The power of the parental lie

When I was little, like maybe 7 or 8 years old, my parents went away on vacation.

To Hawaii.
Without us.

My sister and I were very confused.  Our family always went places together.  This was beyond mystifying. We pestered them with questions.

Where is Hawaii?  
How are you going to get there? 
How long are you going to be gone?

And most importantly,

Why can't we go, too?

Our parents patiently answered every one.

Hawaii is in the middle of the ocean, on the other side of California.
We are going on an airplane.
Seven days.

And then they told the world's greatest whopper.

We're going to go by ourselves first, to make sure Hawaii is fun for kids.

Well, that makes total sense, we agreed contentedly. As children who'd been subjected to many adult-oriented Washington dinner parties and boring work events, we knew all about stuff that was no fun for kids. Mom and Dad were doing us a favor by leaving us behind.  We cheerfully waved good-bye and waited for their report.

A week later, they returned home, literally glowing with happiness.  It turns out that when they landed in Hawaii, beautiful ladies gave them wreaths of flowers.  The beach was right in front of their hotel, they gushed.  The water was as warm as a bathtub, with little colorful fish swimming and swirling around their toes.  There were hula dancers and drinks with umbrellas and a swimming pool with a huge curvy water slide. They ate pineapple every single morning and it was spectacularly delicious.

We stared at them in awe.

Then, they opened up the luggage, and gave each of us a giant lei made entirely of candy bars.

Awe turned to skeptical disbelief*.

Hawaii seems like A LOT of fun for kids.

Our suspicions were well founded. My parents never did take us there**. But when I finally got to go as a grown up, one of the best things about the trip was indeed having pineapple for breakfast every single morning.

It is spectacularly delicious.

Root Vegetable Study

At the kids' elementary school, the first grade class theme was How Food gets to the Table. The curriculum was very comprehensive*.

Going out to a local vegetable farm for a day? Perfect.

Creating a replica farmers' market in the classroom?  Makes total sense.

Field trip to Whole Foods? Count me in.

Making farm vehicles out of wood? OK, I can see that.

An entire unit** on root vegetables?

Seriously?

My kid got jicama.  He liked it because it started with a "J".

Don't get me wrong. The artwork was fantastic. But how much time can you spend learning about jicama?

Turns out that teacher*** was a savant on the topic, and I was completely wrong to doubt her.
Jicama is incredible:

Cut into sticks, throw in a little lime juice, mint and chile, and oh, baby! Fresh, clean, crisp, tart, juicy, a little sweet, a little spicy...just wow. Almost no calories and great for you, too? Double wow!

Root vegetables that start with "J". Seriously phenomenal.

Soccer Mom

Way back when, when my husband and I were barely married, we went to visit friends in San Francisco for brunch.  Their house was full of toys and crayons and tow-headed toddlers, and we feasted on deliciously lumpy pancakes, strong coffee, and orange juice. Sunshine poured through a huge bay window into a living room full of comfy furniture and well-worn children's books.  I was utterly charmed by the whole situation.

Looking up at the clock, our hosts suddenly brought the cozy morning to a halt, and began scooping up  strollers and hurtling around closets rooting for socks.  The oldest child donned a shiny uniform and tiny cleats, and had the maple syrup unceremoniously wiped from his ruddy cheeks by his mom.

"It's picture day."

This meant nothing to us. But we piled down the steps and followed our friends. Outside it was bright and breezy, one of those rare, gorgeous, peaceful San Francisco mornings.  As we turned a corner, we were hit by a high-pitched roar of noise.  Then, slowly, we walked into an alien sea, a veritable ocean, of what seemed like thousands of five year olds and their parents, crammed into a fenced patch of grass covering most of a city block.  All of the children were randomly running and screaming.  Parents were chatting and laughing and yelling at the running children.  Everyone had coolers, cameras, umbrellas and folding chairs.  It was utter chaos, and it terrified me to the bone.

"We have to get out of here," I said to my husband. "Now."
Best form of birth control, ever.

It didn't last.
Soon enough, it was picture day on our own patch of grass.

Not only was I no longer petrified, I was somehow coaching the team.  I had zero experience, but if you signed up to coach, you got to pick your practice time.  As a working parent, schedule trumped competence in my book.

