three hundred and two

One of the things that I am looking forward to most about moving back to DC metro area is the awesomeness that is known as the Lancaster County Dutch Market.  It's your standard issue Lancaster County, PA market with a slight twist: it's in Montgomery County, MD.  In the middle of the week, a group of Mennonite families pack into vans and ship a little taste of Lancaster County to the suburban yuppies willing to pay extreme markup for the privilege.  And, of course, among the highfalutin yuppies were Mr N and I.

Whenever we could afford it, we would walk down the street and gorge ourselves on the best fried chicken in the world, free cheese samples, spit roasted rabbit, and the best pretzels in the whole wide world.  In fact, the pretzels are something I miss (nearly) as much as our friends!  Since they're apparently like friends to me, I reasoned, why not invite them for a visit?  I set out to make a replica of the pretzels and quickly ran into an obstacle: Cooper cheese.

Wait, what?  Cheese?  I wasn't making just any pretzel (you should know by now that I'm more picky than that).  I was making my favorite pretzel, one that that just so happens to be Lancaster County's answer to the Hot Pocket: a pretzel stuffed with roast beef and Cooper cheese.  There are other fillings, but none are able to top the seasoned, juicy (fresh!) roast beef and ever so slightly tangy, melty-enough-to-put-Kraft-out-of-business cheese.  I refused to try any other kind of cheese because, well, I'm stubborn.

The above is why I may have actually cheered when I found Cooper cheese, presliced in the deli no less, at Wegmans the other week.  The above may also be why I immediately set to making (and eating) a copycat Lancaster County Dutch Market stuffed pretzel.  (And some plain ones, too, but those are boring when you have roast beef and Cooper cheese to eat.)  Now I'm going to do what Amish and Mennonite women have done for years: share the love.

two hundred and eighty-one

"If you had to summarize summer in three words, which words would you choose?  Swimming, picnics, and ice cream?  Vacations, thunderstorms, and fireflies?  Bikinis, bonfires, and s’mores?  How about red, white, and blue?..."

Read the rest of the post "Red, White, and Blue Potato Salad" on Home Ec 101.

P.S.  Stuff about life after the jump.

two hundred and fifty-nine

"During my freshman year of college, I was required to live in a dorm.  It was the most miserable experience of my life, not because I had a terrible roommate, but because I couldn’t cook or bake without having to use the communal kitchen (which meant I had to share with whoever walked by and said “mmmm”).  I told myself that I would survive that year with nary a cookie to be had, but less than a month passed before I heard about the wonders of the bakery less than 30 yards from my front door..."

Read the rest of the post "Basic Scone Recipe" at Home Ec 101.

two hundred and thirty-seven

Growing up, I didn't eat fast food very often.  My car-having friends, on the other hand, would usually stop and get something to eat on the way home from school.  Since I was in the car I got to be the little bird that stole a chip or two while they weren't looking.  No one minded and it would have been a perfect system had I not developed a taste for some of those greasy eats.  Now that I'm doing the "adult" thing, I can run to McDonalds and get a Big Mac should I feel so inclined--which I do once or twice a year (usually when on a road trip)--but the frustration known as the "regional chain" doesn't always allow for fulfillment of my random cravings for, say, Zaxby's.

Zaxby's is a Southern chicken semi-sit down restaurant (the kind where you order, sit, and then have your food brought to you) that would be unremarkable without one thing: Zax Sauce.  A mix of mayonnaise, ketchup, and a couple of other things, it is capable of making the most boring of chicken strips into an experience.  Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit, but if I am it's not by much.  I can't buy the Zax Sauce in the South and smuggle it home in my luggage since the little containers say to "keep refrigerated" (ahem).  This predicament has left me with only one solution: restaurant recipe rip off!

two hundred and twenty-six

Today I met with one of my pain management center's nurse practitioners, and she was absolutely lovely.  After chatting for a few minutes, she abruptly stated that I needed to stop being so obsessive and paranoid about doing something wrong and/or being seen as a druggo.  She said it jokingly after I mentioned that I felt like my patches weren't lasting a full seven days (but that I was probably just imagining it [turns out, a lot of people say the same thing!]), but the more I think about the nurse's words, the more I realize that her advice rings true in all aspects of my life.

