Going To The Deaf & Dumb Doctor

I'm one of those people who will laugh at you and with you.  If you slip on the ice and bust your ass, rip the crotch out of your pants when you bend over, or accidentally fart when you sneeze, I will be busting a gut. I'll help you up, loan you my jacket to tie around your waist, and probably pee my pants laughing, because I'm not above getting my jollies at your expense. 
     I also sometimes laugh at inappropriate times. Like at funerals or yoga. I remember once when two friends (who shall remain nameless to protect their classy reputations) and I tried NOT to lose it when the prim doctor next to us farted in yoga class while doing the child's pose. The fact that she was a pediatrician was not lost on me. It was all quiet and we were in our zone or our zen or whatever we were supposed to be in, and Dr. _______ rips one. My friends and I each opened one eye and looked at one another and then tried our best not to look like complete assholes as we were snorting and our bodies were shaking and tears were running from our pinched shut eyes. We didn't dare look at each again or we would have completely lost it and would probably spontaneously combusted. 
     This story is kind of like that in the sense that it's at someone else's expense...The Big Guy's, but it was funny and I was trying not to laugh as he struggled with the words. He's such a good sport! And I can be such an ass.
   I wrote the following on The Big Guy's Caring Bridge page, but since this is different audience, and since I'm still chuckling about it, I thought I'd share it here.

                 __________________________________

JULY 2, 2013      
The Big Guy’s hearing is pretty good, said no one ever. Honestly, forty plus years of playing trucks and working with heavy equipment has taken its toll on Larry’s ability to hear a bomb drop.
     Since his cardiac arrest and the twelve minutes of CPR that followed, I have noticed a significant decline in his hearing. When a couple of the nurses mentioned that they too had noticed it, we thought it was time to get it checked out.  

When I mentioned to Sierra that we were going to an audiologist, she hit the nail on the head when she said, “if Dad gets hearing aides then he’ll be able to hear us when we are making fun of him.”

     I’ll be the first to admit that the girls and I have had a few giggles at his expense. It’s true that we have all moved our lips with no sound coming out of our mouths just to make him think that he has gone totally deaf. He’s a quick learner with not much of a sense of humor, and after a few minutes we can hear him mumbling, assholes, under his breath, which always brings an outburst of laughter from us, followed by a Poor Dad, which is then followed by several minutes of silence. (Side note: assholery must run in the family.)

Yesterday was the appointment and following is the condensed version of how it pretty much went.

Me:  “Well, that was a great waste of time.” 
Larry:  “I think so, it’s just balsamic vinegar that I can’t.”
Me: Huh?"
Larry: “Did you just ask if I could tolerate the taste of lime?” 
Me:  “The prosecution rests its case.”
   
Although we were the only people in the waiting room, we were ignored while the three women working at the front desk tried to decide on wording for a banner that they were making. One People magazine later, we were finally taken into another room where we waited even longer until a really old guy in a white lab coat with longish white hair came into the room. He told us that Larry was the last patient of his life because he was retiring as soon as he was finished seeing him. First red flag…so much for follow-up, I was thinking.

Then one of the banner makers, aka “the audiologist” took us into another room where she stuffed Larry into this small cube, like she was Houdini putting her assistant into a box to make him disappear. She instructed him to put on some gigantic headphones and then she stared at him through a glass wall while speaking into an archaic looking microphone as she spun some big dials around. (Note to self:  Man is living in space, iPhones can start your car, dim your living room lights and monitor your heart rate, but audiology is still in the dark ages and Thomas Edison is alive and well and about to retire in Denver, CO)

She said:  “Say reason, say house, say date.”
He said:  “season? mouse? late?”
She said: “Say boy, say doubt, say berry.”
He said:  “toy? shout? fairy?
She said:  “Say bike, say chair, say duck.”
He said:  “Mike? stair?  ummmm, Huh?” 

Me? I was looking around the room for some scissors to run with.

     Houdini unfolded Larry out of the box and made him reappear, then handed us a piece of paper that she had hand drawn a graph on. She took my scissors away from me and then herded us into the third room where we waited for Dr. Edison. He informed us that yes indeed; Larry did have significant hearing loss (Thank you Captain Obvious!) and then he reminded us that he was retiring in about five minutes, as he escorted us back out to the waiting room. (Say hi to Orville and Wilbur, I’m thinking.) The banner makers bid us farewell without even looking up.

