Cooking under the Influence

This amazingly is a double entendre. Cooking while or after drinking, cooking inspired by the cries of whinny children.

Today the boys had a play date at a friends and the nanny of the friend would not let them eat a piece of a "beautiful" Halloween cake on the counter. As my sitter told me, "it had too much S-U-G-A" in it. Yes, my sitter only has a fourth grade vocabulary, but I work through her spellings - She is awesome with the kids and I trust her instinct if not her vocabulary.

So, anyways, the boys wanted to make a cake. This went fine, except they insisted on making a Halloween-pumpkin cake to show the nanny. We have no pumpkin shaped-tin. We have no pumpkin on hand. But I can make a yellow cake with lots of extra food coloring, I can make chocolate frosting, and yes, I still have little pumpkin sprinkles left from last year. So on with a not so pumpkin, pumpkin cake. All is well.

We make the cake. We get it in the oven. We get it out. We head to bath time.

Here's the problem. Daddy comes home while boys are in bath and surprises me with a martini. Of course, I don't wont to offend and drink it!

But what happens next. The sloped tier of the cake somehow ends up on the bottom of the layers. The frosting on top is uneven. The sprinkles, well the are adequately sprinkled on the cake, the counter top, the floor.

Does it taste good. Yes!
Do we have something to show off to the Nanny? Yes!
Do I care that there are sprinkles on the floor? No!

My dirty little cooking secret.

Just like every other mother on the planet that has walked through a grocery store, I see the headlines. We are a fat nation. We are a fat nation getting fatter. And I think, “not on my watch, not my family!” I know a polyester-saturated fat is a no-no (along with polyester wearing in general). I've read up on grass-feed vs. grain-feed animals. I want to be human to our four legged friends. I don’t need any more corn in our diet than that we can bite off a cob.

I am convinced I can to feed my family "healthy" food, in portions that wouldn't stuff an elephant. Believing that if I keep the changes subtle and don’t actually tell them of the mission I’ve accepted, it might work! However, once in the trenches, it is harder than I expected. With two toddlers and a husband that believes every meal should be worthy of a Michelin star, there are a few restrictions on what my family will actually eat.

Basically nothing green should be on their plate. Thinking I might be able to desensitize the boys, I started with food coloring. I explained that there is kitchen magic, showed them the bottles, and we ate rainbow-colored eggs for breakfast for a week (yes, inspired by 'green' eggs and ham). However, it turns out my boys have a great instinct about when it is food coloring and when it could actually be an item that is intrinsically green. Instead of not sounding an alarm when a green “thing” is on their plate, I ended up staining our dish towels, which really makes me wonder how healthy is the food coloring?

I pureed vegetables so there would be no chance of, "mommy, pick it out." But that too failed, leading to all my food presentations becoming suspect for a time. And, I think we are all happy not to have a baby food for dinner.

The general idea of ‘whole grain’ is lost on my family. The boys don’t like seeds or nuts in their food. Picking off sesame seeds of a bun tries my patience. And after telling the sunflower seeds were mouse turds –in a moment of mommy insanity where I thought it might appeal to their gross side– they won’t touch them. Let alone show any interest in bread that "looks dirty".

But these comments, this ridiculous snobbery, it doesn't faze me. I march on. I'm on a mission to make us all healthier as long as I'm still the meal planner, the grocery shopper, lead provider of food for this household. I bought smaller plates to make the portions look bigger. This worked; no one noticed. YEAH! I've included the boys in the cooking so they'll have greater interest in tasting their creations. This kind of worked; at least they are touching vegetables.

Then I discovered vegetarian cooking.

If you want to find great ways to spice up veggies, then vegetarian cookbooks it is! This is not your Betty Crocker overly sauteed limp no longer white cauliflower. This is Indian spices, amazing flavors that jump on the tongue and slow cooked veggie soups that scent the air. This is meatless meatballs, meatloaf and hamburgers that are actually tasty if you slather on BBQ sauce to hide evidence of vegetable involvement.

Now having moved into vegetarian cookbooks for 'healthier' choices and not to actually become a vegetarian... I found... on a dark cold night when I wanted to use up left over chicken fingers in the fridge... and after a glass of wine because I needed it… if you want really great tasting healthy meals... this is so ghoulish, but it even kept my husband from complaining... go ahead, add the meat.

I may be sinning against the great vegetarian cookbook rules, I may be banned from all vegetarians outlets from here hence forward, but I tell you, add the meat. The kids loved the new flavors. My husband was surprised at having new tasty choices on the table. And I just didn’t think it was respectful to let all the shrimp, chicken and ground beef in the freezer go to waste.

Hello Cupcake!

As I squatted, with both hand holding dumbbells, looking into the mirror, I thought, "Fuck you, cupcake!" Maybe I ate just one too many this weekend?

