my mom would be so proud

Is there such a thing as too much bacon?

My heart (and my arteries) say yes, but my taste buds say no.

I’ve mentioned many times here how my Mother’s cooking was not for the weak of heart.  Seriously, you needed a really strong heart, because after a few of her home-cooked meals, your ticker would be working overtime to pump the grease out of your bloodstream.  Bacon was the meat of choice in our house, and Mom put it in everything.

Since marrying Wilzie, my bacon consumption has gone way down.  But on Tuesday, feeling that our blood to bacon-fat ratio was dangerously low, Wilzie sliced open 2 (TWO!) packs of bacon.

It was going to be a big night in the fojoy house.

He put aside 8 slices to enjoy with our pancake dinner, sliced up the rest into bite-sized pieces, and threw half of that into the frying pan.  Then he settled on to the couch and opened the laptop…leaving me in charge of the bacon.

Bad idea.

After the first batch was fried, I transferred it to a bowl, drained the grease and started frying the second half.  Unfortunately, every time I went to stir the still-cooking bacon, I would dip my fingers in to the already crispy bacon in the bowl for a nibble.

Multiple times.

Per stir.

When it was all said and done, I probably ate a quarter of that bowl*.  But that’s not all!  Then we had our pancake & bacon dinner.  The only time I have pancakes for supper is on Shrove Tuesday, and I look forward to it all day, but I only had three slices  of the salty strips because I was already stuffed with my bacon “nibbles” dainty, so I gave my extra piece to Wilzie.

*Please don’t judge me.

Then Wilzie went to work on his snack mix.  I found this recipe on a blog around the Super Bowl (I cannot remember which one, so if it looks familiar, please claim it in the comments – because it is AWESOME!) and we tried it out a couple of weeks ago.  The only problem with it is that it seems to have disappeared.

Maple Bacon Party Mix

2 cups corn chex

2 cups rice chex**

2 cups wheat chex**

1 cup peanuts, salted and roasted

6 strips bacon, cooked extra crispy and chopped

4 T. butter, melted

4 T. maple syrup

1/4 – 1/2 teaspoon cayenne (depending on how spicy you like it)

1-1 1/2 teaspoons Maldon (any salt will do but if you are using table salt reduce the quantity)

**Wilzie used Chex, Cheerios, pretzels, mixed nuts, Honeycomb cereal and, of course, bacon

Combine the cereals, peanuts, and cayenne in a large, microwavable-safe bowl. In a small bowl combine the butter and maple syrup. Add the butter mixture to the cereal and stir very well. Microwave on high for three minutes stirring every minute to prevent the sugars to scorch.

Add the bacon and salt. Stir. Let cool. Serve

So Wilzie worked his kitchen magic, and when the first batch was finished cooking, he brought it to me to sample.

“Mmm…s’good.”  Nibble pretzel.  Nibble bacon.  “REALLY good!”  Nibble cashew.  Nibble bacon.  “SO GOOD!”  Nibble bacon.  Nibble bacon.  “You can just leave that bowl here…”

How did my Mom never think of this!?!

I think I sat with that bowl at my side for the next, oh…2.35 hours “nibbling” on the bacon snack mix.  It was incredibly addictive, and even though I was so far past hungry, I could not stop eating it.  I finally had to make Wilzie take bowl away (as I pulled out another Honeycomb and one more piece of bacon), but instead of making it to the cupboard, Wilzie sat down and started to munch.  That is dangerous stuff.

And there’s more!

Wilzie used the rest of the bacon that we fried (and its gooey grease***) to make potato bacon soup for supper last night.  And even though I have had about my year’s quota of bacon and can feel my arteries hardening as I type this, he works so hard to make yummy meals, it would have been be rude to turn it down…

***I am not a proud woman

And…I may have begged Wilzie to run to our local cupcakerie to pick up a couple of their featured maple bacon cupcakes.

He said “No”.


a master of culinary trickery

I don’t normally post recipes on this blog, because I don’t cook.  The kitchen is Wilzie’s domain, and we are both just fine with that.  Recently, with a heavy heart, and a heavier stomach, Wilzie has (for now) given up his quest for the perfect loaf of bread.  But he made something last week, that was so unexpectedly good, that I felt compelled to share it with you.