Me: “Wait a sec, what do we do now? Don’t you need to let him try on some hearing aids? Or fit him or give us some pricing?”

Houdini:  “Oh I don’t do that here, you’ll have to come to my office in Englewood for that. Here’s my card, you can call and make an appointment.”

Larry and I look at each other, like two deer caught in the headlights and try not to crack up.

Me: “Well, #&*@”

Larry: “What duck?”             
                  _______________________________                                    

Later that afternoon we went in for labs. Hemoglobin is up, which means that he is making blood again!  His weight was down to 209, meaning that all women now hate him because he has lost ten pounds in a week by eating mostly ice cream. It also means that I will be adding some butter and cream to that IV bag if he doesn’t start eating.  

     The rash is getting better ~ in the sense that it is a lot less painful; however I have noticed that it has now moved to his lower back, his butt and the backs of his legs. I told him I thought he should start putting that cream on his legs. He said he’d rather have oatmeal than eggs.

     Well you know what they say…if it’s not thing, it’s your mother.
 

My Second Date With Bobby

One word:  Posole; it's just one more thing to LOVE about Bobby Flay. 
      When Bobby called me to taste test his recipe I decided to to try it out on The Big Guy because soup is one of the few things that taste good to him since he's been on this the post-chemo diet. Okay, so maybe I'm a little delusional and have a touch of sympathy-chemo brain myself. Shut up. He did too call me.

Anyhow, since I am cooking my way through his Mesa Grill cookbook, tonight I made the Chicken and Mushroom Posole Soup. It just double-stamps the reason that Bobby Flay is Bobby Flay! *sigh* 

I know that pork is usually the basis for Posole but this recipe calls for chicken. I like the idea of roasting the chicken breasts whole, rather than sauteing them in cut up pieces. At that high temp (425) it crisped up nicely and kept the juices in.

I only deviated from the recipe a bit:  I used fresh shiitake mushrooms instead of dried porcini because a) I'm not a fan of the dried variety, and b) I had fresh shiitakes on hand, so it just made sense. Also, the recipe calls for "1 cup of canned hominy" and that is just not anywhere near enough if you are going to call yourself "Posole". Shame on you Bobby, for scimping.  I used one of the big 29 oz. cans, which is about three cups, and no one was complaining.

These anchos are still soft...not like the dried out, crunchy things you sometimes find.

Ya all know that ancho chiles are just dried Poblano peppers right?  It's like calling here kitty, kitty to a mountain lion; it's same breed of cat but a completely different animal. The same can be said about this pepper. The poblano pepper is mild but once dried to the ancho chile is becomes slightly sweet, with a mild to medium bite, and a distinctive smoky flavor. 
  Now that I'm living in the Big City (and not Hickville) I'm able to find big, beautiful, still-soft, ancho chiles and they made all the difference in the world in this Posole. You can't even believe how wonderful these chiles smell! Lean in...a little more...closer...can you smell them? (Note to my Hickville friends...if you want me to bring you some fat ancho chiles leave me a message here and I'll do it.)

Speaking of the anchos, they added quite a nice bite to this Posole, and even though Bobby said to "garnish" with a lime, I took the liberty of squeezing some fresh lime juice into the pot. It cut the heat just enough for any sissies at the table. (Me.)

I finished it with a handful of white cheddar, some crushed tortilla chips, fresh cilantro and a lime wedge and this Posole was perfect! Thanks Bobby, love ya, call me, mean it! ♥

Click on the "Soups-Salads-Side" tab to see the recipe.

My First Date With Bobby

I've been a big Bobby Flay fan for years and have cooked many of the recipes out of his Bold American Food Cookbook. The Big Guy and I still count many of the dishes out of that book amongst our all-time favorite recipes. About six months ago I bought his Mesa Grill Cookbook and hadn't cracked a page in it until just now and I think I'm in LOVE! And now I'm on a mission. Bobby and I have some more dates...lots of them.

Having now read it cover to cover, I've found that there are tons of great recipes in it and I love it so much I told myself that I was going to cook every, single recipe in the book. The truth is, I tell myself that every time I buy a new cookbook and IF I'm lucky I manage to make a half dozen or so dishes out of it before it becomes a dust collector.
     Well this time I really, sorta, kinda mean it because this book is full of pictures of dishes that look and sound amazing. And how can you not love looking at that face?!?

