the importance of parchment paper

It is funny how the little things can derail you.

Take for example, parchment paper.  Something so simple, yet apparently it is quite important to listen to a recipe when it says that you should use it and not, for example, tin foil.

Allow me to teach you why and how.

I found these on Pintercrack.  Marvel in their beauty for a moment if you will, Raw Banana Bread Bars from The Sweet Life Online.  

Now we all know there is a snowball's chance I can make anything even half that pretty and the odds of it being as tasty as those probably are is equally slim, if not less.  But if I gave up there I'd have nothing to blog about.

I bought bananas because they are cheap.  I found dates (which I have admittedly never bought before) and had the oatmeal ... it seemed sooo simple.  But the website very clearly says you need parchment paper.

Now I did not intentionally disregard this, I just overlooked it.  Until I was all ready to go.  Keep in mind I am allergic to bananas and Paul Bunyan gets frustrated when I try to handle them, so speed was of the essence here.  So I made a snap decision to proceed because, really, how important can parchment paper be?  

Um, apparently very.  

So I slice for about 45 years and put them on tin foil coated in a non-stick spray ... 

I presume that this is where I went wrong because where the bananas were supposed to get a bit dry and bendy I instead had kind of smoked bananas at the end.  And they were just as wet as they started, but definitely stickier.

So yes, I messed this one up on like the very first step.  I did continue on in the hope that it would end up being edible in some form ... but ... well, see for yourself ...

In the processor, but already doomed.

Um, that looks appetizing, right?

Trying to flatten it per the instructions, but it is a bit liquidy.

Uh, yeah, once they are in the right shape they are clearly much better looking.  Right?  Yeah, I didn't think so either.  

As you can tell the end result wasn't particularly appetizing in appearance.  What the picture doesn't appropriately convey is the texture and consistency.  It was wet, soupy, gooey, and just plain gross. 

Ultimately, I tried sticking it in the fridge over night in the hope that the cold would firm it up.  Still a big nope. 

So in the trash it went, and I know now that while clear plastic wrap may be my arch nemesis parchment paper is clearly a very underrated product.  

Oh, and the extra burned gooey bananas?

Threw them out too.  Ew.

5 things to *never* say to a reflux mom

Beans, taking the pink goo like a champ!

The Beans, who never does anything halfsies, got sick last week and into this week.  Poor kiddo had horrible chest congestion, the stuffiest/runniest nose in the history of cute little button noses, and not one but two ear infections.

Thusly, I was reminded of the one and only perk I can think of for his earliest days of constant medication needs.

My nearly 2 year old takes drugs like a pro.  Okay, that sounds kinda bad, but it is actually really good.  Well, in context anyway.

Given that Beans had to take meds twice to three times a day from infancy onward he just presumes swallowing nasty goo is part of life.  No fight.  No crying.  No spitting.  No death shriek while writhing on the floor the way Meatball always did.

So I count that as one perk, and likely the only one I could come up with in a pinch.  That said, I don't think I would try to reassure any mama's of babies currently in the midst of GERD that one day they will be able to laugh over being able to dope their kid with ease as a result.  In fact, there are a lot of really stupid things that are said to mamas and dadas of refluxers with the intention of being helpful or soothing that wind up making them want to commit murder ... or aim the fire hose of baby puke their way on the next, inevitable, round.

Five things to NEVER say to a Reflux Mom:

1. Oh its just a little spit up!

Its. Just. A. Little. Spit. Up.  Oooooooh, is that all?  The endless screaming in pain, is that a figment of my imagination?  The refusal to eat OR the constant need to eat, is that also part of me being dramatic?  The contortions my baby puts himself in, the bruises his itty bitty toes give me as he tries to scale me getting away from the horrible burning?  How about the vomit that launches out of him and hits the opposite side of the room?  The constant burping and hiccuping that keeps him awake?  The possible need for surgery, expensive formulas, medication? Go ahead, tell me again how its just a little spit up.

2. Lots of babies have reflux!

Mm-kay.  This may well be true, I honestly don't know the numbers, but I do know that the "reflux" I am talking about isn't standard run of the mill she spits up after every meal kind.  Even if a million other babies are currently cry-puking with their exhausted helpless parents wanting to do anything to make it better right there with me, minimizing how hard this is hardly helps.

