Archive for the ‘Good Grub’ Category

Babysitters, or HoMD #49

Monday, February 18th, 2008

The Husband left this morning for a business trip to Hawaii (feel free to share your thoughts on this obvious boondoggle), and I’m left to my own devices for the week.

I pictured a lonely week of junk food, video games, and talking to the cats, but so far not so pathetic.

One of my good friends had the day off for President’s Day and invited me to join her and her husband for lunch at our local Indian spot. Socializing in the middle of the day? Sign me up! The food was delicious and the conversation was even better.

Then, knowing of my lonely state, the lovely couple invited me over for a tasty supper of Chicken Tortilla Soup.

Not only am I well-fed, I’m decidedly less lonely than I feared when The Husband left this morning.

Heaven bless good friends.

Cheesecake for Breakfast, HoMD #48

Sunday, February 17th, 2008

You know it’s all downhill from here.

Brit Snit, or HoMD #42

Monday, February 11th, 2008

Snit may be a bit strong, but I liked the rhyme. Sue me.

The Husband requested I make Chipotle-Cheddar Scones for a meeting at work on Friday. I agreed, happy to be of use and justify my existence a bit.

At work today, The Husband mentioned via e-mail to a friend he would bring said scones to the meeting. This friend was born in Britain and lived there for a good portion of his life. Scones have a specific definition for him. His reply says it all:

You bloody Yanks, you’re never satisfied, are you? What next, a deep fried, Frito-encrusted scone? Or perhaps some Asian-fusion, lemon grass and wasabi scone. Why don’t we just scrap the whole scone thing and bring 32 White Castle Burgers instead! Better yet why don’t we just suck on a block of lard.

I’m pretty sure we could scale the heigth and breadth of Britain and not find a chipotle-cheddar scone, and for good reason. They sound very tasty (and are, of course, welcome), but perhaps should be classified as something other than a scone…. After all, one hardly spreads clotted cream or strawberry jam on a chipotle-cheddar scone – certainly not in polite company.

Who doesn’t appreciate a good rant?

My Big Project, or HoMD #25

Friday, January 25th, 2008

When the New Year rolled around I looked at my life and found some things I’d like to change. Considering my life is pretty much a shanty leaned up against a pile of mouldering refuse less than ideal at the moment, improvement shouldn’t provide much of a challenge.

Anyway, I noted among a number of things that I want to entertain more often. I enjoy having people over to the house, cooking, talking, and generally interacting with other humans. I also want to do more to help my fellow humans. So I devised a way to accomplish both at once.

This year I will throw at least one dinner party a month and ask anyone who attends to provide a cash donation of how much they would have spent on dinner that night. At the end of the year all of the money will be donated to Heifer International in the names of all the guests.

Tonight was the first dinner party. Only two people were able to come, but we had a delicious meal and then played some Wii. The menu included Cheddar Corn Chowder soup with salad and bread. Thanks to The Husband and D. for pitching in with the cooking. Wii-wise we made some miis and played some Mario Party 8. Good times!

Our friends brought their daughter over for the first part of the evening. Though she played shy with us, we still enjoyed seeing her and her fantastic pink(!) hair.

Miss Elf in Pink

A visit from the elfin folk is always welcome at this house.

Overall I deem the evening a success and a great start to a bigger endeavor.

No Moules on Monday

Tuesday, November 20th, 2007

(This post is best experienced while listening to Duran Duran’s “New Moon on Monday” because that song is the real reason for the post. Seriously, without the song being stuck in my head and the resulting blog title we wouldn’t be here.)

Moules, for the uninitiated, is the French word for mussels. I always think of them as moules because my love affair with them began in France — it would be like falling in love with Pierre in Paris and referring to him as Peter here in the States.

I flirted with mussels before The Husband and I visited France a few years ago. When a bivalve wading in wine and garlic beckons, I tend to respond. But I never craved mussels. It was a passing attachment at best.

The Husband and I traveled to Brittany when we were in France. I thought it looked like a fairy-tale land from pictures I’d seen, plus it seems to be where crepes originate.

It turns out that Brittany is filthy with restaurants serving moules and frites. They even go so far as to have mouleries — restaurants that serve nothing but moules in sauce after delectable sauce. I never made it past the moules.

I ate nothing but moules the entire time we were in Brittany. I ate them cooked in white wine with garlic and herbs and then the same way with creme fraiche. Delicious. I devoured them drowned in wine and bleu cheese. I sampled The Husband’s moules in curry. I sopped bread and frites in sauces I can’t even remember and enjoyed every last morsel. My knees go weak just thinking of them.

I missed the moules when we returned to the States, but never mustered the courage to make them myself. I resigned myself to life without moules (great loves always involve great drama) until we return to France.

I threw myself back into the arms of Texas barbeque and Tex-Mex deliciousness and buried my sorrows. Over time the moules became a distant but fond memory.

But great romances don’t die — they slumber quietly until circumstances revive the sparks and passion flares again.

On a recent trip to Fuzzy’s Taco Shop for dinner I noticed a plaque with an article titled, “Eat These and Die Happy.” And, there, nestled almost in the middle was an entry for “mussels and frites” at a local bistro I didn’t know. I barely tasted my shredded garlic beef salad at Fuzzy’s (shame too, because it’s quite yummy) for thinking about tasty moules drenched in wine and herbs with a side of frites.

At the first opportunity (Monday) I looked up the bistro, drooled on my keyboard reading about their versions of moules, got directions, and waited for my chance to convince The Husband. And my chance came immediately (success favors the prepared, or something like that) when The Husband needed to eat an early dinner and head back to the office. I unfolded my plan with rationale (the food I was thawing couldn’t be ready in his time frame) and got the agreement. We’d go out for moules that very night.

So why am I writing a post titled, “No Moules for Monday”? Because the stupid bistro is closed on Mondays.