My Quail's Egg Addiction

I may as well just go ahead and say it.
Hi. My name is Coco and I'm an addict. 

No, not wine. Not pills. But an addict just the same. See I'm addicted to quail's eggs. There I said it. Man that feels good to admit. 

There is just something about those cute little speckled orbs that I can't get enough of. I mean, if they were sparkly I would wear them. Like big diamonds, which I also can't get enough of. 

On Halloween I gave hard boiled quail's eggs to my trick-or-treaters and let me tell you, those kids LOVED them! Never mind the fact that they thought they were chocolate eggs. 

Yolks on them! Baaahahahahaha-giggle-snort.

Look how happy those little urchins are!
Makes my heart sing!

Anyhow this addiction has been going on since about 2013. 

HOW IT HAPPENED: 2013 - We were living in Denver while The Big Guy was undergoing a bone marrow transplant. When I wasn't at the hospital, I was fine dining my way through Denver's best restaurants and poking around gourmet grocery stores. One day I hit up an Asian market and that is where my addiction first reared it's ugly little head. I hadn't even eaten one yet but I was hooked by their cuteness. They were kind of like a puppy egg.

I call up my friend google and I find out they only have 17 calories per egg, which is exactly 128743 fewer calories than whats in a Cadbury egg, which I could eat a dozen of too. And at $1.79 per pack at the Asian grocer (which is like $23.16 less than 15 Cadbury eggs) they had me. The next thing I know I'm strung out on crack quail eggs every day.  

A perfectly poached quail egg.
My favorite way to eat them

These babies are poached and yes I know they look like sperm.
I just pinch that little tail off, as evidenced by the two on the left.

So imagine my delight when Albertsons in Sheridan starting carrying them! Yep, that was me doing the happy dance in the egg isle. And me, standing guard over them to make sure only the Worthy Looking People could buy them. Well, there weren’t any Worthy Looking People (except one) so I pretty much bought them all. I did apologize to the ONE Worthy Looking Lady about our little episode at the check out, when she called for a manager because she thought I was trying to steal her one measly pack of eggs. It was just a little misunderstanding. As if.

And guess what? Alberstons restocked; meaning I don't stand in the egg isle anymore. True, it's mostly due to the restraining order. Minor detail, but yes, that was me patrolling the parking lot to let the Worthy Looking People know that if they buy the eggs I don't have to, because Albertsons will still BRING IN MORE!

As of now I really have no intention of getting professional help. I go to the store every other day and buy at least 2 or 3 packs, which has 15 adorable speckled eggs in each (FYI they are $2.99 at Albertsons [the people aren't real Asians]) and I eat approximately 6 to 8 cute eggs each day. 

You do the math. As of now I have about 162 quail eggs in my refrigerator, which by the way is just slightly more than the number of chihuahuas I have. And I just can't stop myself. By Christmas I figure I will have approximately 9,268 quail eggs (and likely a few more dogs). Hey girls, guess what ya all are getting for Christmas? 

If you are looking for a dealer let me know; I'll be in the alley behind Albertsons. Just ask if I'm the "lady selling the Cadbury Eggs" and wink three times. Buddy, I'm telling you....we will have struck a deal!


Now my only fear is that I will wake up from this dreamy dream and tomorrow there will be NO quail eggs at Albertsons! That lady in the alley being restrained and put into a straight jacket and screaming bloody murder? Yeah, that will be me too. 

FOR REALS:

To crack open a quail egg, use a serrated knife and cut off the upper 1/3 of the fat end and slide it into a dish. The egg is mostly yolk, so if you crack it against the counter or a bowl, you'll likely break the yolk. They poach or fry up in less than a minute and can be hard boiled in about 2-3 minutes. 

L-R  Perfectly soft at 2:30 minutes-barely soft at 3 and just hard at 3:30 

PRINT RECIPE: Poached Quail's Egg with Applewood Smoked Bacon, Potatoes and Chives. 

Bonus facts: they contain 13% protein compared to 11% found in chicken eggs, 140% of vitamin B1, compared to 50% found in chickens. Plus, they boost metabolism, reduce BP, improve vision and soothe allergies. Another beni is that they don't carry bacteria (like salmonella) because of  an increased amount of Lysozime and the fact that they have a higher body temp them a chicken. I could go on and on of the health benefits or you can just click here to read for yourself.

Bake a Baby a Booze Cake ~ BUSTED!

Today is Daughter #2's (aka Hates Everything) birthday...her 30th. And 10,220 days ago (give or take) I baked her a Kahlua cheesecake for her second birthday. About 1825 days ago she saw the picture of the smiling baby (her) with said cake. Since then she has been holding a grudge against me because I "baked a baby a Kahlua cake." She likes to bring it up and rub my face in that cake, as if it says something about my parenting skills. Jeez...twenty-eight years ago nobody was busting my chops over this, but now...honey let me tell you...times they have a changed.

For starters, don't even think about baking your little darlin' a booze laced birthday cake, let alone let them have a little red beer for breakfast. And God forbid, don't get caught slipping them a baby Ambien. I'm here to tell you, shit WILL hit the fan and you will not get to babysit your granddaughter unsupervised.