As you probably know, I'm a terrible combination of perfectionist and ADHD.  I literally cannot make myself slow down enough to think before I act, which means that I end up I spending a lot of time thinking about what I should have done, or should have said, or (more often) shouldn't have said.  Have you ever experienced presque vu?  It's when you just know the word you want to use, but you can't seem to think of the right one.  Most people just shrug it off, but with the way my brain works, I'll suddenly blurt out the forgotten word days or even weeks later.  I think about it in my spare time without realizing it, only because I can't just accept that a word could be so easily forgotten.  Crazy, right?  And that's just how much I think about something as inconsequential as a single word!

As frustrating as my obsession may be, I feel that it is the driving force behind my love of homemaking.  Some people groan and grumble at the thought of cooking dinner or scrubbing the baseboards, but my perfectionism makes it an enjoyable challenge--most of the time.  After a long day, my Type A self retires to its mental chambers, leaving the inexperienced Type B Michele to tentatively poke her figurative head out of her possibly less figurative shell.  Type B Michele demands video games, drawing in the dust instead of wiping it, asking the cats to wash the dishes, and (perhaps most importantly) easy dinners--much like the one I'm going to share with you now.

Enjoy!  Or don't.  I don't really care.  (Don't worry, I'll be back to my normal obsessive self tomorrow.)

two hundred and twenty-two

I don't know about where you live, but here in New Jersey it is H-O-T outside, and that is really messing up my menu plan.  I mean, who wants soup when it's 80 degrees out?  You, that's who!  (I didn't expect it to be so hot today and now this post is semi-irrelevant.  It'd be great if you'd be so kind as to play along.)

For many people soup is strictly a winter food, but my stomach doesn't seem to know how to work a calendar, so soup is an anytime meal for me.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not usually one for eating balsamic beef chili in July, but there are certain soups that are perfect for those slightly chilly early spring evenings--and I'm not just talking about gazpacho.  Actually, I'll probably never talk about gazpacho because I don't understand the phenomenon that is "cold soup", but I digress.

At some point last spring, I found myself craving some sort of soup.  Not just a "Gee, I ought to make soup next week" craving, but a "SOUP. NOW. EAT." craving.  (You don't get those?)  Since I tend to appease my cravings for healthier foods, I figured I'd get creative and make a soup out of what I had on hand: frozen spinach, canned tomatoes, chicken stock, and some frozen cheese tortellini.  The idea was good, but the poor quality of the ingredients was painfully obvious.  I ate my soup, however meh it may have been, and filed the idea away for future use.

I reworked the recipe several times over the year that followed, never quite happy with the finished product.  Despite lingering dissatisfaction, I was convinced that I was on to something, so I never once thought of altering the original ingredients.  I was begrudgingly about to admit defeat and call the soup a flop when I found myself in the grocery store, face to face with my recipe's savior.  "Ciao, bella!" she breathed as she kissed me on the cheeks in that way that only Europeans can get away with.

"You can call me... Pancetta."

one hundred and ninety-nine

Growing up in a single parent household, I ate a lot of leftovers--and not the tasty kind of leftovers like taco meat turned Mexican pizza.  Instead, we would have the previous night's pasta dish microwaved for a minute and a half (sometimes with rotisserie chicken thrown in for what I can only assume was "the lulz.")  I've always been weird about textures, so leftover nights were a thing I quickly came to dread.  My mother, ignoring my pleas for a sandwich, would hand me a plate of food and say, "When you grow up, you can throw away all of the food you want!"