3. He/she will grow out of it!

Oh there is a light at the end of the tunnel ... but it can take years.  Even if it takes only a few months, ask yourself this: how much do you actually like sleep?  Ear drums in tact?  And again, it isn't just a baby crying and keeping you up -- your child is suffering.  Yes, I hope the timetable is a short one, but understand the road is a tough one.

4. Do you burp him/her after feeding?

Holy Similac Batman, you mean you are supposed to BURP the baby?!  WTF chapter of What to Expect When You're a Freaking MORON was that part in?!

5. Oh I always had to avoid *insert food here* when I was nursing my baby.

If you are nursing your refluxer, chances are between Google and your doctor you are down to eating saltines and water rations in the hope that it will help.  My elimination diet was exhaustive for my child, and while I happily avoided foods that I knew would make things worse for him it was still challenging as heck to be tired, physically drained, and then to have to watch every single thing that went into my mouth with microscopic intensity.

For formula feeders, this shit be pricey in some cases!  While some babies may drastically improve with the avoidance of certain ingredients or even brands, some need special formulas that one does not get at a regular grocery store.  And the smell?  *shudders*

Bottom line, if you decide to be patronizing, minimizing, or condescending to the parent of a infant/baby/toddler with reflux, you may get shanked with a medicine dropper in the eye.  

how to boil an egg

How to Boil an Egg* in Ten "Easy" Steps -- Domestic Rocket Surgeon Style

Step One: Remember to buy eggs at the damn store.  Once you have your eggs put the desired number in the pan.

Step Two: Fill the pan -- or is it a pot?  I guess this is a pot and not a pan. -- fill the pot with water so that it just covers the eggs.  Some may float, this is because nothing is simple and life wants to mess with you at any given opportunity.

Step Three: Try to not drop the pot of water while you put it on the stove, that would suck.  Stick that burner on high.  Oh you can add some salt if you want ... and some lime and a shot of tequila because your in the goshdamn kitchen and it seems appropriate.

Step Four: When the water finally hits a boiling point (watched pots eventually boil, it just takes 27 years) you want to set a timer for 5 minutes.  Leave the eggs there in their purgatory.

that looks like three minutes ... right?

Step Five: Come running into the kitchen chanting "oh shit" because you totally forgot to watch the pot and have no real idea how long those damn eggs have been at a rolling boil.  Assume it has only been like a minute or two and set the timer accordingly.

Step Six: Be grateful that your husband is either not home or hasn't noticed Step Five because he always has some speech about responsibility and you being an awful lot like your mother prepared for moments like that.

Step Seven: When the timer goes off, just shut the heat off and leave the eggs on the burner.  Unless you totally blew it on Step Five and you think they were boiling for a while already.  Then take them off the burner but leave them in the water.

Step Eight: Once the boiled egg water is at a temperature that won't melt your skin right the eff off (I recommend just waiting like two hours, its easier and takes less time than a burn heals) drain the water.  That sounds so easy, but unless you only boiled one egg you are going to feel like a drunk monkey trying to hold an octopus in a pot while trying to do it.  Either way, get the warmish water out and fill with cold water and some ice cubes.  Exceptionally lazy domestic divas let the water get cold on their own and just add ice.  This will probably promote the growth of botulism or swine flu or something horrible, so it is probably not a good idea.

Step Nine: Once the eggs are cold they supposedly peal easier.  Frankly I think this is like a "your eyes will stick that way if you cross them" lie.  Mostly I just like having a reason to ignore them a little longer.

Step Ten: Cut the shit out of your fingers on egg shells.  The injuries you sustain will be similar in agony to a paper cut, but yield a lot less emotional support from your peers.  Except me, I feel bad for you.  Try not to bleed all over your stupid eggs while you wonder for the millionth time why you went to all this trouble to make a food that smells like 16-day-old-rancid-ass.

And there you have it, the ten "easy" steps to boiling an egg.