Anyway, to get the ball rolling, last night I made the following:  Sophie's Chopped Salad  (Sophie is Bobby's daughter by the way) and it was delish!  So good in fact I had the leftovers for breakfast today.
     For the entree I made his Red Chile-Honey Glazed Salmon with Black Bean Sauce and Jalapeno Crema. (Note to lay folk: "Crema" is Bobby's cool word for "sour cream." I usually prefer "Creme," but because this is Bobby's gig, we are going to call it "Crema". Got it? Good.) I'm not a person who uses the phrase OMG, but if I did, I'd be OMGeeing all over it. We loved the glaze; it was just the right amount of sweet and hot and when the sugars in the honey hit my smoking hot cast iron skillet it made a nice crust that held the moistness in. Mine was cooked perfectly, about medium on the edges and just a shade past medium rare in the center. Sadly, I had to kill The Big Guys salmon ~ to well done. Because of his bone marrow transplant, he has strict diet restrictions and all meats have to be cooked to well done. Boo-hoo, I know.

The black bean sauce was spicy and flavorful...Four thumbs up. I had a feeling the Jalapeno Crema would be nothing to write home about and all I thought it did was make a spicy dish spicier. Since I was roasting peppers anyhow, I decided to roast a couple of Serranos and make Bobby's Mango-Serrano Crema. I liked it a lot...more than the jalapeno crema and although spicy too, the mangos added a cool factor. With my leftover mango I made a mango salsa and put a dab on the salmon. (My recipe, not Flays).

For a side I made Creamy Green Chile Rice. It involved roasting poblano peppers and then a lot of cream was boiled and reduced down and stirred in at the end, which resulted in a nice creamy texture instead of that old gummy rice you sometimes get with Mexican food.

So that's about five recipes down....I think that leaves about 145 to go. I'm posting the recipe for Sophie's Chopped Salad, so click on the "Soups-Salads-Sides" tab to see it. It really is a GREAT salad for summer, so make it, then let me know if you love it as much as I did!
     Thanks Bobby! Love ya, call me, mean it! ♥

(All photos were taken by me by taking a picture of the picture in the cookbook. My camera was dead last night and I got a crappy picture with my phone so I won't embarrass myself by posting it.)

My Inner Picasso

Yep, I'm pretty much devastated. I just figured out that I am probably never going to be a world renowned artist. You see a few weeks ago I created a masterpiece and kind of figured that painting must be a hidden talent that I had no idea I possessed.
     This is how it happened: For Mother's Day The Know-It-All gave me a gift certificate to go to this artsy-fartsy wine bar, drink a bunch of wine and paint a Warhol worthy picture of martini glasses.  I was almost even the teacher's pet for the night and practically everyone thought my picture was the best. 

A few of the samples. Mine is the best one...the one in the upper left, in case you didn't know.

Since then I have been thinking that I have this amazing God-given talent that has been buried deep within me and that Pablo just might be my daddy.
    I've been dreaming about painting, even while awake and have been thinking that I am on the verge...the verge of being discovered. Kind of like a super model on a street corner; only a little older and heavier, with boobs and a set of cheap brushes.

So a couple of days ago The Know-It-All, Dr. J, and I returned to the class for another night of painting and sipping.
     I couldn't wait to stand before an easel with a Dixie paper plate full of primary colors and show the world my hidden talent. Well it turns out....*Big sigh here,* that I sucked. I think a kindergartner must have taken over my body because I went from Picasso to preschooler in one brush stroke. Waaaahhhhhh! Waaaahhhhhh!
  

 

I will be the first to admit that I have more experience looking at martini glasses than I do looking at poppys, so my martini masterpiece is obviously more fabulous than my flowers. Plus I like martinis more than poppys.

But you be the judge...I'm pretty critical of my obvious artistic abilities, so maybe I shouldn't hang up my flat brush just yet. What say you?

The Big Guy stuck a knife in my heart when he looked at my poppys and said, "honey, don't quit your day job." It was kind of like telling Dr. Kevorkian to give CPR to a guy with a self inflicted gunshot wound. You know he's only trying to help but the poor bastard is going to die and now I'm afraid that my brand-spankin'-new dream of being an artist is dying a slow death as well.

