I have joked several times this food section is more of a drinking section.  But today I shall combine the two.  I have always liked spicy food.  Spicy, however, does not necessarily equate with hot.  “Spicy” is simply flavorful.  I do also like my food hot though.  I am not referring to temperature hot; rather spicy hot.  That sounds confusing I suppose, but you get the idea.  I love fresh jalapeños because they have so much more heat than the pickled ones.  The problem with eating out is I think they just get lazy and hack them into giant chunks.  I have always had a distinct preference for liking everything VERY thinly sliced.  When I ate meat I liked it paper thin, when I ate cheese no chunky cubes, and now with fruits and vegetables I slice them razor thin.  We were out for our traditional Tex-Mex New Year’s Eve at my favorite restaurant and my ears perked up when I heard the woman next to me ask for fresh jalapeños in her margarita.  I have had mojitos with chunks of jalapeños and some other drinks where they were blended in.  But this women, after my own heart, just threw them in like ice cubes.  Already having a margarita with sangria and my ever-present jalapeños by my side, I picked up a few and plopped them in.  AMBROSIA!!!  And WHY was I just now discovering it?!  I have a girlfriend from Louisiana who told me old cookbooks used to say, “Start with the Holy Trinity,” which is onions, bell peppers, and celery; a staple for Cajun cooking.  For this Texan it’s onions, garlic and jalapeños.  I pretty much put them in everything, from Italian to Indian, American to Tex-Mex, and also in some modified Asian and French dishes.  But this opens up a whole new world!  Infused jalapeños in drinks!  I have flavored my water with all kinds of fruit, turmeric, mint, and cucumbers (not all at once!) but now I have tried it with my beloved jalapeños.  I love it and I predict my water consumption will rise, which will be a good thing.  The American model Chrissy Teigen said:

“I know how I like my food.  I like it spicy, salty, sticky, crunchy, juicy, oozy – basically any dish you know and love, jacked up to a bordering-on-socially-unacceptable amount of flavor.”

I could not agree more!  Hallelujah for jalapeños!

Tonight I made gluten free pasta for the first time.  Not only could no one tell the difference, it was a vegetarian meal that was nearly vegan.  (We had gluten free garlic rolls with butter.)  My whole little family loved it.  I don’t post a lot of food pics because I do not think it ever looks fancy enough.  But I am so glad everyone really enjoyed it.  As you can see, I consider sauce a beverage (borrowing a varied quip from my beloved Erma Bombeck) and I cook with a TON of onions and garlic.  For Christmas I got my husb, er, daughter this game called Yeti in my Spaghetti and we thought it would be a great time to break it out.  It sort of reminds me of pick up sticks I played with as a kid.  It’s a simple game; everyone goes around pulling out a strand of spaghetti and the one who causes the Yeti to fall in the bowl loses.  I learned some things as I studied my opponents.  Surprisingly, my husband was the daredevil.  He’d just boldly take one and pull.  I taught our baby doll to study it and start with the easy ones that weren’t holding him up.  The best part was no one thought about iPads or iPhones (not that we don’t love them) and it really did remind me of my childhood.  I played so many board games with my folks.  We intend to do the same with her as she grows.  The Canadian born American actor Michael J. Fox said, “Family is not an important thing.  It’s everything.”  Our family time tonight was precious, happy, and well spent that centered around the three of us … and a Yeti in my spaghetti.

I have always maintained that my husband has the metabolism of a squirrel on crack.  People think I exaggerate how much he eats.  I will never forget when my mother moved in with us; one day she just sat her little self on the sofa, staring in rapt fascination at how many times the hubs went in and out of the pantry.  (It was his day off and apparently her form of entertainment.)  When I got home she called me over and, with huge eyes, she whispered, “He just never stops eating.”  Eleven years ago people would say he was still young and that’s why he had that metabolism.  Well now he’s 43 and is still blessed to eat whatever, whenever.  Once when I laid out all our groceries he even admitted it looked like we were feeding “some type of farm animal.”  So I find myself at the grocery store a lot.  Today I was so tired I had the little one wait for me in the back while I put the cart away just beside our car.  This is probably the smallest amount of groceries we have ever had.  The American politician Mark Udall said:

“Our livelihood is intimately tied to the food we eat, water we drink and places where we recreate.  That’s why we have to promote responsibility and conservation when it comes to our natural resources.”