As in – cupcakes made with beets.


Tell your friends.

The Ingredients:

  • 1 cup peeled, grated beets
  • 1/2 cup unsalted butter
  • 1 tablespoon lemon juice
  • 1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 cup sugar
  • Grated zest of 1 lemon
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1/2 cup toasted slivered almonds
  • What to do with them:

  • With the rack in the middle position, preheat the oven to 180°C (350°F). Butter and flour 12 muffin cups.
  • In a saucepan over medium heat, soften the beets in the butter and lemon juice, about 5 minutes. Let cool partially (Wilzie microwaved the beets – it was quicker and much easier)
  • Refrigerate until no longer warm to the touch.
  • In a bowl, combine the flour, baking powder and salt.
  • In another bowl, beat the eggs, sugar, lemon zest and vanilla with an electric mixer for about 2 minutes. With the mixer on low speed, add the dry ingredients, alternating with the beet mixture.
  • Bake between 20 and 22 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the centre of a cake comes out clean.
  • There was also a Beet Syrup Drizzle and a Marscapone Cream to put over top, but I honestly don’t think these sweet, tasty morsels need it.  If you do, you can check out the full recipe here.

    And they are really, addictively good.  So good that I’m scared I will find brussel sprouts in my chocolate any day now.

    Wilzie wouldn’t do that to me…would he?

    pour my heart out – recipe for a happy birthday

    Monday was my Mom’s birthday; her third since dying of cancer.

    Over the last couple of years before she died, she became a woman obsessed with battered, deep-fried fish and chips.  When we went out for dinner, if the restaurant had fish and chips on the menu, she would order it.  She became a connoisseur and started seeking out every mom & pop, fish & chip shop in every corner of our city.  Which was so funny to me, because for the first 50-some years of her life, she hated fish; she wouldn’t touch the stuff.  She would actually order fish and chips, to eat the batter surrounding the fish, but not the fish itself.

    I don’t know what brought on the change (neither did she), but it became her favourite thing ever…after bacon, of course.

    So each year, I have a meal to celebrate my Mom on her birthday.

    Last year, we were stuck at home for her birthday, so Wilzie and I, and my aunt and uncle gathered together at her most favourite fish & chip shop here at home.  I had never been, but was excited to try it after hearing Mom rave about their thick batter and homemade tartar sauce.  And when it finally arrived at our table – it was awful!  The batter was soggy and the fish was dry.  The fries were obviously frozen, and the tartar sauce may have been homemade, but that is not something I would brag about!

    What a disappointment, especially considering the year before – the first year after she died – Wilzie and I were in New York on her birthday.  We had done our research beforehand and found A Salt & Battery, a little fish & chip shop in Greenwich Village owned by 2 brothers from England that was featured on the Food Network.  Perfect!  We walked in to the tiny space, placed our order and took it to go (the few seats at the counter were full, as was the bench out front).  We walked over to a nearby park and sat on a bench and savoured the heart-stopping meal.  The food was wrapped in newspaper, soggy and see-through with grease; the fish was fresh and moist, the batter was crunchy and not too thick; the fries were fresh-cut and perfectly fried.  It was heaven.  Mom would have loved it.  Except for the birds and the hobos gathering around in the hopes of swiping a fallen fry.  So I gave them all the stink-eye on her behalf.

    This year we were going to go in a different direction…Milwaukee.  We saw a diner on the Food Network, The Comet Cafe, that puts bacon on everything.  BACON!  On EVERYTHING!  They even have baskets ‘o’ bacon  at the bar on Sundays as if it were bowls of peanuts.  Yes, we were planning an entire holiday around going to a restaurant to eat bacon for my Mom’s birthday.  In Milwaukee.

    But then we decided to go to Iceland instead.

    And though she loved fish & chips, my Mom would not be fond of sardines on her birthday, so we could go to Reykjavík any time.  So that left me with another birthday at home.  After going over a list of her favourite places, nothing felt just right; I finally decided that we would just stay in this year, and I would make her most best-est dish – macaroni & cheese with bacon and onions.  I think I’ve only made it one other time since she died, and it seemed like the perfect thing to celebrate her birthday and remember her by.

