Surprise!

What we didn't get for Christmas

Just about the worst thing you can do to me is tell me you have a surprise headed my way. Immediately after this occurs, my mind begins to race with possibilities, one of which will ALWAYS be a puppy.  ALWAYS.  And I am not alone. We recently celebrated my brother's 28th birthday and while ripping open a box, he looked over at me and asked, "Is it a puppy?"  It's genetic.   From the moment I hear "I have a surprise for you" to the moment I'm actually opening said surprise my mind is darting around, from one highly unlikely gift to the next.  "Is it a puppy?  A trip Madrid?  Oooh, I know, my own cheese cave?!?  Oh, a tin of lovingly handcrafted cookies,  I guess that's nice too." 

I am the worst.  

When I was in college, my mother would gleefully inform me she had "put a little surprise in the mail" and I would spend two to three days concocting ideas befitting a third world dictator.  I would think "Hmm, maybe she just sent the dog TAGS through the mail?  The actual puppy will be waiting for me the next time I'm home? Can you airmail a live animal?"  And of course, a tin of delightful and charming cookies would arrive in my mailbox, packed with love and made especially for me.  I small wave of disapointment (no puppy?!) would wash over me but then I would remember that I was lucky and loved and then I would proceed to eat the entire contents of the box.  Yay Mom and yay college!  Did I mention I am the worst?

This Christmas season, my bad habit struck again.  My immediate family gathered to decorate the tree. As we ate some pre-tree pizza, my mom announced she had a surprise for us.  (You would think she would have learned by this point) Immediately the four of us began shouting out ideas.  At once and in unison, my siblings and I blurted out "Is it a puppy?"   We began shouting out alternate ideas,"Matching IPad's? A trip to our German and Italian homelands?"  Uh, no, my parent shook their heads, for some reason taken aback by our wild guessing game.  
My sister's boyfriend raised the possibility of matching track suits. (He has more reasonable high expectations than the rest of us.)  Maybe it was the several pints of craft beer but my siblings and I LOVED this idea!  The discussion took off like a bat out of Guido fashion hell!  It had to be matching track suits!  How could it not be!  In maroon velour for that extra Guido touch!  My mother stared at us in disbelief. What the hell were we talking about?  I could tell by the look on her face that our surprise probably wasn't matching velour track suits but it mattered not.  We were loving the ride. 

Beloved Beaker

When it came time to open our real surprise, we discovered it was a most perfect gift.  An Beaker ornament that plays Ode to Joy.  We love the Muppets and Beaker is a family favorite.   Yet again, yay Mom!   Next year though, it WILL be a very track suit Christmas.

I debated which recipe to include for this entry.  I can often be heard repeating a sentiment first coined by my aunt--"I hate to be surprised by a raisin." I like my raisins to be upfront and in your face, except when it comes to rice pudding, when I like my raisins non existent. So here's to banishing surprises!  (not really.)  I bring you Nigella Lawson's Stovetop Rice Pudding for Emergencies.  This recipe comes is from Nigella Bites, which incidentally is one of my very favorite cookbooks on the planet.  Her cookbooks read like prose and she is generally a dream.  


2 3/4 cups whole milk
1 heaping TB unsalted butter
2-3 TB sugar
1/4 arborio rice
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
2-3 TB heavy cream. 


She instructs to think of this as a sweet risotto.  Heat the milk in a pan than has a lip.  When it is just about to boil (do not let it boil) turn off the heat.  In a different, heavy based pan, melt the butter and a TB of sugar.  She writes "when hissing away in a glorious play caramelly pool, add the rice and stir to coat stickily."  (is that not genius?) Gradually add the milk, stirring the rice all the time, and letting the milk become absorbed before adding more.  You will see the rice gradually swell throughout the milk-adding process.  Start tasting after about 20 minutes, but it may take as long as 35.  When the rice feels thick and creamy, take it off the heat and add another TB of sugar, the vanilla and as much cream as you like.  Serves 1.  

It's all about chemistry

Proof of my inner mortality

Picture it, Rochester, Thanksgiving Eve, 2011.  My mother, sister and I are spread out in my sister's kitchen preparing the stuffing for the next day's feast.  We were discussing Thanksgiving's past and the newest Muppet movie (outstanding!)   Out of nowhere I announce that I believe that I am dead inside.  My mother, who has the patience of a saint, has heard this one before and ignores me to keep on sauteing.  My sister is also used to my occasional ridiculous questions/tangents/observations but was caught off guard as she was focused on measuring Romano cheese and chopping parsley.  She asked me, "Wait? What?  You were as blunt as if you were giving a weather report.  'Tomorrow it will be forty degrees. Partly cloudy.  I am dead' inside.  Of course you are not dead inside!  You were just singing and dancing along with the MUPPETS! What the hell is going on here?"   So, here's what's going on here... 