The spaghetti and meatball cupcakes were for my family birthday celebration. The boys loved the concept and told daddy we were having "dinner". The butterflies were for a friend's birthday party on Sunday morning. DS1 helped me with the wings, although for sake of my sanity, the actual assembly was after he was in bed.

Trying to make designer cupcakes is interesting. Like so many things in life (including the gym), I loose my rhythm/skill when I don't practice regularly. For instance, the green bodies on the butterflies. Yeah, that was supposed to be brown, but my food coloring skills were off; way, way off.

I'm back at the gym for the first time since November. Yeah, I'm sore, four months off is plenty of time for the muscles to lose their tone. But it feels good to get back, and mentally/emotionally, it needs to happen. I missed it.

However, I forgot, when you walk in the class and everyone looks awesome = you are in for a wicked work out! There is a pregnant lady in the first row that I find motivating. She is due in May, and she's still doing more than me. To defend myself, I'm not totally terrible, its just the people in this class are clearly in their groove!

Today in the midst of 30 knee lifts for each leg, I started hyperventilating. At first I thought maybe the lights are dimming. Then I realized it was me. I sat on my bench and kept up with the arm work for a few minutes. I felt pathetic, I looked red. The teacher smiled at me, but didn't come over or say anything. After a song, that is how I measure the torture of working out - can I make it through one more song? - I felt better and got back to my feet. Tell you what, it was worth it. I'm feeling motivated. I want to run with the boys on the playground this summer.

P.S. The cupcake designs are from a book, "Hello, Cupcake!" but also just search for ideas on the internet and you'll find thousands.

Cooking, Cocktails, and Conserving $

So I've been tyring to control bills around the house. Duh, we are in a tough economic environment and I'm starting two businesses, conserving bucks makes sense. Well, I noticed something: if I plan a week's worth of meals, we save money and eat well. If I try to cook with what is hanging out in the kitchen, because I forgot to plan or just didn't have time, we eat odd stuff, which gets even odder if I drink while cooking.

For example: If I plan ahead, I'll find two nights for each basic ingredient so I can buy the larger/cheaper size. Furthermore here is no meal-prep related stress because I have a good idea of what I'm going to cook. However, if I walk into the kitchen with nothing planned, I immediately find a cocktail or glass of wine is in order. Then I look at the cupboards/fridge/freezer.

Frankly, I'm not a picky eater. I will eat a lot of a single food item for a meal. But DH, he has higher standards, which causes the meal-prep related stress. Of course, he's not planning ahead or cooking, and has been yelled at for not doing either, so he doesn't complain. He will eat whatever I put in front of him. But I know when he likes it and he doesn't AND don't forget I'm a perfectionist (yes, I do know it, and no there is not a drug I can take to lose it), which makes me want him to like what we are eating.

The easiest solution is usually the freezer. Do I still have a soup/lasagna/etc. in there from cooking a BIG batch of something? No? then off to see what is in the fridge. I'll re-purpose left overs rather than have the food go bad. This lead to fritatas of egg, bacon, tomato, peppers and onion topped with slightly tangy sour cream and catchup the other night. And last week we had stir-fry veggies topped with left over chicken fingers. If I'm not motivated by what I find in the fridge, its off to the cupboard.

This is a NYC apartment, so my cupboards are mostly dishes and cooking tools, there just isn't much space. But last night we had a tuna melt sandwich; tuna, relish, fresh onion, two types of cheese (if you scrape off the mold and melt the cheese, no one but the cook knows the cheese is past its prime). The broiler works well for this and I can proudly report, that I managed not to set off our fire alarm.

If I'm really desperate, I do have a few "boxes" of stuff. I really prefer to cook from scratch. But I'm not beyond pancake mix and pancakes for dinner, or an Asian noodle mix with some sort of protein. (frankly, I view this as a multi-cultural version of hamburger helper). The boxed stuff I look at time after time and just want to throw it out. But the penny-pincher in me won't let it happen. So there are boxes of stuff for desperate times (did I tell you DH thought marshal law would come in affect late last year? Got to love the guy!).

The other correlation to cooking and drinking, is the more I move from being prepared toward the cupboard, the faster and more I drink. This impairs my cooking abilities, my tasting abilities, but also lesson my concerns about DH being disappointed by the meal (maybe there is a drug for perfectionism?). But yeah, neither of us would mind losing 20lbs so we are not suffering. In fact I think I'm going to go make that bag of "fartless chili" mix my mother gave me for Christmas about 10 years ago. I'll throw in chicken, artichoke hearts and truffle oil to offset the staleness. I bet we'll both end up farting all night.