* For those following the Saga of the Bubble Boy Beans, yes, eggs are one of the could-kill-him-items.  Obviously not a frequent food here any longer, this was an idea from a while ago that I thought was worthy of sharing.  Perhaps some of you really don't know how to boil an egg properly? Ah, well now you do!  You're welcome.

Fate, the sneaky ninja

You know how sometimes you walk into a moment, fully expecting one thing, thinking you are one prepared-and-ready-to-handle-it-all-bad-ass-muthah when suddenly *WHAM* life throws you a curve ball to the temple and knocks your ass flat?

Yeah, happened last week.

The Beans has had his fair share of medical excitement, from the purple-and-grey-birth followed by his Homer Simpson homage, to choking and turning blue with so much regularity I am sure I can perform emergency choking procedures on a baby in my sleep.  So when I finally talked our primary care physician into an allergist referral following at least a year of miserable sinus congestion, coughing, sneezing, ear pulling and snot-vomiting, I walked in braced for the your-kid-is-allergic-to-everything-that-grows-outside talk.  Instead?  Well instead they poked the poo out of that little bitty back and told me:

Your kid cannot come anywhere near milk, eggs, or any nut.  Ever.  Oh and wheat isn't a good idea overall either.

Then we discussed Epinephrine and the doctor dropped phrases like "potentially life threatening."

Say huh?!

The milk, I knew.  We have been mostly dairy free due to his milk reactions via my breast milk for a loooong time now.  I occasionally will make something with milk in it and taste it, but for the most part I am avoiding it still because I am one of those hippie moms who hasn't cut the kid off the boob yet at eighteen months old.  While this is mainly due to his digestive insanity and nutrient needs, it is highly inconvenient yet we knew necessary.  So this one diagnoses was no surprise, though I will admit that the optimistic unicorn that resides in my head was hopeful they'd be all "oh wow he totally outgrew that!"

Eggs?  Well that one I didn't see coming.  But nuts?  All nuts, both the tree and ground growing varieties?  Talk about left field and scary.

I had students back in my teaching days with nut allergies.  Kids seriously stressed me out.  Not because there was anything wrong with the kids -- on the contrary I am hard pressed to remember one of them who had any pain in the rear tendencies.  No, their mere presence stressed me out because I know, with acute clarity, what it is like to live with a life threatening allergy.  Living with one has made me hyper vigilant to all the random items in this world that contain my allergen, that no one else would ever be aware of.  But nut allergies ... well I wasn't aware of them.  I learned what I needed to, a minor crash course if you will, and diligently emailed their parents whenever I had a question.  They were the experts.  I felt so much more sure of myself when one of those moms or dads gave me a green light.  Surely they knew what they were talking about, the safety of their little precious cupcake depended on their obsessive research, label-reading and company-calling.

But now I am one of those parents.

And that scares me.

It also breaks my heart.  I don't think there are words adequate enough to impart how frustrating living with a life threatening allergy can be.  None that I know, for sure.  In a society that is all about empowerment  and strength, to be felled by something as innocuous and stupid as a nut or a balloon (my allergy is to latex) ... well it throws you for a loop.  To always wonder when or where you may be accidentally exposed.  To always have to listen to and deal with the naysayers and theorists -- who generally have no allergies themselves but have hypothesized the millions of reasons why others do.  It is tiring.  Frightening.

And now my baby may have to live with it too.

Milk and egg allergies come with a roughly 80% chance of out-growth.  Fingers crossed.  Nut allergies come with about a 20% chance.  Well gee, the odds be not in our favor completely there.

So this past week has been a blur of cabinet clean out and library trips trying to discover what I can still feed my family.  All told, our list of things we are either sensitive to, reactive to, allergic to or intolerant of is staggering.  Ultimately, for a gal like me who isn't exactly all knowing and knowledgeable in the kitchen to begin with to try to whip up safe yet yummy food has become and overwhelming task that I know I will get used to.  I have done it before with the removal of meat and then dairy from our diets, so I can do it again.  It just ... sigh.

Imma outta words.