Last week, I went out on a series of perfectly normal, nice, even fun dates and I said I would NOT blog about them.  Well, actually, I said I would not blog about the guy.  Slight difference.  I did exactly what I set out to do.  I shut up and dated.  It was successful and stress free. Dare I say even enjoyable.  He was cute,smart and made me laugh.  Here's the kicker though.  There were no sparks.  I mean zero.  NONE.  We went out twice, because I wanted to make sure there wasn't even a glimmer of something resembling a spark.  On the second date we went to the movies and I spent the whole time making sure I wasn't touching the arm rest because I didn't want him to think I was making overtures and have him reach for my hand or worse, my knee! Had that happened I then I would have had to awkwardly get up to go to the bathroom. Yeah, a bit out of control but the point is, he was a very nice guy and I didn't want to inadvertently do something silly and hurt his feelings.  You know, like jump up out my chair in the middle of the movie and blurt out "NO thank you." Because it's hard to recover from something like that.   

I was not blinded by science

I just wasn't feeling it.  Which I realize is fine.  You aren't going to spark with every guy that comes your way, which I good because I can barely imagine how exhausting that would be.   All of that is well and good.  It's what comes next that got me thinking.  Here is this perfectly nice man and I can barely summon a "meh" from inside my soul. Meanwhile approximately five months ago, lesser specimen sent my heart a-racin.  Why?   Why would my subconscious think a jerkface is A-OK but not this seemingly sweet man?  What's up, soul?   The short answer is who the hell knows?  It's chemistry, baby.  I could choose to drive myself crazy, or I can continue to shut up and date.   This time around, it's shut up and date. 


With chemistry on the brain, today's recipe is Sponge Candy!  Sponge candy is science at it's most delicious!  It's the baking soda/vinegar volcano of your 4th grade science class dipped in chocolate and given away as a Christmas gift!  


Ingredients:
1 cup sugar
1 cup dark corn syrup
1 TB white vinegar
1 TB baking soda




Line 9 inch square pan with foil, leaving 2 inching hanging off of sides and coat foil with butter. Combine sugar, corn syrup and vinegar in large, deep sauce pan. Stir over med. heat until sugar dissolves. Continue cooking without stirring until candy thermometer reads 300 degrees swirling pan occasionally, about 18 minutes. Remove from heat.  Immediately add baking soda and stir until well combined.  Immediately pour into prepared pan and cool completely. 


Use foil to lift candy from pan. Fold foil down sides.  Cut or break candy into pieces.  Dip into melted chocolate.  Let set completely before storing.  Can be made 1 week ahead of time.  

The German Shepherd Theory

So some of you may not know that when I moved back to Buffalo, more than just my relationship changed, my career trajectory changed as well.  When things finally ended with my long time love and I headed back to Buffalo,  I was pursing a graduate degree in history. I returned to Buffalo and the plan was to get a job, any job with benefits that would keep my mind minimally engaged and I would write my dissertation.  Fast forward two years, and things have not quite gone to plan.  It turns out, I don't want to write a dissertation.  I may never have wanted to write a one.  I'm not sure, the revelations just keep coming.

As for my job, let me stress, first and foremost, that I work for a wonderful place where people strive everyday to make the world a better place and, largely, they succeed.  Secondly, I have met some of the most wonderful people I have ever encountered in my life. Friends I hope to keep for the rest of my life and some of the smartest, most kind, dedicated humans anyone will ever have the good fortune to encounter.  What's more, in this economy, I am grateful to be employed.  So you see, it could be so much worse. It's just that well, my job, the work that I do, doesn't quite keep my particular intellectual fire burning.   And I'm not quite sure what I want to do.  What do I want to contribute?    

This German has career goals! 

SO what happens when your former career goals are maybe no longer what you want, your current job isn't doing the trick and you are feeling a bit adrift?  Well, in this instance, I think I've figured out that my mind is starved for activity.  It's jumping onto the next, new bits of information I've been introducing, which in some instances is dating related.  Rather than analyzing primary source historical data, I'm OVER analyzing text messages, phone messages, and comments over dinner.  In short, my current career conundrum is what's allowing me such easy passage to Crazytown.   I'm like a German Shepherd left in a two room apartment all day long.  German Shepherds are very smart dogs and left without a job to do, they will find their own activities.   Activities like barking incessantly or eating the couch.  This realization left me feeling both chilled and freed.  "Bad dog!  Stop destroying your furniture!  Good dog!  Free your brain from Crazytown and get moving!"  


