorite things in the whole world is coming home. For all the reasons that you probably love putting your own set of keys in the lock, seeing a light on and knowing someone will be glad to hear you come in. (Especially the dog, because he'll be ecstatic) Even walking into a quiet house brings its own special kind of peace as you go from "out there" to "in here."

The why and the how of this has to be some jumbled combination of place, feelings, memories, stuff, people, sounds, smells...everything that makes home, home. A million little things, and a few big ones, coming together into an elaborate ecosystem all around you.

Here is an example of a little part of my system.

I have a cool clock in my kitchen. I found it in a funky housewares shop when we were on a family trip, and I've never seen anything else like it. It's unusual enough that almost everyone makes some kind of comment, tries to figure out how it works, smiles when they see it. Several months ago, it stopped working. And then one day, it was gone. I was unaccountably sad. It was just a clock, but I really missed it. It was hard to let it go.

A few weeks ago, I walked into the kitchen and the clock was back. Blinking cheerfully. Again, the surge of emotion (joy this time) was completely out of proportion to the specifics of the situation. But it was a clear reaction to that tiny hole in the system being unexpectedly fixed.

Here is an example of a big part.

I have a wonderful woman in my life. She has cared for my children, my home, and me for many years. She is kind and wise, and I've never met anyone else like her. She has a family of her own: children, grandchildren, and a husband she has been married to for 43 years. About a year ago he had a stroke. And then a few months ago, he was diagnosed with leukemia. The prognosis was very bad, but he recovered enough to come home, walk around the neighborhood, play with his grandchildren, enjoy some warm meals with his wife.

And fix the clock for me.

He died on Sunday morning. This time, I absolutely know why I am so sad. There's a hole here that will never be filled.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

What we didn't have for breakfast on the overnight, Part II

My son, after seeing the prior post, wanted me to let you know:

"The french toast was amazing, too."

Screw the Egg McMuffin

If you haven't tried the oatmeal at Jamba Juice yet, go now. As in, right now. Unless it's after 11, in which case, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. Organic steel cut oats. Warm blackberry-blueberry sauce. $2.95. Take that, Mickey-D's.

Friday, May 1, 2009

What we didn't have for breakfast on the overnight

Here is the build-up I got from my son just before I left on my daughter's class trip:

Him (speaking with absolute authority from his vantage point as a the smartest guy in the room, or at the very least, as the guy in the room who went on this exact same trip several years ago and remembers every single detail perfectly although he has no idea where his math assignment is at the moment):

"Mom. Seriously. The food is so good there. They made the best breakfast EVER! I ate like 17 pancakes. Maybe 23. Wait until you try them. I would skip the dinner and leave room for the breakfast. You won't believe it, it's that great. Seriously. I'm not even kidding."

Here is what we actually had for breakfast:

Watery, cold oatmeal
Paper thin, greasy, overcooked bacon
Small curd scrambled eggs (e.g. strong resemblance to cottage cheese)
Cold cereal bar (your choice of Raisin Bran or Rice Crispies)
Diluted apple juice

I could have killed that kid.

Instead, we made these for breakfast today. He ate like maybe 24.

Noticable Impression, Clarification

I should have said, "Taking up the flying trapeze successfully."