But you never know because art has a way of getting better with age. Maybe in a hundred years in the back of some old box, in some dusty garage someone will pull out an old original painting of some poppys, with a barely legible signature that says "Coco," and they will recognize it for the priceless masterpiece that it is.

But just in case that doesn't happen there is an upcoming class where we will be painting margaritas. I'm thinkin' I 'm gonna be damn good at this one! 

Coco, Dr. J and The Know-It-All, getting ready to create their Poppy masterpieces!

The Light?

The following is a post that I wrote for The Big Guy's Caring Bridge page and I thought it was worth sharing, for a bunch of reasons...1) I'm pathetically behind on keeping up with THIS page, 2) some people just like to read shit about that whole "seeing the light" thing, 3) I'm just showing off what an AMAZING man I have, in case you ever doubted me, 4) my friend Kathy said it could be the start of my next novel, and 5) it is pretty good reading.  Here you have it: 
                       _________________________

Since everyone keeps asking us the BIG QUESTION, I thought I'd address it.
     In Larry's twelve minutes of near death experience, did he see “the light?”
    The answer is…no…he did not. He didn’t see any light, any old relatives, or anything else for that matter.
     On the upside he says he didn’t see any flames either. That’s good news, I’m assuming.

But this is what he does remember:  Meghan (the superstar of nurses) brought in the platelets. He told her that he had to pee first.
     He came back from the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed and Meghan hung the platelets.
     Shortly after that he started having difficulty breathing and he told her so. She asked him if he was alright and he said, “no,” that he thought he needed to lie down.  He lay down on the bed and immediately his breathing worsened.    
     He remembers grabbing his chest and then he says he remembers cute little Meghan climbing on top of him and straddling him.
     And that is the last thing he remembers.
     (I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that any middle-aged man who has a hot little nurse straddling him is probably going to have a coronary.  Anaphylaxis reaction or not. Just sayin'.)

He says he remembers that it was about 5:30 AM.

The ER doctor called me at 6:27 AM and I got to the ICU at about 7:30.
     When I walked into the room and saw six nurses around him pushing pumps and taking vitals and charting, I felt strangely calm.
     He was clearly unconscious and on life support, but I still knew that he would be alright. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was stupidity, but I knew that he would be OK. 
     I don’t really think of myself as someone who is as cool as a cucumber, but I think I was less panicked than anyone else in that room.
     Maybe it was because I just knew.
     I walked up to his bedside and took his hand and told him I was there. I did my best not to cry when I spoke to him because I didn’t want him to know that I was upset (understatement of the year). One of the nurses told me that she thought he knew I was there because his pulse rate suddenly changed.  I’ve been known to have that effect on him. 

Sierra, Aaron, Eliza, Robert, Ashley, and Jeff all arrived shortly after that. We all sat around for the remainder of the day and watched the ventilator breathe for him, wishing that he would move…a hand, a leg…something.

The next day, at around 7:30 AM, a full twenty-six hours later, the ICU nurse attempted to wake him up. She said that he started to panic and that he seemed to fight against the ventilator, so she gave him some more Michael Jackson Juice (Propofol) and put him lights out again.

Sierra and I arrived at about  8:30 that morning.  As the nurse began to wake him up for the second time she told us to talk to him and let him know we were there.
     Sierra, being a nurse herself, was telling her dad that he was on the ventilator and to not fight against it. To breathe. She asked him to follow simple commands and he did, to our relief.
    Me, being clueless and speechless, pretty much just rubbed his arm, like a robot, and silently prayed.

Larry says that when he started waking up on the ventilator he looked at the clock and saw that it was about 10:30 and he thought that he had been out for five hours, when in fact it had been about twenty-nine hours.
     Once he was fully awake he had to spend another three hours on the ventilator while they made sure he was breathing on his own.
     It was during this time that they gave him more platelets, explaining to us that they wanted him on the vent in case he had another reaction; so that he had an “open airway.”
     He may have been breathing on his own for those three hours but I can assure you that Sierra and I were holding our own breaths.