So what's next?  I'm not really sure.  But as I continue to figure out my next step, I'm hoping that this realization keeps me from eating another proverbial couch cushion.  And speaking of eating, this entry's recipe is German Chocolate Cake!  Combining chocolate, coconut goop and pecans, it happens to be my favorite of all the chocolate cakes.  This recipe comes from The Joy of Cooking, which I simply refer to as The JOC:


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease and flour two 9x2 inch round pans.  
Sift together: 
2 1/14 cups sifted cake flour
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt


Combine and stir until chocolate is melted and smooth:
4 oz sweet baking chocolate, finely chopped. 
1/2 cup boiling water


Combine:
1 cup buttermilk or soup cream
1 tsp vanilla


In large bowl , beat until creamy:
2 sticks unsalted butter


Gradually add and beat on high speed until lightened in color and texture, 4-6 mins:
1 3/4cups sugar
 Beat in one at a time
4 large egg yolks


Add the melted chocolate and beat just until incorporated.  Add the flour mixture in 3 parts, alternating with buttermilk mixture in 2 parts, beating on low speed, or stirring with rubber spatula, until smooth.  In another bowl, beat on med speed until soft peaks form, 
4 large egg whites
scant 1/4 tsp cream of tartar
Gradually add beating on high speed
1/4 cup of sugar
Beat until peaks are stiff but not dry.  Use rubber spatula to fold one quarter of the egg whites into the egg yolk mixture, then fold in the remaining whites.  Divide batter among pans  and bake until toothpick comes out clean, 25-30 minutes.  Let cool in pans on rack for 10 minutes.  Remove cake from pans and let cake cool completely.  Fill center with Coconut Pecan Filling, leaving sides bare. 


For Coconut Pecan Filling, combine in med sauce pan, 1 cup sugar
1 cup evaporated milk, heavy cream or half and half
3 large eggs
8 tablespoons unsalted butter cut into pieces. 
Cook stirring constantly, over med heat, until mixture is thickened and bubbling gently around the edges.  Reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring, for 1-2 minutes more.  Remove from heat and stir in:
1 1/3 cup flaked sweetened dried coconut
1 1/3 cup chopped pecans
Let cool until spreadable.  


There is another recipe I heartily enjoy from David Lebovitz, who lives in Paris, is amazing and I love him.

Shut Up and Date

I have hit a plateau.  It's my pattern.  I have one or two or four bad experiences in a row and get burnt out and then I give up on dating for brief period, a month or two.  It's not that I return to the ways of Sloth Janelle (though, with the winter months returning, an end to shaving does sound appealing, am I right ladies? high five?  Ok, maybe not) but I shut down the dating section of my brain and focus on my DVR, bake up a storm and throw my self into a hobby I usually quit after a month (blogging, par example.)  

"See how they hug each toe?" Ugh.

I'm in the middle distance of said pattern at the moment.  Whenever I find myself in one of these "dating shut down" modes, I keep replaying in my mind the trials of previous dates from HELL.  "Oh GOD, what if he repeatedly asks me to join him in his hot tub on the first date?  ICK!  What if he doesn't stop talking about toe shoes?!"  (Don't think ballet shoes, but instead picture a gorilla's foot dipped in space aged polymer rubber and then sold as shoes.  One particular gentleman loved them dearly and spoke of them excessively.  He had several pairs.  They were his Facebook profile picture.  This is is not a joke.)  Why do I keep banging my head against the proverbial wall?" 


Perhaps a better question may be, why am I such a drama queen?  Sure these dates are no fun and, yes, I come home convinced I will die alone but who doesn't? (Right?)   So this time around, I'm taking up a new mantra--Shut Up and Date. Subtext: even if it's lame it will make a good blog entry.  Henceforth I will get to know a person before I become a judgy bitch.  Who knows, it's possible Mr. Toe Shoes is currently blogging about me, the girl who refused to open her mind to five toe comfort.  


As I've gotten older, I've realized the importance of keeping an open heart/mind.  Not like they talk about in after school specials but more in a real " you can't plan everything/sometimes things work out the way they are supposed to/be open to the plans of the Universe" sort of a way.  So moving forward, I vow to keep this in mind and will try to stick to my mantra and just Shut Up and Date.  Over analyze I will not.  My visits to Crazytown will be few and far between--perhaps only to pick up a postcard or two.