This is that story. I'm re-posting it ~ because one, I find it to be hilarious and now at age 30 The Big Guy and I still can't get it right. Need proof? Yesterday I told him to got to town and buy her a birthday cake.

     "She only likes white cake with white frosting. No chocolate," I told him. (Now you understand why we refer to her as Hates Everything.)
     "Maybe I'll get her red velvet," said the guy who can't hear a bomb go off.
      Me: "Didn't you hear me....she likes white. Red velvet is just chocolate with red food coloring. So no."

      The guy who can't hear came home with the worst specimen of a red velvet cake I've ever seen. Her name was even spelled wrong, by what looks like to have been a first grader. (Thanks Albertsons-looks like you put the "h" on and then changed your mind because it didn't fit and/or because you wanted to make me look like a lousy mother. I'm so on to you!) 
     I should have just went ahead and made the damn Kahlua cake again and let her hold that grudge for another twenty-eight years.

Happy Birthday Savannah! 

Love you more than cake...even Kahlua Cake...nevermind.

(See original post below.)

      

Guilty As Charged

Paisley’s mom (who I will refer to as “The Prosecutor” in this piece) was grilling me like she was suspicious about whether or not I was her biological mother. 

     “How old was I when I rolled over? What was my first word? At what age did I crawl? What about when I got my first tooth?"

The Prosecutor and my next victum

     Ok, here’s the truth: I don’t’ remember what size pants I wear without looking at the tag and suddenly I’m supposed to remember little details from 23 years go. Not happening—I think I may have slept since then. 

     “Just go get your baby book and look in there,” I told her. “I’m sure I wrote it all down.”  All was going well as we looked back over that first year. Milestones were duly noted, snippets of hair displayed and the tooth chart was appropriately numbered in order, complete with date.

     Then we came to the page marked 1st  Birthday.  Smiling baby…check. Cake…check. One candle, party hat and presents…check, check and check.  I’m sure my Mother of the Year award was just out of camera range. So far, so good.

     Then we flipped the page to her 2nd Birthday.
     “What the hell is that?” The Prosecutor demanded, pointing at a photo. I leaned in to take a closer look and to read what I had so thoughtfully written, which said something about the fact that I had baked her a Kahlua cheesecake and that we had had a…ahem, “private party” (read; no guests).  Court was now in session. 
     “You baked me a Kahlua cheesecake?” The Prosecutor said, like it was a crime. 
     “What’s wrong with that?” I asked her, "Kahlua cheesecake is good." 
     “I was two Mom,” she snarled, pointing the peace sign at me like she was picking me out of a lineup. “Why would you bake a two year old a cake with booze in it?” 
     “Hey, it’s not like it had rat poison in it,” I said. “And at least I put your picture in the book,” I pointed out, dodging her question which was shaped like a bullet. She leaned in and upon closer examination of Exhibit A, noticed that there was only about two-thirds of a Kahlua cheesecake with 2 mismatched candles, which caused her to cross examine me even further. 
     “And look at that cake, where is the rest of it?  It looks like some cake that was baked a few days before and then at the last minute had a couple of candles stuck in it,” she said, accusing me of the unthinkable. 

The Prosecutor and her Kahlua Cheesecake on her 2nd Birthday
(Notice the missing chunk?)

    “Well you look happy and you are smiling,” I pointed out. 
     “You forgot my birthday didn’t you?" she said, demanding the truth. “And where are my friends and my party hat?” The Prosecutor asked, cross-examining me.   

     “You didn’t have any friends and I’m pretty sure the cake wasn’t leftover. I think we cut it before we took the picture.” I said, perjuring myself even further.
      “Aha! You forgot my birthday and you fed me a leftover Kahlua cheesecake," she said, like Child Protective Services should have been notified.

      "Oh my God, it wasn’t like it was your first one,” I said, before I had thought to plead the 5th. "And give me a break—it was a Kahlua cheesecake not a vodka cheesecake." I said in a last ditch attempt to save my aforementioned Mother of the Year award.

      She wasn't buying it.  She demanded to know what kind of cake I had made for her 3rd birthday.
    "I don’t remember," I told her, "probably Baileys."  I heard the gavel fall as she rested her case.

     Jeez, never mind that I had managed to number all her teeth on the dental chart or that I had her immunizations up to the minute.  Noooo, bake a baby a Kahlua cheesecake and you could wind up in the electric chair.

     "Let me make it up to you," I said. "I’ll make Paisley her 1st Birthday cake."

     "You do and I'm seeking the death penalty," The Prosecutor said.

The Prosecutor on her 2nd Birthday.
Do you think she looks happy, or is just me?

Of course I am posting the recipe for Kahlua cheesecake (which by the way came from her Aunt Valli more than 20 years ago.) which is the one pictured above. If you decide to make it for your kids/grandkids birthday have an alibi and an attorney ready.  Go to the "Desserts" tab at the top of this page to find the recipe.