He was so amazing during this time. Twice he threw up (from nausea) while on the vent. He regained his cool; so much that the nurses and respiratory therapists trusted him not to freak out so they unrestrained his hands.
     He was only able to communicate by nodding or blinking and he assured us that he would not do anything crazy, like try to pull the tube out. We were all in awe of his composure, but I felt like I was having my own panic attack at that time.

When you are married to someone for more than thirty years you can pretty much communicate with your eyes. Shut up…let’s go…I love you…not now…don’t you dare…You don’t even have to talk.
   
I desperately wanted this moment to be one of those times, but it wasn't.  Staring into his eyes I had NO IDEA what he wanted to say to me, but yet I could tell he had questions. I could see frustration, pain, and confusion and it killed me that I couldn’t understand what he was trying to ask me ~ or maybe tell me.

If the ventilator hadn’t been making that breathing noise for him you would have heard my heart breaking.

I couldn’t watch when they extubated him. The sounds of him coughing and the hoarseness of his barely audible voice made a huge lump in my own throat that I had to choke down. I’m a sissy that way and my “Caregiver” card should probably have been revoked right then and there.

God help him, I was thinking. Then I realized that He already had.   

So to answer your question…no…he didn’t see the light. But I did. And he was in it.

Day Zero aka Transplant Day

For more about Larry's journey you can follow him at www.caringbridge.org/visit/larrylittrell

Denver Dining: First Round

I know that there is nothing more annoying than that person who has to take pictures of their food, and NOBODY can touch their plate/food until that annoying person gets finished taking said pictures.  
I am that person. Suck it.

Denver has such a great dining scene that if there is an upside to being here for the next few months it is that I have time to hit all the great places ~ meaning that I've pretty much been eating my way through Lodo (Lower Downtown, for those of you not in the Denver-Cool-Kids-Know).
  

My entree: delicious melt-in-your-mouth artichoke and goat cheese pasta. 

The day before The Big Guy went into the hospital we went to Rioja with Griff and Nancy. We all had an amazing dinner, but since this is mostly about me, I'll share my entree's and pictures.  I had the Goat Cheese and Artichoke Stuffed Pasta in Artichoke Broth, with Truffle and Queso de Mano. Our entire meal was ahhhh-mazing; from the appetizer to the crazy raspberry dessert.

There is a raspberry meringue under that crazy mound of spun sugar.

Then a week or so later, on "Day Zero," Denny and Karen came to town to lend their love and support and we died and went to heaven at Ocean Prime.  

My Halibut, with fennel, sun dried tomatoes, shiitakes in a garlic cream beurre blanc

Of course we started in the bar with martinis ~ we were celebrating Big's new birthday, after all. From the truffle popcorn to the tuna tartar to the entree's of halibut (mine) to the sea bass (Denny's) to the scallops (Karen's)...everything was sensational. The chocolate peanut butter mousse was the perfect ending to a stressful day.

Dessert, at Ocean Prime.

The next morning we hit thee hot spot for breakfast: Snooze. Oh my Gawd, the Velvet Elvis pancakes went perfect with a hangover, or so we heard, so Dennis ordered them...for me and Karen. Red Velvet pancakes, peanut butter cream cheese frosting and bacon maple syrup, bananas and peanuts! Yes you heard me....bacon maple syrup!

The Velvet Elvis

Karen and I also shared the Shrimp and Grits Benedict. YUM!  This place is worth the wait. Go early, just go!

Eggs bene with shrimp on a red pepper grit cake

This is where I stopped being one of those annoying people who take pictures of their food because I FORGOT to snap my next two places. Anywho....

My daughters, the Know-It-All and Hates Everything were coming to town for the weekend and if there are TWO things that I know that Hates Everything will eat it's tacos and pizza, probably in that order.  

    For lunch I decided to take them to Pinche Taqueria, which was the next place that I wanted to cross off my list. Well, Hates Everything hates everything on the menu, so she just orders the chips and salsa. Really. I'll admit the menu is funky, but it's simple and it's real Mexican (check it out here) and there must be a legit reason that their food truck has an obsessive following. I ordered her the queso a la plancha, which is pretty much a cheese taco, which she did not love. The Know-It-All and I ate our way through the rest of the taco menu, except for the beef tongue taco. 