In honor of those gorilla feet, this time I bring you a recipe for Monkey Bread.  Now, normally I do not advocate the use of canned biscuit dough but Monkey Bread is one of those rare foods that can actually be BETTER when made from pre-made, pre-canned dough.  If you are looking for the real deal, I would suggest checking out Smitten Kitchen, one of the best food blogs on the planet.  She makes her own dough and covers the whole thing in a cream cheese glaze.  Yes please! That said, here is the good old fashioned, classic, American Pillsbury version:


1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
2 cans biscuit dough
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 raisins, if desired, which I never do.
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar
3/4 cup butter, melted. 


Directions:
Heat oven to 350 degrees.  Lightly grease fluted Bundt pan. In large ziploc bag, combine granulated sugar and cinnamon.  Separate dough into biscuits and cut each into quarters.  Shake in bag to coat. Arrange in greased pan, adding walnuts.  Mix the brown sugar and butter and pour over biscuit pieces.  Bake 28 to 32 minutes, till middle no longer doughy.  Turn upside down on to serving platter, pull apart to serve.  Serve warm.  

Oh the things you'll learn...

Two years ago this past weekend I moved back to Buffalo.  I drove back home in my trusty Honda Civic, the backseat overflowing with kitchen gadgets and cookbooks and sweaters and history texts, all the while singing Ani DiFranco songs at the top of my lungs. The previous two years of my life had been rather transient, moving from one coast to another, from a smaller apartment to a larger and in a sense, this felt like just another move. It wasn't until I got on the open road that the magnitude of this move really hit me.  I was leaving and not going back.  Whoa.

As with many things, what was one of the most emotionally trying experiences of my life was also one of the most educational.  In the intervening years I have learned a number of lessons  but as I reflect on where I've been and think about where I'm going the following three truly stand out.  I realize they may sound cheesy and more than a little cliche that is sort of my point.  To me, they were just words I had heard 4 million times before until I lived experiences that made them oh so real. So then, without further ado...

It's just cruel to deny a Polish
Buffalonian her butter lamb. 

1.)  Never say never.  Or always say maybe. Simply put, anything is possible. Things are going to happen that you may not want to believe--"jeggings" for example, or the fact that your dad wanted sushi for Easter dinner ("no butter lamb?!?"),  but you must push through and remember that every challenge could be an opportunity.  However you think about it, keep your mind and your heart open, go with the flow and don't fight the universe.  For reals.

2.) Love is love.  I can't take credit for this gem--this is the punch line from a story shared between one of my closest friends, his bestest bestie and a Rite Aid clerk. Intriguing, right?   The point is, it doesn't matter if it's your partner, your siblings or best friends, if you have love in your life, you are lucky and should be grateful.  If you waste all of you energy searching for what you think you want, you will miss out on what you have.  Tell those you love that you love them.

3.) And last but certainly not least, ladies, your 30's rock. They flat out rock!  When I turned 30, the quality of my life improved so substantially, I kind of want to write a song about it.  A kick ass song about aging!  Doesn't that sound fun! Well, maybe not, but seriously, my decision making abilities improved, and I became a  much braver, more emboldened sassypants who learned to like her body and ask for the things she wanted.  Well, some of the things she wants anyways.  Though, all of this does not happen over night.  One must learn from the mistakes of their 20's (mistakes like almost marrying the wrong guy) in order to reap the rewards of their 30's. And, here's hoping our 40's and 50's continue to shine :)

So yeah, you may be able to find these ideas on the front cover of any women's magazine, but for me their discovery was hard won. And on days when I want to celebrate a victory I turn to red meat (how's that for a segue!)  Today's recipe is for grilled flank steak, one of my very favorite cuts of meat.   Also, this is so damn easy, it's barely a recipe. If you don't a have a grill, or during the winter months when you are too wussy to use your grill, this can be done on the in a pan on the stove top.  If cooked and sliced properly, it is delicious.  If not, it tough and chewy.  You can serve this on its own or in sandwiches or tacos. Yum!

Grilled Flank Steak--serves 3-4
1 flank steak (about 1 pound)
Extra virgin olive oil
salt
pepper

Heat grill to high.  Rub both sides of steak with olive oil and season liberally with salt and pepper.  Grill 5-7 minutes per side for medium rare.  Do not overcook or steak will become tough.  Let steak rest for 10 minutes under tented foil.  After meat has rested, thinly slice steak across the grain (I cannot stress the importance of this step enough) and serve.

The Good...the bad...the Sheriff

Not the actual badge. 