    As I cut up the bacon and onions into tiny, uniform pieces, I remembered how everything always had to be “just so”, and I thanked Mom for passing her attention to detail onto me.

    As the bacon and onion fried, the kitchen filled with the smell that will always be “home” to me.  The smell of Mom’s macaroni & cheese, her perogies, her cabbage rolls and breakfast Christmas morning.

    As I added the corn to the pan I smiled at the only vegetable I grew up eating, and thanked the stars that Mom never thought to pair creamed peas with this dish.

    I poured the box of KD (yep, KD) into the well-used pot that Mom had long before she had me and remembered standing on a chair, as a child, at the stove next to her while she let me stir the boiling pasta under her tutelage.

    As I heaped in the large spoonfuls of butter and cheese whiz (I never said this dish was healthy…or classy), and dumped the perfectly fried trifecta of bacon, onions & corn into the mixture, I remembered how happy she was when the whole family was crowded around the kitchen table, scarfing down her creamy, greasy concoction;  each getting up in turn for second (and third) helpings until we could burst.

    And when Wilzie and I sat down to enjoy our meal, it was perfect.

    going under the knife

    I’ve made a couple of references in the last couple of weeks of an impending surgery, and since its tomorrow I figured I should let you all know that it’s all good – I am the picture of health (except, of course, for being overweight and the increased consumption of alcohol).  I met with my doctor in January to discuss my options for this purely elective surgery and was told that I would receive a call from the hospital in about 3 months.  So I waited, excited to finally be going through with a procedure that I have wanted for as long as I can remember.

    3 months came and went, and no call from the hospital – so I called my doctor’s office again to make sure that I hadn’t been forgotten.  I hadn’t – it was explained to me that since it was an elective surgery that it, though extremely important to me, was not a priority.  My wait was updated to 6 months.

    6 months came and went, and no call from the hospital – so I called my doctor’s office (again).  The receptionist apologized profusely and said that I should expect a call from the hospital within 6 weeks.  And now its tomorrow!


    As I said – this is something that I have wanted for a really long time – ever since I was a little girl, I would look in the mirror and imagine myself with this surgical enhancement.  It’s something that I was sure Wilzie would be all for, but he actually took some convincing…now that he’s heard 10 years of my reasoning, he has finally come around.  Its going to be great for our relationship.

    Let’s hear it for tubal ligation, y’all!

    That’s right, after tomorrow, there will be no more threat of children looming over my head.  I will no longer have to swallow lab-made hormones (until menopause of course, no moustache for me, thankyouverymuch!).  I can have sex with my husband, all willy-nilly (isn’t that best kind?) without worrying about where I am in my menstrual cycle.  And I never have to worry about pushing a baby out of my vagina, and spending thousands and thousands of dollars each year on it.  I never have to worry about their friends or their grades or their habits.  All I have to worry about is maintaining my pre-baby body (thankfully the bar is set pretty low), how late I can sleep in on the weekends, and where I will be going on my next vacation.

    But despite my excitement, I may be subconsciously worried about my surgery tomorrow (I’m not), because something is definitely wrong with me…

    I wanted something yummy because my surgery isn’t until 11am, and I can’t eat anything beforehand so Wilzie BBQ’d us some hot dogs for dinner tonight, and I fried up some bacon and onions to sprinkle over top.  We butter’d and grill’d the buns, top’d them with mayo, ketchup and cheese whiz, and sat down to enjoy our wieners.

    And it was disgusting.

    A couple of bites in and something tasted off.  Was it the dog, the whiz or the bacon?  I wasn’t sure, but whatever it was was not sitting well with me.  Wilzie gladly helped me with the remainder of my dinner, as I tried to wash the taste out of my mouth with gallons of water.

    Then we turned to our PVR which was had been loaded up with road-food shows like Diners, Drive Ins & Dives and Best Food Ever.  We had at least 5 hours of food TV to get through – and it was a night of sheer torture for me.  Usually when we watch these types of shows, Wilzie and I take notes – keeping track of all the places we need to go to devour these scrumptious looking meals.