And so I do.  Unfortunately, I'm a painfully cheap adult, which means I can't just throw away the leftovers without considering the waste.  To make myself feel better, I store each component of a meal separately and give them to Mr N for him to recombine, reheat, and eat for lunch.*  Leftovers that don't a man-sized lunch make (muffins, rolls, etc.) end up getting frozen for future use, while the non-freezable starches plus a sliced tomato oftentimes become my lunch.  All of the leftovers seem like they're being put to use, right?  Almost, save for one problematic chunk'o'carbohydrates.

I love to bake full sized loaves of bread.  Since Mr N and I are only two people, the bread usually goes stale before we have time to eat it--despite having bread with dinner, breakfast, and snacks--and though it's inexpensive to make, I never fail to feel guilty when I hear the solid thud of the stale bread hitting the bottom of the trash can.  The sound waste is enough to make our Bubbies spin in their collective (and possibly figurative) graves!  But what is a home cook to do with day old Italian bread?  Why, the Italians have already figured it out for us: you make garlic bread.

*He claims he likes it, but I still feel like a bum.

one hundred and ninety-three

Being that I'm very much a creature of habit, my most commonly prepared foods are simply variations on a theme.  That's not to say I don't like to experiment with new recipes or try unique restaurants, of course, but there are times that I enjoy not having to worry about constantly tasting and adjusting a new dish. Fortunately for you, these go to recipes are inherently well tested, which means that they're the ones that end up posted on this blog--but unfortunately (for me), these are the meals that can sometimes feel like they've been served one time too many.

As you may know, I'm more than a little prone to food cravings.  My husband, on the other hand, never seems to have any sort of opinion about food* until it's cooked and sitting in front of him.  Our completely opposite (yet disturbingly complementary) food preferences put together mean that we eat whatever I feel like on any given day--and these days, I have been craving fresher, springier meals (in no small part thanks to the blahness of the SNAP Challenge.)  So, easy, right?  Why not just make springy stuff and be done with it?

I've been feeling terrible for the last month or so due to medication changes,** so I haven't really had the pain tolerance or level of concentration to stand in the kitchen and think about/experiment with a nice salad or tasty spring lamb.  What's a disabled homemaker to do?  Why, fall back on one of those easy-peasy go to meals--and put a twist on it, of course!

*except that bacon > beef > everything else
**sometimes, generic =/= name brand side effect-wise, it seems.

one hundred and fifty-eight

Tell me, Americans, what comes to mind when you think of biscuits?  Is it the kind from the tube or the box, perhaps?  Or the sausage-egg-and-cheese filled ones from the drive through?  If you're lucky, maybe you're imagining your grandmother's or mother's baking powder biscuits--you know the ones that you can't seem to replicate in your own kitchen--but, as is often the case, most of us aren't so lucky.

For better or for worse, life today is fast paced.  Very few of us want to wake up early in the morning to cut butter into flour, roll out dough, and wait for it to bake (and those of us who do want to wake up early to make biscuits don't necessarily want to do it every single day).  Does that mean we should sacrifice convenience for quality and allow homemade biscuits to go the way of Jell-o molds?  (Hint: the answer is "no".)

By combining the luxury of a food processor or pastry blender and the convenience of ample freezer space, all you have to do is invest 30 minutes of your free time every couple of weeks in order to enjoy the awesomeness of fresh baked biscuits anytime.  The best part of this method?  You have the option of making the whole batch, or just one.  You know, for "quality control."

Honey and Buttermilk Biscuits

 

After vs. before baking.

4 cups all purpose flour

2 tbsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

12 tbsp (1 1/2 sticks) cold butter, cut into tablespoons

1 1/2 cups buttermilk, sour milk, or sour cream

1/4 cup good honey

If using a food processor: 

Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in the work bowl.  Cover, then pulse three times to mix.  Remove lid, then add butter.  Replace lid and pulse until the butter is reduced to pea-sized clumps and is well incorporated into the flour mixture.  

Combine the buttermilk and honey in a 2 cup measuring cup and set aside.

Remove the little cup from the lid and replace the lid on the work bowl.  Turn on the food processor and pour the buttermilk and honey into the flour and butter mixture.  Allow to mix until the dough clings to the side of the work bowl.  