Most of guys I date could humbly be described as “nerdy cute.”  They usually collect things like antique swords or American roots music and have multiple graduate degrees because they couldn’t decide on just one.  The Sheriff, though, he was different. He, obviously, worked in law enforcement. He carried a badge and a gun.  He collected...I don’t know what he collected but it sure as hell wasn’t antique swords.   He reminded why dating could be fun!  And he arrived just in the nick of time. 

I had begun to believe that dating would never be fun again--that it would only ever be a couple of hours over coffee where I would have to pretend to be impressed that you were an accomplished floor salesman.   After a few truly fun dates with the Sheriff, he served as a last minute wedding escort and was a most fantastic date. Completely personable and willing to fetch me cake from across the ballroom, my friends dug him.  I dug him. So yes, he seemed to be pretty cool and things were going well. Did I mention that he was totally hot?  The kind of hot that also happens to be a very good kisser?  The kind of good kisser that makes one lose their inhibitions?  You get the idea. I had not really had a good time  with a guy since the long and miserable demise of my relationship. The Sheriff offered fun on a variety of levels and my usually uptight self made the decision to just see where the fun would take me.  

As it turns out, fun took me to Crazytown. Let’s be honest.  Those who know me know that many of my interactions that go beyond three dates end in Crazytown.  But this was an especially looong sojourn to the ole CT.  If dating makes me crazy, texting while dating is the icing on the crazy cake served at the Crazytown centennial celebration.  

The really crazy part is I prefer pie. 

Now, The Sheriff would text me everyday.  In the beginning, it’s part of what made seem like a good prospect.  I like a man who pays attention.  He would text me funny and insightful comments, or just see how I was doing. But towards the end of our time together, I would ask how he was doing and sometimes I would get just two words.  “At work.” Ok, but see, that’s not really an answer to the question. A girl with a cooler head might think “He’s at work, he can’t talk.  Hey I’m at work.  Maybe I should work.”  I think “Oh my GOD! What does this mean? Maybe I should ask everyone within earshot?!?”  He became a puzzle I needed to figure out.  Things stopped being fun and I became a full time resident of Crazytown.  

The crazy really hit the fan when after about a month I asked the Sheriff where he thought we might be going. I called him up and asked him what he thought.  He said he was tired and could not have this conversation at the moment because he was exhausted but he would call me the next day.   I wasn’t trying to put pressure on him.  I was just trying to figure out which mental box to put him him: boyfriend, possible boyfriend, undecided.  Really any answer would have been acceptable.  No answer was not.  As it turns out, I put him in the cowardly jerkface box as he FELL OFF THE FACE OF THE PLANET, practically never to be heard from again.  He never did call me back.  Five days later I received the lamest text message ever saying “Um, I haven’t gotten back.  Been busy has hell.” Dude, go to hell.  It hurt my feelings but it’s really fine. 

As they say, hindsight is 20/20, and as I write this entry, it is clear that we wanted different things.  He wanted something casual.  I’m still not sure what I wanted. Part of the reason I began this blog was to take a step back and examine where I’ve been, maybe to help me figure out where I’m going.  To that end, we can cross “cowardly law enforcement”off the list.  There is no recipe from my repertoire that truly captures this experience, so today I'll link you to one from the mighty Alton Brown. I hope you enjoy!

I really do LOVE NY

I came home to Buffalo in October of 2009, as Autumn was in full swing and it was, for me, the perfect season to return home. Going apple picking with my sister Rachelle, baking pumpkin goodies with my dear friend Cat and other Fall related activities helped me take a break from bawling me eyes out.

Also, in my humble opinion, Fall is when Western New York really shines.  What’s more,  you really have no idea just how beautiful Western New York Autumn can be until you have spent an Autumn in the Southwest.  Fall in the Southwest is a complete waste of a season.  Now, I mean no disrespect to this fine area of our country, but it just ain’t a Buffalo Fall.  Way back in 2006, waaaay before my my great, big heartbreak, I moved to Phoenix, AZ for graduate school and spent nearly two VERY hot years there. I learned a lot of cool stuff,  made some wonderful friends, ate some delicious food and that was about it. It’s a nice enough place, it’s just not for me.  Me and the desert, we didn’t get along so well.   It kept insisting on being 115 degrees.  I kept insisting on talking about Buffalo ALL THE TIME.   