    But not tonight.

    We watched shows about Breakfasts and shows about BBQ.  Chocolate and Cheese.  Salty and Sweet.  By the time we got to Sandwiches, I was ready to hurl.




    I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I only have one thought looping around my head…I had better not be pregnant!

    Hopefully I don’t trip on my way to the stage…Wait, there’s no stage?

    So here I am going about my day, joyfully blogging about whatever random event happens to catch my fancy at that particular moment.  I am slowly building my readership, and I really appreciate each and every one of you for taking time out of your day to read my inconsequential ramblings.  Then yesterday, I was given this:

    Its my first ever award, and because I am not ashamed to let my Dork flag fly, I can admit to you that I let out a high pitched and ear piercing little “Squee” of glee.  I am so happy and excited that Shana from Fumbling Towards Normalcy has seen fit to bestow this lovely upon me.  And it means that much more that it comes from a blogger whom I enjoy and admire.  Really, if you haven’t checked out Shana’s blog yet, please do so – she is all kinds of fabulous; she wears Crocs and has many bloggable encounters with bus people.  She also really likes Twilight, but I just tend to over look that…

    Now with this award comes a couple of rules:  I have to divulge 7 random bits of information about me, and I have to pass the award on to 7 other Beautiful Bloggers.  I normally don’t like rules, but these will be easy, so what the hell!

    7 Random Things About Me:

    I hate to cook.  Unless there is no other option, Wilzie does the bulk of the cooking in our house.  But thanks to my Mom’s recipe, I make the best damn French Onion Soup you will ever eat.

    I am always cold.  Always.  Except when I’m hot.

    I consider myself a “worker-bee”, and do not like to manage or supervise others.  Yet I have owned 2 of my own businesses – a massage therapy practice and a coffee house.  Thankfully, I was the only employee in the former, and Wilzie was around to be the “heavy” in the latter.

    I hate talking on the phone, but I worked in a call centre for 4 years.

    I lived in the Rocky Mountains for a year and didn’t ski or snowboard even once.  Something about racing down a slippery hill with waxed planks strapped to my feet terrifies me.  I much prefered the apres-ski (read: drinking).

    I eat Cheezies with chopsticks to avoid getting the orange dust on my fingers.

    I sucked my thumb when I went to sleep until I was 11.  I think that was when I discovered Bailey’s.

    And now for the 7 Beautiful Bloggers that I would like to pass this on to:

    Another Day of Crazy

    Herding Cats

    Salt Says

    Sara in Le Petit Village

    Sara Spelled without an H

    Stacy Says

    The Muse 30

    That’s it for me today, except to wish you all a wonderful and safe holiday weekend!

    Man, Oh Man…

    The other day friend of mine was telling me a story about how her fella made himself a sandwich and then proceeded to put the bread away without fastening it back up with the twisty. She fully admitted that it was a harmless thing, but she completely LOST it on her hapless husband. She was screaming and yelling and flailing around, the unused twisty firmly in her grasp. She was getting worked up again just telling me about it.

    I just sat back and listened (I couldn’t really say much because I, myself, never put the twisty back on) and it reminded me of my Mom and the little things that my Dad did that drove her up the wall. The most egregious of the offences was getting toast crumbs in the margarine – she would curse his name when she opened up the margarine container to find it full of toast crumbs.

    And then there was the urine. Oh the urine (not in the margarine…just, you know, in general)!

    I figured this had to be a common thread among women, those little things that our men-folk do that make us grind our teeth and shake our fists at the Heavens – and I was curious. Unfortunately Wilzie is perfect, so instead I polled some friends to find out some of those things that their husbands and boyfriends do – here are the top frustraters:

    Leaving clothes lying around is a big one…some men throw their clothes off as soon as they walk in the door and leave them there – pants in the doorway, some take off their socks during dinner and lay them on the table, and some get ohsoclose and drop their dirty undies right beside the laundry hamper. It seems that men lack either the motor-skills or the know-how to actually put their clothes into the hamper…and don’t even get me started on the actual doing of the laundry (or, uhm, so I’ve heard).