Anyhoo, things should be up to normal chaos round here soon enough.  Sorry, and thanks for hanging with me!

the baking grenade

You know how some people have weird issues that are like totally die hard serious for them but you cannot help but laugh a bit at them?  Like, take my husband for example.  He has to just see those wood  popsicle sticks, like the tongue depressors they use at the doctor's office, and he gags.  If you jokingly say "you mean like {mimic licking a popsicle} popsicle sticks?  Those things?" incredulously when he tells you about it while you are dating him he will actually wretch and ask you to never do that again, please.

True story. I admit to laughing and feeling horrible at the same time.

So hubby has popsicle stick issues, and yes, that made my chore sticks project a bit uncomfortable for him.  But, I am scared of these things.

Seriously, my only thought for the day is this ...

... the words "Press spoon at seam until can pops open" could instead read ...

..."pull pin, throw grenade, then run like hell!" ... and be just as accurate.

I hate these things, yet you can make so much out of the stuff in tubes that explode!

excesso pesto

You know how sometimes  you come across a deal that is just faboosh and you cannot pass it up, but you know you won't really be able to use all of it?

Like, say for example, you come across a butt ton of pesto at Fresh and Easy, all of it on clearance because it needs to be used/sold that day.  But you know that pesto, even yummy pesto, is one of those a-little-goes-a-long-way sorts of things and three tubs of it is just too much even if it only costs you like $5 for all of them ... what is a cheap biotch to do???

Freeze it!

I wanted to use muffin tins because I figured that would be a good protion size for a future meal.  I started by olive oiling the crap outta my muffin tins because I didn't have the paper dodads, then poured the pesto in, stuck 'em in the freezer for 24 hours, popped those bad boys out and stuck them into a freezer bag.

I waited to post this until after I had tried it to make sure that it doesn't get all wonky ... like avocado, for example.  You cannot make guacamole and freeze it without making it totally nastified.  Trust me.

But pesto does freeze okay, and my little muffin pucks were the perfect size!

So don't pass up the awesome deal of oodles of pest for $5 if you see it!

failure, with a dash of cinnamon and plastic

I need to take a break from attempting new recipes, particularly it would seem those of the baking-breakfasty-sweetness variety.

Its my Achilles heel, my kryptonite, my bucket of water on the Witch of the West.

This week anyway, next week is totally up for grabs.

So I saw these on the website that provides an endless source of failure possibilities for me (Pintercrack, of course) and I thought to myself "Self, I can do that!"  Yes, these are dangerous words.

Cinnamon roll pancakes.

Yeah, that sounds like heaven on a plate, and so the fail began ...

I followed her recipe, all of her instructions right up to the part where I was supposed to put the gooey cinnamon stuff in a baggie and clip a corner.  I thought hey, why would I do that when I can just use one of these spiffy ketchup bottle thingies I got for a buck.  I actually thought to myself that diverging from the instructions would be a good thing this time.  I was making it easier on myself with this change.  I am so clever, I thought, as I patted my back and poured the delicious concoction into the bottle.

Um, not so much.

the cinnamon goo, pre-Bottle of Doom

The neck of the bottle got clogged, and only the buttery stuff poured out making a huge mess, so I had to squeeze the bottle harder figuring it would let the one stuck piece come out.

But then it exploded out, with lots of the cinnamon goo, and that pancake was a mess.  So I figured, hey, I only lost one, no biggie ... then it happened again, but this time I squeezed the bottle so hard that the goo oozed out from under the cap.  Everywhere.

This made the bottle slippery.  Slippery bottles are hard to hold.  Slippery bottles that are hard to hold should not be held by frazzled women standing over a skillet of pancakes that are cooked on one side, but not the other.  If they are held by such a domestic goddess she might *ahem* drop the slippery bottle onto the half cooked pancakes, smearing them, melting part of her cheap ketchup bottle, burning her fingers while she tries to pick up the bottle and ultimately destroying all eight of the pancakes on the skillet aesthetically.

I know you are hoping for a huge picture bomb of this fail, but alas, I have none.  I was too covered in cinnamon, butter and pancake batter with three fingers on fire and a stunned family near by wondering what the hell we were having for dinner.

I do have a picture of one pancake, and it is seriously deceptive.

It was the only one that looked like it had swirled, but I would like you to take note that the the cinnamon swirl did not stay ON the pancake.  No, you can see it just above the pancake on the skillet, burning.  