Perhaps I should offer some explanation...as you may have guessed, I wasn’t so jazzed about my move to Phoenix.  Graduate school yes, but the actual place, no.  My love had just moved to  DC, my family and friends were in Buffalo and I wanted to be anywhere but the “stupid desert,” as I had begun to affectionately call it. So yeah, I spent a lot of time talking about home.  I was “that girl.”  You know what though, most of my wonderful friends actually wanted to visit Buffalo by the time I left.  That’s right, I talked up Buffalo into a cultural tourism dreamscape!    Maybe they were just being polite, maybe I had just beat them into submission. Who can tell. But I digress.

Sooo yes, Phoenix is hot.  I mean really hot.  And please, for the love of all things holy, do not tell me “It’s a dry heat.” Do you know what’s a dry heat?  Your oven.  Your oven is a dry heat. Do you want to walk around in your oven?  I thought not.  

Anywhoo, when you have grown up in the crisp, cool, autumnal wonderland that is Buffalo, NY, spending September-November the desert feels like a complete waste.  There is no apple picking, no wearing of favorite woolen sweaters (you would surely die right there on the sidewalk),no leaf peeping.  Let’s face it, it’s the desert, leaves are minimal.  The weather just continues to be blazing hot and sunny, just like it was during July and August.  Where is the fun in that?  


That’s not actually the worst of it though. The worst of it comes when December rolls around and all of the stores start playing Christmas music and you are wearing shorts because it is 85 degrees outside and you almost burst into tears in a grocery store foyer at the sound of Bing Crosby’s voice and a Christmas baking display because it is absolutely  NOT beginning to LOOK A LOT like Christmas.  

This should be a Federal crime.

At this point, you are so shaken by the fact that these people don’t know that Christmas=snow you want to scream like a child.  You don’t know what holiday these Phoenicians think they have been celebrating all of their lives but it definitely isn’t Christmas. (How geographically educated and open minded this whole entry makes me sound!)  And, because you are pretty jolted by the fact that you just about cried in a grocery store, you leave said store and call your mother.  Your mother then, jokingly, makes the following the statement that continues live in infamy, “Janelle, maybe it really does look a lot  like Christmas.  Jesus was born in the desert.”  True story.  


So as we move closer and closer to first day of Autumn, I leave you with this recipe, a Squash and Pear Soup.  Each year that I am back in Buffalo, I stand at the stove, whirring pear into squash, thankful for the bounty of fall, for the chill in the air and that when December rolls around, it will actually look like Christmas.  


Squash and Pear Soup
Adapted from a Wegmans recipe found here :


1TB Olive Oil
1 med onion chopped
20oz winter squash, peeled and diced.  I usually use Butternut but have also used Acorn
2-3 med. pears, cored, peeled, diced
1 carton low sodium chicken broth
pinch dried thyme
salt and pepper to taste


In large stock pot, heat oil over med heat.  When hot, add onions and squash, cook 10, stirring occasionally.  
Add pears and chicken stock, bring to a mild bubble, turn temp to low and let simmer for about 25 minutes or until pears are tender.  
Using a stick blender or conventional blender, puree soup until smooth, Season with salt, pepper and thyme.  Ladle into warmed bowls and enjoy!  

Pour a little salt in that wound...

One of the steps of getting back out there was working on the transformation from Sloth Janelle to Everyday, Pretty Janelle.  Sloth Janelle emerged as a by-product of dealing with my emotional baggage.  I had been so busy doing the work of getting my emotional house back in order that my physical person was ignored.  I was still a clean person who dressed appropriately enough for work but that was about it.  Hair was left undone; most of the contents of my make-up bag collected dust and FORGET about leg hair removal.  (I am compelled to remind you that living in Buffalo, NY an extra layer of hair during the winter can much provide needed warmth.) 

As I healed and contemplated going out on the town with real, live men, I realized that this girl needed some work.   Slowly and over time I rediscovered just how fun it was to be cute and sassy.  My new cut and highlights helped and so did the guidance of my friends who used tough love.   They forced me to buy new and attractive clothing when all I wanted was to visit the Yogun Fruz stand and call it a day. Did I mention that I am a lucky girl? The basics (new haircut, a sassy skirt or two, and the desire to no longer look like a member of the clergy) came relatively easy.  At the same time, I fell in love with the website, The Hairpin .  If you haven’t seen it before, check it out now!  No, right NOW!  See, wasn’t that great?! They have a fantastic column by Jane Marie entitled “How to Be a Girl.”  Jane answers beauty questions and demonstrates cool make up tips.  It’s geared for intelligent and funny women and it is completely fantastic.  Jane answered a question about sunless tanner and wrote a very detailed description of a product that she loves and how to best use it.  I thought to myself “this is just what I need!  I’ll spruce myself up and look tanned, healthy and gorgeous in just one night!”  Fabulous!  I bought the recommended spray sun less tanner and followed her instructions TO THE LETTER. Or so I thought, ready to wake up looking tan and glorious.  I was on my way to a more confident tomorrow!  Watch out Buffalo!  