    There were a lot of grumbles surrounding food or cooking. For instance, why do men find it necessary to use every available pot or pan in the cupboards to make a grilled cheese sandwich? And then leave all of those dishes stacked in the sink for their woman to wash? They stand staunchly behind the “I cook, you clean” rule…unless of course we cook – then it becomes unnecessary to wash the few dishes we had used that we had kindly pre-soaked for them. Men drink directly from the milk container, they spill and slop all over counters and floors, they put empty containers back in the fridge and they never empty the dishwasher.

    Another common gripe is overall bathroom hygiene. Along with my Mother’s irritation with urine, it seems many women have the same criticism – there is an abundance of urine, where urine has no place being. Its all over the toilet bowl, the seat, dripping down the sides, and on the floor for us to step in as we wander into the bathroom with bare feet. My Mom told a classic story about my Dad; one day while going to the bathroom, he became distracted by something in the mirror on his right. As he turned to look at his hair, he turned his whole body and only remembered his actual reason for standing there when he peed on his feet. True story!

    And once you step away from the toilet, there are issues with the sink – unrinsed globs of toothpaste or shaving cream hardened like plaster to the ceramic, and facial hair trimmings (at least it better be facial hair!) everywhere. They slip into every nook and cranny and are impossible to wipe away! Seriously – can someone please explain to me how beard trimmings end underneath the toilet seat?! That just drives me…er, I mean my friends…CRAZY!

    I realize that there are probably plenty of things that women do that make men crazy. Things like cuddling and always wanting to talk about our feelings – but at least we know the proper way to squeeze a tube of toothpaste!

    Thank the Lord for men’s ability to carry multiple grocery bags, fix things, open jars and kill spiders…oh, and their man-parts. Their man-parts definitely help to make up for the shavings in the sink.

    Was there anything that I missed?  What are some of the things that we do to annoy our men?

    Fojoy Can Cook

    It is well documented in this blog that I am a much better at tasting and eating than I am at cooking. I am OK with that. I am blessed to have a husband who enjoys cooking and does it very well, so I just need to sit back and reap the rewards.

    And I do! The other night – with absolute no forethought and an annoying wife whining about hungry she was- Phil made pasta with a simple sauce of crushed San Marzano tomatoes and some spices, then grilled up some ham sausage and asparagus to mix in. So easy and SO GOOD! He would make a spectacular housewife.

    But unfortunately he cannot stay home all day to cook for me, he has to work. And now, at least 2 night/week, he gets home a couple of hours after me – so I am left to make dinner for the both of us. Which I do not look forward to. Its not that I can’t cook, I just don’t particularly like to. And for as big of a planner as I am, there is a big hole in the part of my brain that stores the memory to take food out of the freezer to thaw. So on the nights that its my turn to cook, my hard working husband usually comes home to a meal of…grilled cheese. If I am feeling especially motivated, I’ll crack open a can of soup to go with it. That’s right, I know how to treat a Man.

    So last night, in an effort to bring a little gourmet into my cooking, I went out with the ladies from work and made supper. 6 COMPLETE suppers to be exact! 6 DIFFERENT suppers – utilizing a variety of meats, spices and side dishes. How awesome am I?

    Side Note: When did I start going out with people from work? With anybody, really?! I don’t like people. I am shy and awkward in social situations. I like to be left alone. That is who I am! So who the hell is this person who goes out with the Gals from work and meets friends for dinner?!? Some days I don’t even recognize myself.

    We discovered a place called Simply Supper where you can go, pick from a vast menu of meals (you can get either 6 or 12 meals feeding anywhere from 2 – 6 people), and put it all together to take home to enjoy. What a fantastic idea! And for about $8/serving (I got the smallest, most expensive package – the more meals you buy, the cheaper it gets), they supply all the ingredients (as well as beverages for you while you make your meals) and the recipes and send you home with cooking instructions. And there’s NO DISHES to clean up (although when I got home, Wilzie had made his famous guacamole, and the resulting dish storm was waiting for me in the sink)!

