It figures that a child of mine would be drawn to beige things. We all want to rebel against our parents, and I am on the record as hating all things beige and all people who love beige things. Ever wonder what “no imagination” looks like? IT’S BEIGE.
So I’m not terribly surprised by the fact that the only foods my child will deign to eat are [you guessed it] beige or close enough.
Wheat bread. String cheese. Turkey. Chicken. Teddy Grahams. And our latest obssession: waffles.
Since I would like to get into the Mama Hall of Fame, I worry that Jillian isn’t eating enough fruits or vegetables. So I need to find ways to get more of these things into her. I’ve been experimenting with hiding foods in other foods, and it seems to be working.
So we bought a waffle/sandwich maker.
WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME?
It’s the greatest kitchen gadget EVER. It even beats my KitchenAid mixer, which is hard to do. This waffle iron thingy is the best. I should have gotten one years ago.
I have found that if I make a sandwich (let’s say ham and cheese) and cook it up in the sandwich maker… Jillian will actually eat it. I bet if I use the waffle iron thingies she would do so enthusiastically!
I know this is a phase and I hope she’ll grow out of it, because I don’t know what I’m going to do if I have to look at all this beige food for the next 17 years.
Category Archives: Food
Hey, as long as it’s still beige
Some random junk
Lost starts up again tonight! As much as I would love to think that I am above TV-watching, I have to admit that I am not. I even watch American Idol. But Lost is the one thing that I will kill people for interrupting, so let’s not call my house while it’s on, ‘kay?
I am angry at chocolate. I need to figure out what the hell is wrong with the chocolate sponge cake I want to make into a jelly roll and why it’s too dry and WON’T ROLL. It breaks. I can’t figure out why. Working on it, though.
My child is currently on a serious waffle kick. She will eat waffles for every meal of every day if I will let her. I’m thinking about getting a waffle iron so I can at least put fruits and vegetables into the batter. However, I know that as soon as I buy or otherwise acquire a waffle iron, she won’t eat waffles anymore. SHE IS NUTS.
My father is currently not speaking to my mother. Apparently, he got pissy about something and decided to sleep in his recliner. This was two weeks ago. He’s still there, according to the email that I got yesterday. Even for our family’s standards, this is taking it a bit far, I think. I’m going to have to call him and ask him what’s up so he can launch into a litany of petty complaints about my mom. Then I’ll have to tell him that he’s acting like a dick and should really stop.
I love the fact that I can talk to my parents this way.
What else… what else…
Freddie starts his new job at his old company on Monday. He felt like he had gone as far as he could go with his current job, and as he started looking for something new, he contacted his former boss for advice and was offered a job pretty much instantly. Sweet. I think it will be a good opportunity for him, even with his trepidation about going back to his old company. We’re going to spend the weekend going through his wardrobe and shopping for clothes to add to it. He’s been able to wear jeans for the last two years, so his suit & tie collection suffered immensely.
I have to paint my living room. It’s really starting to wear on me. Unfortunately, the previous owners did the worst painting job I have ever seen and now I have to paint the damn ceiling, too. The ceiling would need to be painted ANYWAY, but I might have been able to get away with not doing it just now if they hadn’t gotten shit-brown paint roller marks all over it. Fuckers. I hate them.
I keep going back and forth about painting the trim or not. It’s white, and needs to be painted anyway since when it was installed, they didn’t fill in the nail holes and there are hundreds of wee little black specks everywhere. Of all the crazy crap in this house, that pisses me off the most. So it does need to be painted, but I don’t know if I want to paint it white or if I want to do something a little more dramatic. Decisions, decisions.
I suppose the trim color can be decided once I decide what color to paint the walls. I can’t seem to make a decision about this and it’s driving me nuts.
In other Jillian news, she is finally starting to grow some hair. You can’t see the outline of her skull anymore, so that’s a nice change. People have stopped asking me what my son’s name is. Of course, it helps that her winter coat looks like we killed a gay Muppet to make it, but even in the summer when she’s dressed in pink and frills and stuff, people ask me what “his” name is. Teehee.
Whew. I need a nap. I’m battling the beginnings of a cold and I really really don’t want it to escalate because instead of being inches from death for a few days with a quick recovery, I tend to be utterly miserable for months. Between Alka-Seltzer Plus (cherry flavor) and yoga, I feel pretty good today. I have hope.
Speaking of hope, didja see the trade the Mets did? DIDJA?
My nemesis
I’ve never been one of those girly-girls who are grossed out by the sight of blood or other icky things. Some bugs do creep me out, yes, but that’s because bugs are creepy. Duh.
Since becoming a parent, my tolerance for grossness has increased quite a bit. Snot, drool, poop, pee, vomit, and blood? No problem.