Morning comes and I begin to prepare for the day.  Blurry eyed, I glance down at my arm and notice a small streak…hmmm.  I look at my other arm to find a larger, more pronounced streak. Uh oh.  Then I notice my legs covered in alternating racer stripes of pale skin and burnt orange! FUCK! I take off my shirt to inspect the rest of the damage.  My shoulders looked like victims of a cruel finger painting accident.  I looked like I had a pigmentation disorder.   Blurgh!  In the shower, I use the loofah within an inch of my life but it was no use.   I was still a streaky mess.   Thankfully, pants and long sleeves cover most of the damage but my ego was still bruised.   Friends at work (I am so lucky to work with wonderful friends!) informed me that a solution of lemon juice and kosher salt should do the trick.  The next morning, I scrubbed with said solution for a FULL 15 minutes before my skin began to its typical hue.  Take a moment and consider this length of time.  15 minutes.  Scrubbing my arms and legs with what is essentially chicken marinade.  I felt like a Morton Salt Girl who lost her umbrella. Oy Vey. 

With this in mind, today’s recipe is a lovely roast chicken.  Thomas Keller’s to be precise.  What makes this roast chicken so special is that it always produces a beautiful, mostly even brown skin.  

Thomas Keller’s Favorite Simple Roast Chicken

One 2-3 lb chicken (Mr. Keller specifies a farm raised chicken. I say go for the best you can find, whatever that may be.  )

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

Note the even, brown color the skin.
This is one confident chicken.  

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.  Rinse chicken, then dry it inside and out with paper towels.  The idea is to get the chicken as dry as possible.  Any water left on the chicken will create steam once in the oven.  The less steam, the crispier the skin.  Add salt and pepper to the cavity.  Truss the chicken.  Don’t know how?  Here’s how.  If you don’t want to truss, that’s cool, it but helps the bird cook more evenly.  If you’ll notice, I chose not to truss because I am lazy. 

Salt the outside of the chicken by raining 1 tablespoon of salt over the whole chicken.  Season with a few grinds of fresh pepper.  Place chicken in roasting pan till done, 50-60 minutes.   Remove from oven and let the bird rest for 15 minutes before carving.  To make the white meat extra delicious, slather it with melted butter (!) before serving.  Serve immediately and enjoy.  Be sure to serve everyone some of the extra delicious, ultra crispy brown skin.  Or keep it all to yourself.   Serves 2-4.  

Chocolate soothes the savage beast

So the world of online dating can be a useful tool for modern folks to meet possible suitors.  Some of my best friends have met their partners online.  It is also a terrifying nightmare full of pitfalls and mixed signals.  Also, I should probably stress that I’m not very good at dating.  I lack the patience and general “devil may care” attitude possessed by successful daters.  Though who these people are, I’m not sure.     Dating activates my crazy.  My obsessive tendencies and low self-esteem light up light up like a Vegas skyline when presented with anything more complicated than “Do you like me? Circle Yes or No.”  Add to this the anxiety re-entering the dating world after six years and you have a full-on mess in a dress.    Even in the some of the worst times of my relationship, I took comfort in the fact that at least I was no longer “out there.”  I’d look over at my ex during yet another argument think, “well…the devil you know…”  The truth is your partner should not just be a shield from the single life and even mature and fabulous dogs can learn new tricks.  But these are the lessons learned after many, many months of life in the online dating jungle.  Let’s harken back to that first venture out of doors with an actual, real live man since the end of my old life.  I was so nervous I was convinced I would throw up on my shoes the moment he said hello.  I wanted to back out, to seek refuge on the couch with a chicken finger sub.   I decided not to cancel.  This first date had to happen at some point and Jim’s Steak Out is open late.  In retrospect, it was the perfect starter date.  He was like the slow pitch softball of the dating world.  Though he was kind and gracious, I could immediately tell that I didn’t like him in that way.  He apparently did not feel the same way about me and though he was very sweet, kept pushing topics I so desperately wanted to avoid—ever been married?  Why did you return to Buffalo?  Worst break up?    UGH!