    So after stopping for a quick glass of wine, the 5 of us shimmied around the kitchen in our aprons. Joking and laughing and marvelling at what a great thing this was. Oh, and we put together our meals too. Comparing notes, making mistakes with the recipes and teasing eachother about it.

    I made (all by own self!) Chicken Marsala, Pork Souvlaki, Beef Lemongrass, Chicken Cordon Bleu Pasta, Maple Pork Medallions and Beef Taco Stew! In 30 minutes! Seriously – I AM awesome! And after a long day of number crunching and account balancing – there was little to no thinking required. That’s my kind of night – actually its alot like my day too. They had a separate station/counter for each dish and all the ingredients lined up in the order that you need them, already paired with the correct measuring utensil. You dump all of the ingredients into a Ziploc bag, grab the accompanying side dish (usually rice or pasta) and pop it into the fridge while you move on to your next station/dish.

    I was pretty excited when I got home last night, showing off all my work to Wilzie, as I squeezed the carefully labelled meals into our freezer for when its my turn to cook. Which was tonight. Beef Taco Stew was on the menu.

    Guess who didn’t take it out of the freezer? The grilled cheese was delicious.

    Now Hear This

    You know how when someone is without one of their senses, the other 4 perk up to make up for what is lost? Well, I have 2 not-so-great senses and the other 3 are spectacular. My hearing is phenomenal, my sense of smell is a force of nature and my taste, well, come on! The rest…meh.

    When my kitchen window is open I can smell what everybody in my neighborhood is having for dinner. The tiniest amount of perfume or scented lotion will send me into an allergic reaction akin to a hallucinogenic zombie who wishes to have their head blown off. And I can smell when someone 6 cubicles over has their shoes off, and I will NOT be able to get the rank foot odour out of my nose for HOURS. This is not a blessing.

    Wilzie, however, is bestowed with the opposite senses as mine. You would think this is good; that we compliment eachother and make a good team – but no…frankly its just irritating.

    When I am lying in bed, having been awakened by a dreadful clanging noise that sounds like a our neighbour banging a dismembered arm against our fence post, and wake Phil up asking him “Honey, did you hear that? What’s that noise?” He inevitably looks at me with tired eyes and asks, “What noise?”.
    “THAT noise! What IS that? Go look…find out.” To which he replies, “I didn’t hear anything,” and turns over, pulling the covers over his head. So I am left, wide-awake, and unable to fall asleep through the thunderous cacophony rumbling through my house.

    It is this same disproportionate sense of hearing that makes watching TV together so difficult. He just has to have the volume SO LOUD and he just doesn’t care that my ears are bleeding! And if I happen to have control of the remote, he is always whining about how he can’t hear anything. How can he not hear it? I have no problem deciphering the dialogue even with all the blood pouring out of my ears!

    Now I, on the other hand, cannot see a thing! If he sends me to look for something, he will inevitably have to come find it his own self because I cannot see the trees through the forest (or the jar of salsa through the boxes of crackers).

    When he is cooking, if I don’t want to feel completely useless, I will delegate myself his “Getter” or his “Hander” (neither of which are anywhere NEAR as fun as the “Taster”) – as in “Can you get me the cheese?” or “Hand me the butter.” In theory, this would be very helpful of me, except I can never FIND anything! He’ll say, “Can you get me the olive oil from the cupboard.” “Sure!” I say and skip over to grab it. But when I reach for it, its not where I saw it last so now I’m confused…if its not exactly where I believe it should be then it must not be here. “Its not here,” I yell to my waiting husband, “I think we’re out.”
    He sighs, “We’re not out, you just have to look for it.” So I scan the area directly around where the olive oil SHOULD be, then I stand back to get an overall picture of what’s in the cupboard. Then I turn on the light so I can SEE what’s in the cupboard and I shuffle a couple of things around where the olive oil SHOULD be. Finally I walk back to my, now, impatiently waiting husband and say, “Well, I don’t know. I can’t see it.” At which point he huffs and stomps over to the cupboard, moves a can of soup and comes back with the olive oil.

