When I was in high school my parents insisted I enroll in two classes which I had absolutely no intention of ever using.  Because of course at sixteen you know it all.  My father said I must take typing, and wow was he right!  Before I was even out of high school, journalism (my future college major) was switching from the old (actual) “cut and paste” to computers.  I found myself extremely grateful because at least I already knew how to type.  My mother said I needed to enroll in home economics, and I did not really even know what that was.  Thankfully it did not involve sewing (I still cannot thread a needle); rather it was essentially a cooking class and I wound up really enjoying it.  It has been awhile since I have written anything about food, so I figured I would blog about the dish I recently made pictured above.  It is a zucchini casserole, supposed to be high in protein and low in carbs.  That it is vegetarian makes me even happier.  I believe I am a good cook but as you can see from my picture I’m no food stylist.  I hope my meals at least look appetizing.  However I have had plenty of food that has appeared fancy but tasted awful.  Up until this point I realized that I have done very little cooking “from scratch.”  I suppose I was confusing that idea with something that was home-made.  Going back to that home ec class in high school, our teacher was positively anal about following recipe measurements … down to the very last grain of salt.  I have always felt free to substitute to my taste.  For instance, I usually add a ton of onions, garlic, and pepper to whatever I’m cooking.  However unless I’ve thrown it all in a crock pot and just prayed for the best, I have always followed some sort of structured recipe.  So, there I was, in elbows-deep, armed with all the called-for ingredients.  Squinting at my iPhone in disbelief, I realized there were no actual quantities.  Great chefs may concoct without care, but I realized in that moment I needed something more to go with than just “eggs, cheese, zucchini,” etc.  Other than knowing it was “eggs” plural I was lost.  Did they mean two or three?  Would it wind up more like a quiche if I added four?  And how much cheese?  All of it?  And what exactly WAS all of it?!  I understand the size of vegetables vary but they could at least have said something like, “about two cups’ worth.”  My little girl was playing sous chef and I just stood there stupified, ineffectually holding my wisk.  We had washed our herbs and zucchini and had sliced them.  Awakened from my stunned disbelief, I heard my tiny apprentice ask, “What’s next Mama?”  “Good question,” I found myself muttering.  Looking up at me expectantly, I had her butter a long, rectangular baking dish.  I figured if I stacked it too tall in a square one it might wind up mushy.  After that I had her put all the thin, halved zucchini slices in one solid layer that coated the bottom; (three zucchinis.)  I lightly salted and heavily peppered them after that.  Not having a clue as to what I was doing, I plopped two eggs, half an eight ounce container of grated Parmesan Romano, and one pint of heavy cream into a bowl.  The recipe called for placing pats of butter over the zucchini and, thinking of my beloved husband’s cholesterol levels, I decided to opt out.  Reading somewhere that fresh parsley (which I have never cared for) was beneficial, I decided to shred tiny bits into the casserole (frankly hoping not to taste it.)  I was more liberal with the fresh basil but still kept it finely minced as well.  Declaring to my little one, “Here goes nothing,” I scattered an entire bag of shredded sharp cheddar cheese on top of the zucchini, making sure it was all covered.  Then I dubiously dumped the contents of the mixing bowl on top of that.  Holy cow they didn’t even say at what temperature it should be cooked or even for how long!  I settled on 350* and placed it uncovered in my pre-heated oven.  Forty-five minutes later I pronounced it looked done, so I took it out to cool.  Incredibly, my little family loved it and even asked for seconds.  The Mexican novelist Laura Esquivel said:

Cooking is one of the strongest ceremonies for life.  When recipes are put together, the kitchen is a chemical laboratory involving air, fire, water and the earth.  This is what gives value to humans and elevates their spiritual qualities.  If you take a frozen box and stick it in the microwave, you become connected to the factory.

I know how important family meals are; I remember well my childhood dinners.  I also know they are not always possible.  However, I have resolved to create as many culinary ceremonies as I am able — maybe even some from scratch.