I made the icing, and just poured a ton of it onto the pancakes to hide the mess they were.

Then we accidentally left the icing (the only part I did not screw up) out on the counter overnight, so it was ruined.

So there were three major components to this meal ...

1.) The pancakes -- which I dropped a bottle onto and smeared everywhere

2.) The swirl -- which exploded onto the pancakes and made a mess, never actually sticking to any of them

3.) The icing -- which was delicious, but left out over night so it was ruined

Three strikes ... and I am out.

No one complained about dinner, even if it wasn't pretty or anything like it was supposed to be.  In fact, the husband and the Meatball said it was yummy.

But that may have been because I was still mumbling under my breath and nursing three burned fingers while the smell of burnt cinnamon and plastic hung heavily in the air.

dafuq is dat?

Okay so not only do I suck at all things domestic, but I also seem to bomb at blogging with regularity lately.  If it makes it any better, I have been thinking about blogging and taking lots of pictures of projects, ideas and failures in my absence.  That's something, right?  Right.

To make it up to you, hows about some dafuq moments brought to you ala moi?

The best laid plans ...

So I have been pinning my ass off (oh if only that were possible in a literal sense!) with summer ideas so that we don't need to save up on a "bail fund" for mommy.  One of the many ideas I have pinned, and intend to do, is chore sticks.  Here are some pretty ones.

cool idea, but my children will
make this a weapon

very cute

the Queen of chore sticks

So I started a chore stick project I found here (pictured above).  These sticks are like da bomb, as my 13 year old self would have said.  She made a metric ton of them, with awesome ideas ranging from checking tire pressure to dusting everything in the house.  They are cute, they are numerous, and they are free!  Yay!  How can I screw this up? Oh, have more faith in me than that my friends!  More on this to come ... but here is an in progress image for you.

It shows such promise, doesn't it.  Yeah, that would be false advertising.

Did I forget a step?

So apart from being *ahem* crafty and all that, I also am thrifty.  Yes, I am the One Cheap Biotch, and sometimes I do it well.  While I was perusing my local Fresh & Easy aisles I discovered several weeks ago that they have a clearance rack.  Cue happy dance!  Yes, you can just imagine my utter joy to find items that are expiring that day or they had too many of that are marked down like 50% in some cases!

So they had some of their dough in the cold clearance for 75 cents each, and I happily grabbed two because anything that can masquerade as "homemade" without me having to haul my Kitchen Aid out is one of my favorite meals.  It expired that day, and I wasn't going to use it, so I came home and froze it.  So far so good.

Well that was like 2 weeks ago, so the other day I pulled it out to use for the next day.  I have seen my mom, who has more domestic skills than me but only marginally, do the following with frozen dough:  oil up a bowl, put the frozen dough in it, cover it, let the dough thaw and rise.  Easy peasy, right?  Yeah, I can do that!

So I coat two bowls in olive oil.  I place the frozen dough in the bowls.  I then cover with a towel and refrigerate.

See the problem?  Well I didn't, yet.

Fast forward and I can see through my clear bowl that it is thawed and risen and I am thinking I am pretty hot shit so far, now just to figure out what to do with it ... when I remove the towel.

This image search yielded a picture taken by someone
who knew what they were doing.  Show off.

Ew.

My dough was thawed and risen quite nicely, and it also had this nice hard, dry layer covering it.

Last night while watching a recording of one of my most fave shows ever, Bitchen Kitchen, my hero Nadia G ever so simply explained the step I missed.  I had it right all the way up to the towel ... because under the towel you need to cover the bowl with plastic wrap.  Okay, face palm, duh, WTF was I thinking?!  I mean seriously, I knew that, somewhere in my mind I did.  My mom always did that too.  Stupid, stupid.

So I ruined $1.25 worth of my "cheap" dough being a flaming moron.  Dafuq was I thinking?!

Where in the grocery store is ...?