The following day I took the girls to Osteria Marco, which has to-die-for-pizza, not to mention panini's, pasta, and salads, among other things. Anyhow, Hates Everything takes one look at the menu and says she doesn't want anything because there is nothing on this menu that looks good. She's killing me here! Where did I fail this child??? 

     I order the wild mushroom and robiola pizza, add house made sausage and I am in hog heaven. The Know-It-All is now on some crazy diet so she shows restraint and orders a salad, although I would have given up my first born (oh wait, that's her) if she would have ordered the fig, goat cheese, fontina, speck and arugula pizza, because I am dying to try it. I HATE people with will power when it comes to food! Mostly because I have none.
     Anyhow, because Hates Everything passes, I mentally go ape-shit for a second and then call our server back to the table and order her a cheese pizza, which is pretty much just a cheese pizza, only with really good cheese, because I just ain't having it. We are in the BEST DAMN PIZZA JOINT in Denver and she wanted pizza five minutes ago! If I were Catholic I would be saying a whole bunch of hail-mary's just to keep myself from killing her. Buuuuuut, at the last minute she saved herself because she didn't hate it! Hall-e-freaking-lujah!

But back to being one of those annoying peeps....My sister is coming to town and Lola, Zengo and Root Down are next on my list.
     More pictures to follow, because you know.... I AM one of those people!

Poor Bastard and the Caregiver

Many of you know that my hubs, The Big Guy is about a week away from under going a bone marrow transplant. What you may not know is that by default, I am his Caregiver.  Part of the requirement is that I attend a “Caregiver Class.”   

First let me just say that I am saddened to think that Big must have drawn the short straw in life when he ended up with me as his Caregiver.

     You see, I’m a puker. Poop, blood and all things bodily fluid make me gag like only cat shit can. You hawk a loogie in front of me and I will throw up on you.

With Sierra in tow, we sat down with a big three-ring binder full of instructions. I opened the book and it fell open to the page titled, “RECTAL CARE.”  WHAAAA????  NOOOOO!!!!  I mean, I didn’t even know there was such a thing. 

     Shit, I’m in too deep, I thought (no pun intended). I’m too squeamish to do this because I’m a card carrying puker and I am not a sympathetic person. Empathetic, yes. Sympathetic, no.  

     I was dying inside; afraid to turn the page because I just knew it was going to say “TOE NAIL CLIPPING PROTOCOL” and this would be when I passed out.

I have no unrealistic expectations of graduating at the top of my class, in fact if my patient (The Big Guy) survives my Nurse Ratchet ways, well my work here is done and I’ll head straight to my next therapy session.  I was still shaking my head in disbelief at Big’s bad luck…MDS and ME, in the same lifetime. Poor bastard.

Then a lady a few rows behind me asked if the Caregiver was expected to stay with the patient 24/7, or if the Caregiver were allowed to slip away for a little while to go shopping. My ears perked up and I practically choked on my own spit, but I knew I’d found my soul mate.  My head spun around ala Exorcist to see who this woman was, and better yet to see who her poor bastard was. 

     I had just been studying my own neglected pedicure and had now found a woman after my own heart. I could almost see us in neighboring spa chairs comparing chemo reigmens.

The subject changed to what was considered an emergency and what warranted a trip to the ER.  

      Temperature spike—yes, bleeding—yes, the shakes—yes, uncontrolled vomiting and diarrhea—hell to the yes!   

     While the real Caregivers where busy asking logical questions, like: are the chills reason to go the ER? (yes), the only thing I could think to ask was, has a Caregiver ever been diagnosed with Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome.

(Authors note:  If you don’t know what that is, click here. When you quit laughing, go back to feeling sorry for The Big Guy because he got ME for a Caregiver. 

   

I leaned over and whispered the question to Sierra, who spewed Diet Dr. Pepper from her nose. And she’s a real nurse so I decided to save the question for after class. That, and I didn't want to scare off my new best friend before we had a chance to bond over French manicures.

Gawd, I hope there is not going to be test. I love this man and I’m sure when the time comes I’ll rally and be able to hand him a Kleenix, should the need arise. Pray for him!

 Poor Bastard and The Caregiver, on our way to class.

Leek Fritters: It's What's For Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner

About a month ago I made these Leek Fritters, and because they were so stinkin' good I have been meaning to share the recipe. Since I pretty much think about food 24/7, I know that when a dish creeps into my thoughts at least once a day it's either a) time to make it again, b) time to share the recipe, c) time to open a bottle of wine, or d) all of the above. Always, always go with "all of the above," in multiple choice questions.   