Cooking Together

I love to cook. Or more directly, I like the prep work and cooking. I'm not a fine-cuisine chef, but I'm not afraid to tackle a complex recipe. I like hanging in the kitchen focusing intently on something non-work/non-family related. I also like the the opposite, standing there and just mindlessly chopping stuff in preparation.

My boys now love to cook. This has changed things. I still love to cook, but now it takes much more patience when "cooking together". However, as they both show their skills and interest, let alone pride in a job well done, I can accept having to use greater patience. I also never used to drink (wine/cocktail) until the food was served, but now I will drink once all the knife activity is complete; which explains the classic baker's burn I gained making cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve.

In the midst of the holidays, I had a wonderful and rare opportunity. The mother of a former colleague of mine was visiting. They are Indian, from North India. My friend and her mom came over, after sending me a list of ingredients, to cook an amazing traditional dinner from scratch. While these were all ingredients I've used in the past, we used them in ways I'm not accustomed. The opportunity to learn was much welcomed. Surprisingly, the experience itself was also educational.

My friend is in her young 20s and doesn't cook much; or as DS1 says, " is not a cooker". Her mother was a traditional style, very good, skilled cook. My four year old can not be kept out of the kitchen when I'm cooking. First, it was clear the mother really wanted her daughter to learn. Second, it was clear the mom was not accustomed to having children in the kitchen. Third, it was clear that DS1 was not interested in watching, but was totally there to participate. Fourth, it was clear I would have to use all my senses to learn something while my brain was preoccupied with finding task for the four year old that didn't offend the mother while she aimed the teaching at her daughter, who really wanted to learn this valuable skill. I will also say, I didn't mind be a secondary student, as I have significant experience in the kitchen, I had a much greater framework in which to stick the new information and could easily learn while in a secondary role.

Watching older women in the kitchen, not elderly but like my mom's age, just older, is interesting. A while ago when my mother was visiting she commented how patient I was with DS1, which amazed me as it was truly not one of my better days. But I think I was in the kitchen with her? I remember cooking in junior high, but I'm not sure when it started. Older women tend to give my son a suspicious look and then give him things to do which bore him and keep him clean.

With younger women in the kitchen, even some of my favorite fellow moms, they seem a bit shocked at DS1's interest. However, they let him try everything! Even the stuff I'm not sure he should be doing. Interestingly, most of my girlfriends that cook are smart enough to keep their toddlers out of the kitchen.

Back to the story... I kept DS1 involved, even though the mother was suspicious and watching him. He crushed and peeled garlic. He mixes and can even cut some non-tough things now. The kicker was when we were making a bread and the mother gave my girlfriend an egg to break. I had seen nothing like it, she managed to shoot egg all over the kitchen. While cleaning up I asked do we need one or two. Two, of course. I just handed the bowl to DS1, with an egg and told him to put the shell in the hanging garbage bag after he broke it; I handed it to him out of habit; the kid is good with eggs. DS1 had watched my girlfriends performance, so I secretly suspect he knew what he was doing. He did a classic beautiful egg break on the edge of the bowl, dumped the contents, put the shell in the bag and then turned and smiled at us. Yes, this bought him entry, everyone now accepted him in the kitchen.

This weekend, I had a young cousin and his girlfriend in town. Another young 20-something soul. Well, without a job I'm trying to save a bit, so we ate in and had them over for brunch and dinner. DS1 and DS2 decided it was most important that they work with me the whole time. While DS1 can actually help, DS2 sits in a high chair, taking up half the counter space, playing with all the tools in a drawer. This of course requires that the sharp tools are taken out of reach, and that anything spillable is also moved out of reach. DS1 insists on really helping, so he gets 25% of the counter. Remind you I have a small NYC kitchen, so the 25% of the counter I'm left with holds all spillable items and sharp things as well as my work space, which is now down to the size of a decent cutting board!

But what amazed me this weekend is how into the routine the boys became. They see me reach for my apron (yeah, pathetic but I wear one), and they both go diving for theirs (more pathetic I do have kid sized aprons). I tie their aprons, get out the stepping stool for DS1 and the high chair for DS2 and we start. And they are so excited to get out their aprons, roll up their sleeves and get to work; it just cracks me up.

Unfortunately, during the week the boys eat around 5:30 pm. DH doesn't come home until 7 pm, by which time I've got the boys in the tub. The boys get snack, video and story time then to bed hopefully between 8 and 8:30 pm. This of course implies that cooking dinner for the two of us occurs as DH is reading the stories. Why this detail? Well, tonight we had complete melt down as the boys decided they would sneak out for one more mommie kiss, to find her contently cooking in the kitchen without them. There was a dash for the aprons; which turned into apron dash interruptus and tantrums as I returned them back to the bedroom. It made me sad, but it also made me proud. They like to cook, they like to cook with me.