    This is also why I don’t drive – What there’s a car? Where, I don’t see a car? A pedestrian? There’s nobody there…SLAM

    The Virtues of Home Cooking

    I love to go to restaurants.

    I love walking in the front door and having a wave of delicious smells welcome me. I love to sit down at a table (preferably one with a candle) and have my water glass filled. I love to peruse the menu; looking over all the wonderful choices, weighing my options, finding out what Phil is having and making my decision. I love having someone take my order, bring me my food and collect the dirty dishes afterward. Its all so…civilized.

    We don’t get to do that much anymore. It costs so much less to eat at home, and its quite a bit healthier because we can control what goes into the food. Unfortunately, cooking at home is just so much more…practical. Yay practicality (Boo)!

    But cooking at home requires planning. If you decide on a whim that you want chicken cordon bleu when you’ve been thawing a pork roast – you have pork roast. And then the next night, if you’re still craving chicken cordon bleu, you eat the leftovers of the pork roast. You have to go shopping to make sure your fridge and your cupboards are stocked with the necessities like meat, and potatoes and veg and chicken stock and cheese and basil and rice and butter (margarine) and ketchup and bread. And when you cook at home, you use all that stuff up so have to go shopping again. Its an endless cycle.

    Cooking at home requires time. In addition to all the planning, there’s the prep time and the cook time. So when you get home from work and want to some supper, first you have to marinate and mix and chop and sautee and bake and flip and spice and taste and re-spice and serve. Its such a long, tedious process. I much prefer placing my order and in 2 – 20 minutes (depending on the caliber of the restaurant), have my food fully prepared and plated (or bagged) and placed in front of me with a smile.

    Cooking at home requires clean-up. The dishes aren’t magically whisked away with an inquiry of “Is there anything I can get for you?” No, at home after you’ve finished supper, all you want to do is curl up on the couch in front of the TV with some raspberry sorbet and a wine cooler (ya – I’m a classy lady), but instead you have to clean the kitchen.

    Now, of all of the annoyances above, I really only have to worry about the clean up. Phil does the majority of the cooking in our house (yes ladies, I am a lucky woman), so that means that clean up falls to me. Sounds easy enough, except that Phil is the MESSIEST DAMN COOK I have ever met! By the time supper is done, and I drag my lazy ass into the kitchen to clean – there is dried goo all over the stove and errant salt and pepper sprinkled in every nook and cranny. There’s a pile of mixing bowls and pans cemented with burnt-on crud waiting to be scrubbed (the man can’t even make a sandwich without leaving a pile of crumbs all over the counter – what is up with that!?!?). But at least the floor is clean, because anything that gets dropped on the floor is immediately hoovered by the dog. So I guess that’s something…

    Now I know what you’re thinking…“Suck it up and stop your whining. Your husband does all the marinating and mixing and chopping and sauteeing and baking and flipping and spicing and tasting and re-spicing and serving“. But, you are SO wrong! I actually do that tasting and re-spicing…so really, we do the cooking in tandem. And yet, I’m stuck with all of the dishes! All the time! Every night (in the interest of full disclosure, I do not do the dishes every night…I often let them “soak” and enjoy that wine cooler instead)!

    Like tonight, for instance…the plan was to finish off the leftover pork and rice. All we needed to add was vegetables. I scoured the cupboard for a can of…anything. Just something I could pop in the microwave with the rest of the meal and not add to the pile of dishes marinating in the sink. But we didn’t have a can of ANYTHING in the damn cupboard – so Phil proudly announced that we still had zuccini and peppers from the other night.
    “Cooked?” I asked hopefully.
    “No, I’ll just fry them up with some onions and corn.” He couldn’t seem to grasp the concept that when you’re forced to eat the same meal 2 (3) nights in a row, at least it should be easier. “What’s the big deal?” he asked “You already have to do dishes anyway.”

    So he cooked up the vegetables, and they were delicious, and it was totally worth dirtying the extra pan. And now, as I finish this blog, I can hear him wiping the goo off the stove and washing the crud off the dishes. Oh, and did I mention he’s sick? I am such a Bitch.

    Total Calories: 1308
    Total Fat: 39g