My sister, who is a bit food obsessed herself (but on a healthier level), told me about these fritters a long time ago.  Whenever we talk on the phone the subject always turns to food and we start telling each other about what we've recently made and then we end up sharing recipes.  Well, she keeps bringing up these fritters; she's either made just them again or asks me if  I've made them yet, so I figured I better get on it.
     The recipe is from the vegetarian cookbook "Plenty," which by the way has a ton of great recipes.

I made the sauce a few hours before hand.  There is a shitload of cilantro in it, along with parsley, sour cream, and Greek yogurt. (In case you didn't know, Greek yogurt makes the best cold sauces.)  It was sooooo good; if it had been slathered on my shoe I would have tried to eat it.

The fritters seemed a little runny to me when I first mixed them up with the egg whites and milk, but they came together beautifully when they hit the pan. There is a teensy bit of turmeric in the recipe, which I don't think is really a spice staple (I had to buy it special for this dish) and really, I have no idea if it made a difference or not, but because they were really good I'd recommend getting you some and not deviating from the recipe.

 

The recipe says they serve four, and I suppose that is true if they are served as an entree, since vegetarians wouldn't likely be serving it with a tenderloin.  If serving it as a side dish you can half the recipe or eat the remaining fritters for breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast, and lunch as I did.  I nuked the leftovers and they reheated up pretty decent. Let just say they didn't suck.

 

If you've never cooked with leeks I have to ask, what are you waiting for?  They are delicious, milder than an onion and with a more tender texture so they are easier to sneak by an onion hater. (Ear muffs, Hates Everything, ear muffs). Plus, they make a great addition to many dishes like fritattas, potatoes, and pizza, to name a few. 

     Don't be put off by the long list of ingredients in this recipe. With the exception of the turmeric, most of the ingredients will likely be in your pantry. If you do your prep work ahead of time it comes together pretty quickly. 

     Check out the recipe under the "Soups-Salads-Sides" tab. 

Throwing Up On a Cop Will NOT Get You Out of a Speeding Ticket

So you know I mentioned that I got pulled over again the other day, for passing a cop, again. They always do that to me. I'm pretty sure it's not against the law to pass the law, but every time I do I get busted. Maybe it's just Wyoming and Montana and Idaho, oh and Colorado.
     Anyway my friend Jules reminded me of the time I got stopped for speeding in Yellowstone Park, which after all these years I can finally laugh about.

This is my daughter, the Know-It-All, as I like to call her. She looks angelic huh?  Look closer. Reeeeeaaal close. 

Here's what happened:  I was somewhere between Big Sky and West Yellowstone and unbeknownst to me it was 55mph zone.  I was doing 84 or 86 or something like that when I met up with one of Montana's finest, who immediately threw on the lights and flipped around.  The Know-It-All, aka Sierra, was about thirteen or fourteen years old at the time. You know... that age where something has crawled up their butts and died so they are constantly sulking...or embarrassing you...or not listening to you...or telling you to "talk to the hand".  That age.

Anyhow, she was lying down in the back seat, pouting about something I presume, when I said, urgently Sierra! Sit up and put your seat belt on, I'm getting pulled over by a cop! So then I said it again, about 562842 more times with some cuss words thrown in. Of coarse she wouldn't sit up and buckle up, so as I pulled over I told her to pretend like she was sick. Bad idea....really bad idea. I knew she was a drama queen but I had no idea that she could pull off an Academy Award wining performance without a dress rehearsal.

As I pulled over and rolled down my window the best looking cop that I have ever seen was walking up to my door. It was then that my movie star daughter sat up and started moaning, like I'd been beating her with a clothes hanger or something.  The handsome officer looked into the back seat at the pile of teenage angst that was flopping about so I gave him my best smile and said, my daughter is really sick. I was speeding so I could hurry and get her to a bathroom.
     About that time Sierra said in her best, my-mother-has-been-beating-me-with-a-clothes-hanger-voice, give me some Pepto-Bismol, and so I opened up the glove box and tossed a bottle of Pepto into the back seat. Don't ask me why I had Pepto in the glove box, because I have no idea why, but I did.  And I knew I did. It was right there, next to the vodka and my .38.