Earlier in the day my friends and I decided that as long as didn’t feel “stranger danger”, a mere 55 minutes was an appropriate length of time to spend.  You should, at that point, have a clear enough vision of a person to decide if you want to see them again, and possibly share some food.  After that point, it would be totally acceptable to bolt for my car, hurtling for comfort of my pajamas and chocolate cake.  I only lasted 40.  Navigating the veritable minefield of topics left me exhausted.  At one point I actually “jokingly” yelled at him “We are moving on from this!  I don’t want to talk about it anymore!”  Attractive.  What could be better than a first date that yells and runs away from you as soon as she can see the outline of her car in the dusky distance?  

That date didn't go so well.  There were other dates, none were fantastic, but some were better than others.  What is for certain is that any evening that ends in chocolate cake isn't so bad.  With that in mind, I share my favorite chocolate cake recipe, the very same cake I devoured the second I burst through my door at home.  It's (minimally) adapted from Nigella Lawson, from her book Nigella Bites 

Enjoy! 


Cake:
2 and 2/3 all purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 packed light brown sugar
1/4 cup cocoa powder
2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3 eggs
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoon sour cream 
1 tablespoon vanilla
3/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1/2 vegetable oil
1 1/3 cup chilled water


Frosting:
6 oz Ghirardelli chocolate chips
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
2 heaping tablespoons sour cream
1 3/4  cups powdered sugar, sifted
1 tablespoon vanilla extract.  


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Butter and line the bottom of two 8 inch cake pans.  In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugars, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda and salt.  In another bowl, whisk together the eggs, sour cream and vanilla until blended.  Using Mixmaster (Aww yeah!) or by hand beat together the melted butter and oil till just blended then beat in the water.  Add the dry ingredients all at once and mix together on a slow speed.  Add the egg mixture and mix again till everything is blended.  Pour into prepared pans.  Bake in the center of the over for 45-50 minutes till cake tester comes out clean.  Cool on wire racks for 15 minutes in pans and then turn cakes onto racks to cool completely.  


To make frosting, melt the chocolate in a double boiler and let cool slightly.  Beat the butter till it is creamy, approx 2 minutes, add the sour cream  and then the sifted powdered sugar.  Beat again until it is light and fluffy.  Gently add the vanilla and chocolate until it is smooth and glossy. Frost cooled cakes and devour :)   

First things first, an introduction

So this blog is a about what can happen when the life you think you are going to lead changes.  Drastically.    I’m a smart, fun loving young woman who found her life turned upside down.  I was supposed marry my long time love, move to a wealthy suburb of a Boston, Chicago or the like and raise multi lingual children.   We were going to be a happy, loving couple who dealt with life’s ups and downs together.  Um, well, not so much.  Looooong, tumultuous story short, things soured between my love and me and I eventually found myself and most of my earthly goods racing back to Buffalo, NY, back to the open and warm embrace of my hometown, my wonderful friends and my amazing family.   

Back in the Queen City, I nursed my wounds.  With the help of my family and friends, I finally stopped crying, remembered who I am and discovered how to find joy in the every day.  And now, the new challenge is getting back out there—dating and navigating the murky world of the opposite sex.   Now, let me stress that I am a lucky, LUCKY girl.  This is not a place to complain about the gifts I have been given—people who love me, lovely shelter, and gainful employment.  Rather, this is about chronicling learning how to persevere, being brave, re-discovering my sass, and stepping back into the terrifying/frustrating and even fun world of dating. 

When my former love and I first met, I hadn’t really dated all that much and he and I almost immediately feel into a comfortable pattern.  After three dates, we were an item.  He was interesting and exotic with a bright future ahead of him.  I was hooked and not interested in playing the field.  Six years and one seemingly never-ending break up later, my self-esteem was ragged.   Developing the nerve to meet and actually sit across from a potential suitor for longer than 35 second seemed impossible.  The mere thought made me come unglued.  Also I could not, COULD NOT, stop talking about my ex and our break up.  I told new co-workers, waitresses, fellow Wegman’s shoppers--basically anyone coherent and within earshot.  Not to mention the endless litany directed at my inner circle.  Yep.  I was a mess, but it was all a part of the healing process. 

Eventually, I stopped talking about it all the time, stopped thinking about it all the time and one day, my break up stopped being the thing that defined this part of my life.  It became part of my past, not my right now.  I remembered FUN!  I cooked and ate and danced and laughed!  I felt pretty and smart! And while my friends are wonderful people who keep my social calendar very full, I decided that at some point I would need to get back into the dating game, or Friday nights watching NCIS marathons were going to my reality for the foreseeable future.  (Nothing against NCIS, I would totally go out with DiNozzo.)  Despite the fact that my friends and I went places and met people, none of them were straight, available men.  I needed to take matters into my own hands.