Alan Lakein, a well-known author on personal time management, said, “Failing to plan is planning to fail.”  Growing up I’d always prayed I would have a family of my own one day.  I wanted to cook just like my mother did and pass down all the guidance my folks had given me.  We didn’t have a microwave until I was in college and I can remember, now to my horror, feeling sorry for myself because I missed out on TV dinners.  I always wanted that brownie with the separate compartment.  Meanwhile my mother was baking huge M & M cookies before they were even a thing.  I have her brownie pan now, as well as her casserole and meatloaf dishes from which she made so many wonderful dinners.  They are priceless to me.  I promised myself as my child grew older we would have real family meals around the dinner table without television just as my mother and father did with me.  Shamelessly, I figured our little one might not remember her really early years so I slid by with a great cafeteria by our house.  Now our girl is over half way through kindergarten and I realize I have been letting my little family down.  Yes, it’s true that I work outside the home (which my mother did not do until I was in junior high) but still.  For Lent the Rector of our church asked us to give up social media, as a way to quieten ourselves and focus on God.  In the past I’d always viewed Facebook as something I did while I was alone or could not sleep at night.  Somehow incrementally though it had slipped past me that I was spending too much time in the virtual world versus the real one.  I had waited so long to have a family of my own; now after a long day I found myself zapping our meals in some form or another.  Well no more!  I want my daughter and my husband to enjoy the same type of life I had growing up.  My father taught me to always have a plan.  So I tried to sketch out a loose meal schedule, but one which could be reasonably relied upon.  Because I have a sick penchant for alliteration I came up with the following:  Meatless Mondays, Taco Tuesdays, Weight Watcher Wednesdays, Take Out Thursdays, Free-For-All Fridays, Stepping Out Saturdays, and Slow Cooker Sundays.  I should preface this by saying our little one is gluten intolerant and I am not a short-order cook, so everything is gluten free and, whenever possible, organic.  On Monday I made fresh egg noodle pasta (pictured) with Alfredo sauce and broccoli.  Tuesday I seasoned ground beef and put it in crispy taco shells with lettuce, tomato, guacamole, salsa, a three cheese Mexican blend, sour cream and jalapeños.  On Wednesday I set off the smoke detectors with my first attempt at Chicken Marsala.  I served it with Basmati rice and mashed cauliflower.  The only thing that was burned was a bit of garlic on the bottom of the pan and I am very proud to report all my meals were a smashing success.  Food can be a love language, and it certainly is for my two.  It felt so good to do something that made them so happy.  Take out Thursday was falafels and spicy hummus for me curtesy of the Halal Guys.  My husband got beef and our little girl got chicken.  I have discovered I ADORE Halal cuisine:  it is the only place a vegetarian (me) can eat with a carnivore (my husband) and also with someone who is gluten intolerant (our daughter.)  Free-For-All Friday translates into leftovers and a rented (or owned) family movie.  This is a low pressure night because everyone can eat something they want (that I have mercifully already prepared) and we can just relax and be together.  Our movies range from the new Disney “Coco” to really old school Disney like “Lady and the Tramp” and family-friendly movies I have loved for years.  On Stepping Out Saturday we went to my favorite Tex-Mex restaurant and lingered out on the patio in perfect weather — 69* — because in Texas I know it will be broiling hot soon enough.  I realize weeks properly start with Sunday.  To confess, I did not implement my plan until last Monday.  The first Slow Cooker Sunday will be French onion soup.  For Meatless Monday I am thinking a quinoa/corn “spaghetti” with Vodka sauce.  On Taco Tuesday I’m going to do soft corn tortillas with chicken and beans.  Weight Watcher Wednesday I’m not sure what I’ll do that’s low calorie … but at least I have a plan.

Not being a huge beer drinker, I have never quite understood the preoccupation with the precise way one is supposed to tilt the glass just so, or maybe it’s the bottle, when pouring beer.  I know it’s got something to do with not wanting to have the foam.  All my mind goes to is Julie Andrew’s heavenly voice in The Sound Of Music singing, “Men drinking beer with the foam afloat heard …” Doesn’t the foam just go back down?  It’s not as if it dissipates into the air.  *shrug*  I have stopped offering to pour my husband’s beer because he … makes … me … go … SO … SLOW!!!  Holy cow it’s not like it’s a fine wine that needs to be aerated or something.  Anyhow, before I went to write this I decided to enjoy my French beer 1664.  I quickly dumped it into my glass and this was the result.  Perhaps this was too much foam because it spilled over.  Suddenly I found myself sticking my fingers in the foam to get it to go down.  (I suspect it’s sad I consider that a science trick.)  Anyhow, I do NOT like to waste.  I don’t care WHAT it is — paper towels, water, food, electricity, money, or anything else.  Maybe because my folks were both born during the Great Depression Era (the early 1930’s) so it was always ingrained upon me never to waste no matter what.  I think it is actually a practice everyone should follow.  We all share finite resources and the earth is precious.  For that matter so is time.  I have written before my father used to say that time was the one thing he could not replace.  From a glass of beer my thoughts have made their way to how we live our lives.  Do we go so cautiously we never fully experience it?  Or do we move through it so recklessly we waste it?  Perhaps shouldn’t it be somewhere in-between?  The American radio speaker Earl Nightingale once said:

“Learn to enjoy every minute of your life.  Be happy now.  Don’t wait for something outside of yourself to make you happy in the future.  Think how really precious is the time you have to spend, whether it’s at work or with your family.  Every minute should be enjoyed and savored.”

I suppose one way or another our lives get foamy.  It’s all in how we handle it that counts.

We discovered shortly after our daughter turned four she was gluten intolerant.  Suddenly her little girl world of mac and cheese, pizza, birthday cake, and even sandwiches became problematic.  She is so tough — just like my mother — and she took it really well.  We just set about finding things she COULD eat and searching for good substitutes for her previous staples.  Luckily, this was around the time Trader Joe’s came to town.  It turns out they had lots of gluten free things that did not taste like cardboard.  Our family favorite is their waffles, which you see pictured here.  I just pop them in the toaster and she has a hot breakfast before rushing off to school.  I remember our little one’s pediatric gastroenterologist said she NEVER eats gluten.  What stuck with me was when I asked if she had an allergy, too.  “No,” she replied, “But I know what it does to you.”  The South Korean diplomat Ban Ki-moon said:

“Saving our planet, lifting people out of poverty, advancing economic growth … these are one and the same fight.  We must connect the dots between climate change, water scarcity, energy shortages, global health, food security and women’s empowerment.  Solutions to one problem must be solutions for all.”

