Donuts. Is there anything they can't do?

It's widely known that Los Angeles has more donut shops per capita than anywhere else in the country*.  There's practically one on every corner.  In fact, there is one on our corner.

So this clearly qualifies as superfluous, right?

I've never made donuts before.  Why would I, when I can get a delicious glazed old fashioned for 75 cents anytime** without having to break out a vat of boiling oil?

Here's why.  When you make them at home, your son will take one bite and say, "I think this is the happiest moment of my life right here!  Mom, you are the BEST!"

One sign you are working at an early stage company

You get emails like this:

To: All
RE: Visitors in the office

Everything looks good.  Thanks for pitching in.
BTW, do not use the microwave during the demo.

Thanks

Dim sum and then some

Is it just our family, or does the equation:

Eating out with relatives = Going for dim sum

apply to everyone?

Father in law comes to town.
Dim sum.

Aunt's 62nd birthday.
Dim sum.

Holiday lunch with a whole bunch of cousins.
Dim sum.

It doesn't even matter whose relatives they are. My family. His family. Vastly different groups of people who otherwise have literally nothing in common (except being related by marriage to one of us).

They all love dim sum.

They will patiently wait quite a long time* for dim sum.   They collectively ooh and ah over the har gow and the bao, the shu mai and the rice noodles.  Dip the dumplings in the hot chili paste and mustard, pour tea, and send one of the cuter little kids to chase down the potsticker cart.  That's always the crowd favorite, and seems to be perpetually on the other side of the football field-sized dining hall. After eating themselves silly, they even get takeout dim sum for later**. Yep, everybody is all about the dim sum***.

Except, of course, our children.

My daughter:  I'll have plain white rice**** and a coke.
My son:  (texting and not looking up) I brought my own grapes.  Just a coke.

Sigh.

In the morning

Me too!

Want to see something really scary?

No, it's not Dan Ackroyd*.
It's the candy bowl on the day after Halloween.

The ultimate parent trap**.

Sure, you can donate the candy to the local children's hospital.  Or bring the candy to the single people in the office.  Or, hide the candy way up high in the cupboard and pretend to forget all about it until about 4:30 in the afternoon when you just need a little something sweet to tide you over until dinner and then stuff the wrappers deep in the trash so no one knows the candy is still somewhere in the house.

But what's fun about that?

Channeling my inner Johnny

If I were going to dress up as someone for Halloween tonight, I would be Johnny, from Airplane! He's my favorite character.*

I could then re-enact a pivotal scene from the movie:

Llyod Bridges: What can you make out of this?**

Me:  I can't make a brooch, or a pterodactyl.
But I can make biscuits!

And pancakes!

If you listen carefully to the DVD commentary, it turns out that this is the reason that Leon is getting larger.

Like a Dying Panda

My voice is shot. Not sure if I have bronchitis, laryngitis, a cold, or whether I just talked and screamed too much at my college reunion this weekend. What sounds I do produce are weak, deep and raspy, like Lauren Bacall if she'd inhaled a pack of mentholated cigarettes, had a belt of cheap whiskey, and started speaking through a wool coat.  I like to think of it as sexy and alluring. I am, apparently, in the minority.

The scene is our favorite neighborhood Italian place. The whole family is together, after the return of my son from a school trip, and a long afternoon of soccer practice for my daughter.  I am in a great mood.  The pizza is delicious. My husband makes an offhand remark that starts me giggling, and then I'm laughing out loud, practically shaking with mirth. Everyone drops their food.

My son:  Mom! Stop! Jeez! 

My husband:  Don't, honey. Please. You'll hurt yourself.

My daughter:  OH MY GOD, YOU SOUND LIKE A DYING PANDA!!!

We all turn to stare at her.

My husband: How on earth do you know what a dying panda sounds like?

She stares defiantly back at us.  Then she shrugs.

Her:  YouTube*.

I can't help it.  I'm howling again**.  

Elena's Cure for Coughs

Without my mom here to make a fuss when I'm sick, our housekeeper, Elena, has stepped right into her shoes. She looks at me, bundled up in my sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, shakes her head, clucks a little, then writes down a shopping list and issues instructions in Spanish. Unlike most of the advice I got from my mother, I immediately do exactly as she says. But just like my mother, she knows what she's talking about.  This stuff works! It's both soothing and spicy, and seems to magically calm your throat and reduce coughing almost immediately.  

1/2 red onion, peeled and sliced into thick chunks

about 1/2 c. honey

juice of one lemon

about 1/2 c. of very hot water

1 teabag, preferably something citrus-y and spicy, like the Good Earth blend

Place the onion pieces in a medium-sized glass jar. Pour in the honey, enough to cover the onions, then add the lemon juice and enough hot water to fill the jar up to within an inch or so of the top. Put the lid on the jar, and close tightly.

Shake the jar gently for a couple of minutes to allow the honey, juice and water to combine. Open the jar and drop in the teabag, making sure it's submerged, then close it up again, but loosely this time.

Place the jar into a large saucepan.  Add enough hot water to come halfway up the sides of the jar.  Heat over medium high heat until the water is boiling rapidly, then reduce the heat to low and simmer for 3 minutes.  Open the jar (careful, it's hot!) and then strain the mixture into another jar or container, and discard the onions.

This keeps well in the fridge for several days. Rewarm in the microwave before using.

Take several spoonfuls, warm, a few times per day, especially before you go to bed and when you first wake up.

Click to Print this Recipe!

* We may have mis-heard her.  I did sound a little like this climbing panda:

** OK, wheezing and crying again.  To make things worse, on the drive home, the kids' annoying top 40 station starts playing an infectious Maroon 5 song. Turning left, I join in on the chorus, bleating (pathetically) at the top of my lungs, "I've got the moo-oo-oo-OO-OO-oo-OO-oo-ves like Jagger!"

The reaction is instantaneous.

"MOM!!!!!!"