Growing up our pantry was not always full.  It made me truly appreciate the ability to have a stocked refrigerator.  I do NOT want our little one taking food for granted.  Meanwhile the grocery store has become a second home.  Our little one eats just like her daddy; it is truly mind boggling.  The cashier just looked at me and grinned; I told her we’d be back in a few.

Sometimes I bring my little one with me into Starbucks.  She feels so grown up in there and they have gluten free potato chips which she loves.  School is out for Christmas and I am of course still working.  I generally only go weekly but I got my usual; a white chocolate mocha frappuchino with coconut milk, no whipped cream, and peppermint for the holidays.  Paying with my Apple Watch still hasn’t gotten old.  As I was having my wrist scanned I looked back and saw my little one had happily insinuated herself in between these two young women, looking quite proud.  “Hello,” she said to the one on her left.  Turning to the right she received a “Hi!”  “Hi,” she replied.  “We’re having a GIRLS’ day!” she announced to her two new friends.  I came over to sit down and noticed they had both dropped their studies to listen to a five year old’s constant steam of chatter.  Of the most import:  they were out of her beloved gluten free chips.  I found her gluten free blood orange chewies instead.  Rounding her eyes she asked, “Mama, why is it BLOOD?” with a look that held more morbid curiosity than anything else.  “That’s a type of orange” I told her as she continued to stare at the bag with a mixture of anticipation and horror.  “There’s no blood,” I said, watching her look vaguely disappointed.  I saw her two new friends trying to stifle smiles.  “Well, it’s time to go kiddo; you may take those with you” I told her as I swooped up my drink, phone, and keys.  Both girls told her goodbye and I thanked them for being so nice to her.  The Tibetan Buddhist Dali Lama said, “Be kind whenever possible.  It is always possible.”  And so my little one left standing a little taller as we left with our sweet treats.

OK I have been convinced of two things for several years now:  first, whatever TV show I love gets cancelled and second, anything I become attached to in the grocery store gets discontinued.  I realize these are first world problems so I feel a little guilty even mentioning them.  When I switched to almond milk for animal ethics reasons I tried a lot of different creamers.  I finally settled on one I truly like even better than cow’s milk but it is always hard to get.  I have been battling with some invisible adversary for about a year now over them.  Repeatedly schlepping to a grocery store that’s not right by our house is neither easy nor convenient.  So I went from buying them in threes to quantities of four; still leaving a couple for this other person.  They must have become tired of the fight, too because one day there were none — nada; zip; zilch; zero.  One would THINK stockers would have paid attention when some lunatic wiped the shelves clean of their entire stock but NO.  Apparently it’s all done automatically and I will tell you, their system does not work.  Heaven only knew when they were getting more but I was assured “the system” was aware.  I do not care for my coffee tasting bitter; the creamer is an integral part of what makes it so enjoyable.  Forced to buy one weird creamer after another, I refused to give in to the unimaginable torturing of cows just to have “regular” cream.  So I went for days with no coffee (incredibly without killing anyone.)  When the hubs announced he was going to the store I found myself gripping his shirt front and telling him to buy all the creamers they had.  Attempting to tell me that was extreme only added fuel to my fire.  Trust me, the man could not live one HOUR without his precious almonds.  And I had been without my coffee for almost an entire week!  He came back with one.  And so I found myself back again anxiously looking for the darn stuff.  I knew I could not fight the system but I could fight The Man.  By now I felt my eyes bulging as I began mumbling and plotting, checking every single day for my creamer.  And then one day, as I trod my well worn path to the creamer section, I saw one.  I ran straight for it like an arrow closing in on its target.  As I put it in my cart I discovered there was another behind it!  And another!  And another!  I actually scaled the shelves like a fanatical squirrel with my rump propping the door open while I reached all the way to the back to get the very last one.  A kind of maniacal glee coursed through my body as I made my way triumphantly up to the register with my spoils.  My coffee creamer hoarding nemesis had been defeated!  Giving in to remorse, I decided to magnanimously put one back.  In the meantime it’s gonna get down to 18* and Mama’s going to enjoy her coffee without fear of running out.  Another beauty of almond milk is that it doesn’t expire for ages.  So now my plan is when I get down to three full ones I’m stocking back up.  The ancient Chinese military strategist Sun Tzu once said:

“The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy’s not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable.”

My invisible enemy may have won the battle, but I won the war.

I saw this and knew our kitchen needed it … or, rather I needed it.  OH how I look forward to my half hour of peace and quiet early in the morning with my mug full of coffee.  I’ll have two if I’m really tired; Café du Monde with chicory, a spoonful of Truvia, and hazelnut almond milk creamer.  Aaahhh.  The aroma filling the kitchen makes me happy, and sitting in our den looking out over the creek fills me with peace before the demands of the day set in.  As my day progresses, (sometimes depending upon how it progresses,) I find myself looking forward to having a glass of red wine … or two.  Unlike the immutable ritual of my coffee, I have enjoyed my Cabernet Sauvignon out on our side porch, on our swing in front, sitting on the stone bench by our koi pond out back, and in the bathtub.  As I write I notice all of these choices are tranquil, relaxing ones.  When I was pregnant I truly thought the alcohol would be harder to give up than the caffeine.  I was wrong, something for which I am both thankful and admittedly surprised.  The American actress Sandra Bullock once said, “I gave up coffee.  It’s almost worse than giving up a lover.”  For me wine these days is becoming something I equally look forward to; I can see why it has earned the moniker “Mommy Juice.”  Regardless, the one thing I can honestly say is, whether morning or evening, and for whichever one it is — it’s about time.

Of course if you know the original lyrics it’s, “You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub” by 50 Cent.  It had been a long day and I was sick; so sick I finally broke down and went to the doctor.  I got a shot in the rump and antibiotics the size of horse pills to be gulped down for the next ten days.  As I was waiting for everything to kick in I decided to soak in a hot bubble bath.  I was running chills but craving a lifelong friend; most native Texans live for it.  I have even visited the museum in Waco several times.  Rarely do I indulge in it anymore but the little cans make me feel less guilty.  I sat there trying to decompress and I was reminded of the last time I reveled in one like this in the bathroom.  I was very pregnant and could no longer see my feet.  While taking a hot shower in the middle of the afternoon, I heard a tentative knock at the door.  The only other person in the house was my husband.  I told him to come in and I will never forget he left a cold can popped open just like this along with a hamburger.  They were on one of our nice plates complete with a napkin.  I was so stunned.  “I thought you might be hungry,” he simply said and then closed the door.  OK first:  I did not allow myself to have coffee during my pregnancy so this was a HUGE treat.  Second:  I had been a vegetarian for fifteen years until I got pregnant.  But my little wolf cub only wanted two things:  red meat and cherries.  A famous fast food place from the West Coast had just opened up in Dallas and it was such a big deal police were directing traffic in and out for weeks.  Seriously.  They make a burger if you know to ask for it called “animal style.”  To think my sweet husband had gone out and waited in that horrid line just to bring one back to me.  And for no other reason than he thought I might be hungry.  I felt like an animal as I devoured that hamburger IN THE SHOWER, with sauce running down my arms as hot water ran down my back.  Sighing contentedly, I chased it with my lifelong beloved beverage.  It was chilled and fizzy with one long drop of condensation running down its side.  I was horrified, disgusted, and so darn happy all at the same time.  Not quite the same as champagne in the club, but don’t knock a can full of bub in the tub!