In order to not snap and start drinking at 9:30 every morning this summer I am doing summer school/homeschool  with the oldest.  It may sound like more work, but its not.  Keeping him busy and occupying his mind is priceless for my sanity and keeps him from burning the house down.  One of the things I am doing is making a weekly grocery store scavenger hunt.  I will share them later, but ultimately I make him go do his own thing with a clip board while I get the stuff we need, both of us are happy with this situation.  But this week I felt like I was the ten year old with the clip board.

I wanted to make something special for Meatball because he is really trying not to make me go insane.  I found this recipe for the Pumpkin Juice from Harry Potter a while back and decided this was the week to make it.  So I have everything on the short list, but cardamon.  And that is what???  I am pretty sure that it is a spice, so I head to the baking aisle, a place I am not spotted often.

Do you have any idea how many freaking spices there are to chose from?!  Holy spice trade Batman!

Sigh.  Cardamom, that evasive foe.

I stood there for like 5,000 hours with a screaming baby who is able to grab things out of the cart now even from his little prison perch in the front of the cart -- that stupid buckle is worthless with Houdini baby -- and is throwing them at innocent bystanders who are dashing by desperately in fear.

And I cannot find anything that even sounds like cardamom.

When the Beans' screams reached a decibel level that I am sure had bats in South America crashing into cave walls in confusion, I decided that this was not the week for a special drink for any Minion.  Maybe for Mommy, but not for the Minions.

So I still don't have cardamom, still not fully sure what it is I need -- about to google it, no worries, I will figure this shit out -- and I am pretty sure there are people still talking about me and my howler monkey baby and clip board toting geek child.

Is this a dafuq moment?  I think so.

homemade tomato soup = FAIL!

The tasty juice ... before I ruined it.

I had such good intentions.  I really did.

It smelled faboosh, looked halfway decent ... but taste?  Ah, no.

In my recipe organizing frenzy I came across an "easy" tomato soup recipe and I foolishly thought to myself "hey, I can do that!"  I used my beloved juicer, Jack.  (Yes, I named my juicer, doesn't everyone name their appliances?)  I had all the stuff on hand and we are scraping fridge bottom until payday and grocery shopping so I was feeling pretty proud that I came up with something that would appear complex but was still "easy" supposedly.

I think I went wrong in that I had to use almond milk instead of cow juice.  We don't have any real dairy in our house due to allergies, and in most things I can substitute the almond milk without an issue or needing to change anything else.  Perhaps that is why this went wrong, but it was watery and bland.  I also added more "juice" to the soup but still had the right quantity of juice overall so I wasn't worried.  We have plenty left over, so I will be trying to doctor it up from here because I want it to work, it smells so freaking good!

___

Quick Fix Tomato Soup

Ingredients:

1 T flour

1 t sugar

1 c milk

2 c tomato juice

dash black pepper

Directions:

1. In saucepan stir together the flour, sugar and ¼ cup of the milk until smooth. Stir in the rest of the milk.
2. Heat on medium-high until the mixture starts to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low. Stir and cook 8 minutes, or until soup thickens.
3. Slowly, while still stirring, add tomato juice. Continue cooking 1 minute, or until soup is hot.
4. Season with black pepper to taste and enjoy.

Serves 1 and takes 10 minutes.

____

The "milk" mixture ... where it all went wrong?

So I had to double it because there were two of us eating (it really bums the husband out when I don't feed him too).  Simple enough, right?  Sigh.  I put all my tomatoes through Jack (the juicer) and didn't have enough juice.  I also have a husband who thinks tomato soup is booooring, so I got clever and juiced a whole red bell pepper and a green bell pepper.  I also stuck like four cloves of garlic in there and a quarter of an onion.  The juice smelled fantastic.  I added some basil, oregano, black pepper and was feeling like I was going to have some tasty goodness for dinner because I took a little taste of the juice and it was yummy.  Not soupy though ... so I added it to the milk/flour/sugar mixture just like the directions say.  I swear I followed them this time.

Sad face.  Its not tasty anymore.  

So I am going to try it again today (maybe its like casseroles and salsa and needs a Sabbath before it tastes right?) and hope for a miracle.  

Anyone have any brilliant ideas where I went wrong?  Though not surprising (cooking fails do occur here) it still bums me out every time!

In the battle of Food vs. Me ... Food wins.  Damn.