I could not agree more.  My child’s problem is not an isolated one.  As populations increase and we keep taxing our natural resources we must search for new ways to provide without impoverishing — whether that is physically or economically.  The earth is round and the actions each of us take all come around as well.  These are issues which need the world needs to address with more honorable, serious intent now — no waffling.

It has always irked me that my husband and I do not ever share a bottle of wine.  I am an incurable romantic and there is just something about sharing a bottle of wine that to me makes it special.  I prefer organic, red, and French or Cabernet Sauvignon.  Once my husband DID discover a type of “red delicious” wine he really liked … it was out of a box — in a refrigerator.  So, we have been in our separate corners, with him preferring some type of beer and me preferring wine.  And then on this last trip to Paris we’d been walking all day and I was really hot.  Warm, heavy wine did not sound appealing but they did have cold bottles of French beer.  I got us both one and we sat down for a second in the shade to relax.  My taste in beer runs pretty much to Tecate, an inexpensive Mexican beer which is great in a salt-rimmed, frosted glass with Tex-Mex.  I also have an obsession with dark blue; for whatever reason I gravitate toward it.  So I got the blue one for me and the green for Burk.  We both didn’t love ours and we decided to switch.  Et voilà!  He preferred the blanc and I liked the fuller bodied one.  I cannot explain if it was the heat coming off the cement or the condensation trickling down the bottle, but I have never loved a beer more.  I did not even know the French made beer!  And it apparently has 350 years of history behind it.  We’re still not exactly sharing the same bottle, but we have both discovered another shared love about France.  The United States radio host Bernard Meltzer once said, “Happiness is like a kiss.  You must share it to enjoy it.”

Essentially if something has a wolf on it or it’s blue I’m thrilled.  It can be something as special as my antique sapphire ring or something as silly as my wolf oven mitts.  I am over the moon if it has both a wolf and it is blue!  After my Choctaw grandmother walked on when I was fifteen, she inadvertently unlocked a treasure trove for my father and me.  I cannot explain it; everyone knew she wasn’t white, but, sadly, she buried her American Indian heritage.  Not that I can blame her, given this country’s treatment of Native peoples.  Nevertheless her legacy to my father and me was in finally discovering our culture, which explained so much.  It was like a jumbled puzzle where all the pieces at last fell into place.  That began the unleashing of my great love for wolves.  As I have grown older, pretty much all I prefer to wear is blue and I don’t care.  Based upon my great love for blue and wolves alone, I believe I am exceptionally easy to please.  So I was delighted to come across this inexpensive tequila.  I had no idea what it tasted like but it had a WOLF on the bottle and “BLUE” in the name!  I chose the reposado and happily made my way home to put it in our little bar.  At least I am not so crazy as to have chosen the blanco simply because the label was blue!  See?  Not crazy at all.  The American lyric poet Sara Teasdale once wrote:

“Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children’s faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.”

I want to savor life’s loveliness, and help share it with others if I am able.  Each day brings its own discoveries and I want to uncover them … not just once in a blue moon.

I have many fond memories as a kid of being excited to go and get Happy Meals that had a toy with them.  Recently my little one talked about Happy Meals and I realized I had only taken her once; even then I didn’t let her eat there.  Times are different and sadly eating organic is no longer the norm.  Also, she is now gluten intolerant.  Someone told me a fast food chain I’d never been to had gluten free grilled chicken and French fries.  Not knowing what to expect, I was shocked to discover the drink was pure juice and not soda.  I used to suck down Dr. Pepper and it’s a temptation I battle against as an adult.  My little one was so ecstatic!  The more she told me I was the greatest the worse I felt; five years old and she’d never had a kids’ meal.  “What?!  You can even color the sack?” she exclaimed from the back seat.  “Oh Mama this is the best EVER!” she fervently told me as I started wondering what other joys of which I had inadvertently deprived my child.  It wasn’t until we got home that we discovered there was a “prize” which was a game.  “After I eat can we play Mama?!” she asked with such hope there was no way I was going to say no.  “Sure!” I said as I began reading the rules.  I kid you not it is one of the most fun card games I have ever played in my entire life!  It’s called “Diggity Dogs” and whomever adopts the most dogs wins.  It’s like a cross between “Go Fish” and “Animal Rummy.”  Each dog has three different things you must match in order to adopt them.  When you’ve acquired all a dog’s items you say, “Diggity Dog” and you rescue them.  Their necessities include bones, brushes, bowls, beds, and balls.  The dogs all have names and are different breeds.  I won the first round and she won the second.  We decided we liked ending the evening on a tie.  The English writer H. G. Wells said, “In politics, strangely enough, the best way to play your cards is to lay them face upwards on the table.”  Right now that is how my little one plays.  The fact that she wants to play with me … I say hot diggity dog.