Ok, so he wasn't Eric Estrada, but close...

I was still smiling my mommie dearest smile through gritted teeth at the cute cop, hoping that hitting your brat in the head with a loaded bottle of Pepto Bismol was going to endear me to him.
     He gave me the: license and registration ma'am, do you know how fast your were going, I'll be right back, spiel, while my darling daughter was still moaning and rolling around the back seat, like she were resisting an exorcism. 

THAT'S ENOUGH SIERRA, SIT UP AND PUT YOUR SEAT BELT ON BEFORE I GET A TICKET FOR THAT TOO, I demanded, giving her a look that could have bent a spoon, if she'd had one in her hand.  But did my devil-child straighten up and act right?  What do you think?  Noooooooo.
     As the cop was coming back to the car with my ticket in hand you will never guess what Satan's Spawn did.  She ate the rest of her granola bar, took a swig of Pepto Bismol and a big gulp of orange soda and then, just as the cop got to the rear of the car she threw open the car door, about hitting him with it and then promptly puked it all up on his shoes. Yep. She did.
     He jumped back, mouth hanging unflatteringly open and looked at his orange and pink shoes. As he handed me my ticket he said, Ma'am you'd better hurry and get her to a bathroom, she seems pretty sick to me. But don't be speeding!!!       

And by the way, speeding in Yellowstone Park is a federal offense, because, duh! it's on federal land. The nice officer wrote me up for only 76 mph.  I think he felt sorry for me...either that or he saw Sierra's horns.

WHOA, whoa, whoa, slow down....you won't want to pass up this recipe for Black and White Soup...BLACK. AND. WHITE. SOUP.  Get it??? Cop cars are BLACK AND WHITE, jeez do I have to spell out everything for you?
     The Black Bean Soup is my recipe and the White Cheddar Soup, (adapted from BA) are poured simultaneously into the same bowl, creating BLACK AND WHITE SOUP.  I garnish the Black with Lime Scented Sour Cream and the White Soup with Cilantro Oil. 
     My official taste tester, The Big Guy gave it three thumbs up!

It may seem like a lot of work to make two soups, but they go together pretty fast and can be made the day before and then re-heated.  If you do that you may need to thin them down with a little more chicken broth. 
     Click on the "Soups, Salads, Sides" tab for the recipes. 

About Them Mussels...

I'm usually a purist when it come to my mussels; you know...a little wine (ok, a lot of wine,*wink wink* ) some parsley and shallots, lots of lemon and garlic. The usuj.  Not no more. After eating THEE BEST MUSSELS EV-VER at Salud Bistro in St. Croix, I've been trying to recreate them in my head. Served in a Lemon-Sherry-Cream broth, with Chorizo, they were simple but oh-so delish! 

 

Here's a picture, but oops, we were like pigs at a trough and I forget to take the picture until we had about polished them off. Our good friends, the Nicholsons, were with us and Captain Obvious and Captain Oblivious (as I like to call The Big Guy and his buddy) sucked them down, like they were in a mussel eating contest or something.

The Mussel Winners! Captain Obvious & Captain Oblivious

So I came home determined to somewhat recreate the dish.  Got me four pounds of nice fresh mussels at Whole Foods in Colorado and some good smoked Chorizo.

I decided to stick with white wine because my Sherry was ummm, vinegar. Shit happens, but next time I will definitely bring some some sherry to the party. I then made a lemon-creme broth and poached them until they just dared to open up.  Because I love tomatoes in a creamy broth like that, I diced some up threw in a handful at the last minute.

They were excellent!  I also made some fresh basil fettuccine to go with so we poured some of that heavenly sauce over the pasta and then used some crusty bread to mop up whatever sauce got away.

Next time I make them I will reduce the wine by half and add the sherry --meaning 1 cup of each, if I have good sherry. If it's the cheap stuff I'll probably go with 1 1/2 cups wine and 1/2 cup sherry.  Sometimes a little sherry goes a long way, but most of it is reduced down, so don't be afraid to pour it in. Get ya a great bottle of wine, some good crusty bread and go a little crazy!

Go to the "Seafood" tab for the mussel recipe and to the "Pasta" tab for the basil pasta.