Looking at this tenacious fly who absolutely refused to leave my car, I decided to take his picture.  Then as I drove off I got to thinking about the origin of the term “shoo fly.”  I found an old song performed by Dinah Shore (younger readers Google her) called “Shoofly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy.”  I had to Google both of those dishes and apparently the pie got its name because it’s so sweet you’ll have to “shoo” the flies away who will want to taste it.  The pie is made with molasses and brown sugar!  I might try to make a gluten free version over the holidays.  I suppose looking at the fly does not make the pie seem very appetizing.  I do think he’s beautiful though.  Jim Davis, the American cartoonist and creator of Garfield said, “Vegetables are a must on a diet.  I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.”  Given that I am a vegetarian I think I shall forgo the vegetables and so straight for the sugar when it comes to dessert.  I wonder if it will bring my friend here back.  Then I will know if it really lives up to its name … Shoofly pie.

I am beginning to think I should rename this category “drinks.”  Have you ever had one of those days?  Sometimes I just want to go home, grab an animal, and snuggle up with a glass of Cabernet in complete and total silence.  I think my husband would say the same only with beer and the news.  I am so grateful to have a family and I know my life would be empty without them.  It’s just that sometimes I long for a moment of solitude or peace and, when I am unable to attain either, a glass of wine has to suffice.  “Where’s my underpants?”  “What’s for dinner?”  “Have you seen my toy?!”  The wolfies howl to be let out.  The wolfies howl to be let in.  Someone texts me.  A client has a request.  I am still baffled at how my husband thinks a dinner from scratch will miraculously present itself precisely ten minutes after I have arrived at home.  With the mail.  And groceries.  And a cranky little one.  And work I have not finished.  Then I feel like a horrible wife and mother for microwaving things.  Well, how else is our little one supposed to keep a schedule?  And how I am to crock pot something when I left in the morning without even having coffee?  Why do I feel like no matter how hard I try I fail?  I have an aunt by marriage who has a penchant for funny cocktail napkins.  Sometimes I take them home with me.  This was one of them.  The American comedian W. C. Fields once quipped:  “I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food.”  Tonight I told my beloved he was on his own with our little one and then I told myself … dinner is poured.

This is a shot of my little wine cabinet.  I do not require more as my husband prefers beer.  I saw these tiny catnip toys the other day and could not resist them.  There is my favorite, a “Cat-bernet,” then there is a “Cat-vignon” and finally a “Muscat.”  I have seen some doggie “wine bottles” but never anything for cats, who frankly seem more suited for it than their canine brethren.  The American wine maker Joe Bastianich said:

“You can enjoy a $15 bottle of wine as much as you can enjoy a $100 bottle of wine.”

I absolutely agree.  Because I find the youngest French red wine vastly superior to anything Californian, I have some French bottles I have saved.  I have realized looking at this picture just what this says about me.  First, the travel bottle of Bordeaux Supérieur I think is from our last trip to Paris.  To the left the wolf shamelessly peeking out is actually Prairie Wolf Vodka, which I clearly bought for the name and logo.  Stella Maris has great personal meaning to me, as I have explained in previous posts, it is from the Latin “Star of the Sea” and part of my child’s name.  Then there is the Saint Francis Cabernet Sauvignon from Sonoma I keep because of my affinity for St. Francis.  It is a good wine; I just prefer French as their grapes are centuries more developed and without the harmful pesticides unfortunately prevalent thoughout the U.S.  Clearly I must be an easy target for marketing; I lost my mind over my latest discovery of this “Once Upon a Vine:  The Big Bad Red Blend” I just found because the depiction of the wolf caught my eye.  Perhaps the old saying is true even before one opens the bottle:  in vino veritas.