It was a trial and error process.  Once, I brought a white board and dry erase markers to practice, intending to diagram plays, or at least try to communicate the idea of whose goal was whose.

"Oh, yay! Coloring!!! Pass the purple!!"

Needless to say, it didn't go well*.

Finally, I developed a strategy of giving big hugs for each goal, and that seemed to work just fine.

My coaching days are long over, but a decade later, there I am on that patch of grass with my folding chair and camera, chatting and laughing.  Perfectly at home in that veritable sea, the warm, friendly, comfortable ocean of parents like me.

Cheering at the top of my lungs for my amazing daughter and her team.

Soccer Mom.
Best clichéd stereotype, ever.

Oh, and even after all these years?  Snack is still the best part of the game.

Keeping the pounds on for you

Humor via George Takei's facebook page

Crispy little chicken wings, via my oven

Given what we ate on Sunday*, next year's Super Bowl will be watched at the gym.  Meanwhile, I just hope the lights go out when I have to put on my jeans.

Super Dogs

Two of my favorite ads on the Super Bowl yesterday featured dogs:

Not to mention We-Go, the Bud Light rescue puppy, and Mr. Quigley in those smokin' red Sketchers.

It seemed only fitting that I get on the bandwagon.

Leafy green vegetables

After practically OD'ing on dessert recently*,  I went to Trader Joe's and filled up my cart with leafy green vegetables.  For once, I held my head up high at the checkout stand, instead of pointedly avoiding eye contact with the person scanning my piles of cheese, bacon, bread, margarita mix, and ice cream sandwiches**.   I was actually hoping they'd need to do a price check.

"KALE? Can I get a price on kale for this lovely, soon-to-be slender young lady who probably hates cookies?  She's got two bags of it here.  TWO BAGS OF KALE ON THREE!!"

Instead it was a private moment of victory. That was OK. I knew I had bought the kale.

I drove home and considered my kale. The epitome of leafy greenness. Nature's health food, on my counter. The veggie-est of veggies.

So naturally, I turned it into crispy, salty snack chips, and ate an entire bowl while watching TV.

I need help.

My daughter's into leather

Fruit leather, that is.  But at close to five bucks a box, it's an expensive habit.   When I saw not one, but two posts on how to make this treat at home, I knew it was a sign* that I should put away my credit card and start chopping berries.

Homemade Strawberry Fruit Leather
Of the two recipes on the web, the one from In Sock Monkey Slippers won me over.  Perhaps it was the addition of basil, or the approach of pureeing the mix before cooking.  Either way, it was a great jumping off point.

Our spin on things was to strain out a good portion of the seeds, increase the sugar just a little, and to add some fresh mint.   The end result is like pure concentrated summer, all rolled up.   Call me kinky, but I can't wait to try this with apricots, cherries, or a wild and crazy mix of fruits, stoned or not!

Guess I'm now into leather, too.

About 2 lbs. of fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
3/4 c. sugar
generous handful of fresh basil and/or mint leaves
1 1/2 Tbs. fresh lemon juice

Line a large (11x17) baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.  Preheat oven to 175.

Place berries, sugar, herbs and lemon juice in food processor.  Puree for several minutes, until completely smooth.

Taste the mix (Stop! One spoonful is enough!), and decide if you want more or less of anything.  The flavor will get more intense as it dries, so you are really looking to adjust the sugar/acid balance more than anything.

Transfer the mixture to a large saucepan.  I strained mine to remove a good portion of the gritty seeds, but this is optional.   Bring to a boil, then lower heat to simmer.  Cook for 5-10 minutes, stirring often, until slightly thickened.

Pour mixture into prepared baking sheet

Smoothing out to the edges with a spatula.  Bake for 6-8 hours, or overnight, at 175.

It's done when the leather is slightly less shiny, and not sticky to the touch.

The is the cool part!  Trim the edges of the parchment paper that were hanging over the pan, then just roll the leather up, parchment paper and all.  Presto! Instant fruit roll up!  Cut into desired sized rolls with kitchen shears or a sharp serrated knife.

You can keep them stored in an airtight container, for several weeks.

Unroll, peel off the parchment paper, and enjoy in little chewy bites...

Or, wrap around your finger and enjoy all at once.  Either way, yum!! 

Click to Print this recipe!

* Yes, Mom, I can still hear you.  Loud and clear.  The strawberries were on special this week.

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.