But.
I have found the one thing that makes me want to crawl out of my skin and die.
It’s not a bug.
It’s not even that unidentifiable moldy thing in the back of the fridge.
It is the mushy Cheerio. There is nothing on earth fouler than the mushy Cheerio.
As a rule, I am not a big fan of the breakfast cereal unless it is in some other form (see: Chex Mix, Chex Muddy Buddies, and Rice Krispie treats). I will occasionally eat Golden Grahams, but that happens about once every five years.
Cheerios, on the other hand, are a staple of my daughter’s diet. In fact, Cheerios are the only thing she will reliably eat. Everything else runs the risk of being flung, thrown, dropped over the side, or chewed up and spit out again.
So I do run across the occasional mushy Cheerio and every time, I have to stop myself from retching. It’s really that gross.
Not in here, mister – this is a Mercedes
OHAI.
We’ve been here at The Butterfly Ranch for a week now, and things are going well. Unpacking is progressing nicely, and we are about to start the Great Organizing.
But that’s not what I came here to talk about today. Oh, no. I spent most of last night throwing up my dinner AND my lunch. When there was nothing left to throw up, I dry-heaved.
Food poisoning is not a pretty thing. At one point, I was curled up on the bathroom floor with my bath towel over me, twitching and moaning. Around 3:30 this morning, Freddie had to practically drag me out of there, and he set me up with a trash can and stuff so I could continue retching from the comfort of my bed. What a sweet boy.
I’m a big, giant baby because this wasn’t even a very severe case of food poisoning. I’m fine now, for instance. If it were fish-related, I can imagine I would still be in the bathroom. Ugh. But I can’t remember the last time I dry-heaved, and I used to be a champion booze drinker. Now I’m just on the JV team, what with the baby and all, but I have had my moments.
Still. The dry-heaving? Not recommended. I think I pulled a muscle on my chest at the base of my neck. I’m pretty dehydrated and although I made Freddie go buy me some Pedialyte, I’m not sure if my stomach will tolerate it just yet. I need to consume something soon, however, or I’m going to pass out from lack of calories.
I feel really, really terrible. I’m sure not sleeping but maybe an hour or so didn’t help my case much, but I’ll survive that.
Oh, where did I contract this lovely case of Barf-o-rama? Chipotle. This disturbs me, because I like that place, dammit. Now I can’t eat there ever ever again, ever. EVER! This SUCKS! Or else it’s Mother Nature’s way of smacking me upside the head for eating fast food, especially after all the disgusted bitching I do about it. I can honestly say I have learned my lesson, and aside from the occasional Arby’s run (hey, PMS sucks and Arby’s sauce cures everything), fast food can suck it.
I’m off to Target now. We’re out of TP.
I’m secretly French
I’m pretty sure France is the place I need to be. I could give a shit about French fashion, and the language makes little sense to me (I prefer German – it makes you sound pissed off no matter what you’re saying), but the food, MY GOD, the FOOD!
I haven’t yet been to France, but oh boy.
It’s no secret that when I am stressed, I turn to food. My stress cravings tend to be all dairy, all the time, and today what I really really really really really really really REALLY want is some Brie. Oh, what a bonus, I HAVE SOME.
But what to do with it? I’ve never been a big fan of pairing it with fruit, and crackers seem a little low-rent for something so full of decadent fatty goodness. So I’m thinking bread. Specifically, croissants. But then again, a croissant might not be sturdy enough for what I have in mind. I could get a wee sourdough boule, hollow it out, slap the Brie in there and bake it, but sourdough? Really? Hmmm.
I will have to hit up the Whole Foods or the closest French bakery and see what my options are.
This winter will be lots of fun as I get used to my new kitchen. It’s a slightly different layout than my current kitchen, but it seems like it’s a little more user-friendly. Everything in my current kitchen is pretty spaced out – you have to take a few steps from the fridge to the stove and when things are exploding, that’s a few too many. Plus, the new kitchen has ALL NEW STUFF (thanks to the recent remodel), and that is just going to be excellent.
In my next life, I might be a chef. I certainly don’t have the drive or the stamina for restaurant cooking, but I do like to make messes in my own kitchen, try new things, and introduce people to foods they might not otherwise eat. Like my Famous Peanut Sauce.
I used to hate cooking. In fact, I would purposely burn things and choose really odd recipes just so Freddie would tell me that I didn’t have to cook anymore. But as I’ve gotten older (and become a chef-stalker of sorts), I’ve found that my penchant for experimentation can work well for me if I choose my experiments wisely.
So watch this space. I’ll talk more about food and less about things that irk me. I’ll talk about food that irks me! Like sauerkraut! That shit is disgusting!
We’re going to have an interesting winter.
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