Turn out onto floured counter and knead until the dough is smooth, adding more flour as necessary to prevent sticking.

Using a rolling pin, roll the dough into an approximately 8 x 14 inch rectangle; sprinkle the dough with flour, then fold it into thirds.  Roll the dough into another 8 x 14 inch rectangle; sprinkle the dough with flour, then fold it into thirds.  Repeat a third time.

Roll the dough into a half inch thick rectangle, then cut into biscuits using a biscuit cutter, drinking glass, or cookie cutter.  Using the scraps, repeat the rolling and folding process described in the previous step, then cut into biscuits.  Throw away any remaining dough.

Place on a greased baking sheet and freeze for 2-4 hours, or until completely frozen.  Move biscuits to a gallon sized freezer bag for storage.

If using a pastry blender: 

Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl and give them a quick mix.  Cut in the butter until it forms pea-sized clumps and is well incorporated into the flour mixture.

Combine the buttermilk and honey in a 2 cup measuring cup.

Using a strong wooden spoon, stir the buttermilk and honey into the flour and butter mixture.  Mix until the flour is moistened and the dough is shaggy.

Turn out onto floured counter.

Using a rolling pin, roll the dough into an approximately 8 x 14 inch rectangle; sprinkle the dough with flour, then fold it into thirds.  Roll the dough into another 8 x 14 inch rectangle; sprinkle the dough with flour, then fold it into thirds.  Repeat a third time.

Roll the dough into a half inch thick rectangle, then cut into biscuits using a biscuit cutter, drinking glass, or cookie cutter.  Using the scraps, repeat the rolling and folding process described in the previous step, then cut into biscuits.  Throw away any remaining dough.

Place on a greased baking sheet and freeze for 2-4 hours, or until completely frozen.  Move biscuits to a gallon sized freezer bag for storage.

To bake:

Place the desired number of biscuits two inches apart on a greased or lined baking sheet.  Place the baking sheet in a cold oven (the biscuits will defrost as the oven preheats), then turn the oven on to 375*.  

Once the oven has preheated (or after 10 minutes), bake the biscuits an additional 10-15 minutes, or until golden brown.

Makes 16 3-inch (AKA huge) biscuits.

one hundred and forty-seven

I was born in Cocoa Beach, Florida, the land of rockets, drunks, and awesome Cuban food.  Every weekend after church with my grandparents, I went to breakfast at a restaurant called Roberto's.  As a young child, I ordered grits or pancakes or something equally mundane and hard to mess up.  When I got a little older, I started going to church at 11 instead of 8.  On top of giving me an extra two hours of sleep, the later service afforded me the opportunity to learn that Roberto's had a life beyond breakfast food.

Since I was not very knowledgeable about Cuban food, I would often pick something that sounded interesting and hope for the best.  More than a few times, this led to disappointment when I was presented with bits of the animal that are best used for pet food--and rice and beans, of course.  Once I was presented with a Cuban sandwich, however, my roulette style of ordering was quickly abandoned.  After a couple of months, I stopped having to order.  Life was good.

Suddenly, I found myself uprooted to South Carolina where there was no Cuban food to be found.  Disappointed, I willed myself to forget about the ambrosia of sandwiches--and I did.  A few years later, out of the blue, my mother came home from work with a Cuban sandwich, which I eyed suspiciously.  "Where did you get this?" I asked.  "Publix.  Wanna split it?"  She heated it up in the oven and I sullenly ate half of my half of the not-very-good sandwich.  When I was finished, I put the leftovers in the fridge to eat later.

Later came and went, and I was starving.  I padded to the kitchen and pulled out the cold sandwich and began to eat.  And that's the story of how I discovered my favorite sandwich: the cold Cuban.

I live in New Jersey now, the land of no Publix supermarkets and not very delicious Cuban restaurants, so I don't get my favorite sandwich very often.  Every now and then, however, cravings take over and lead to me buying a pork loin and making one at home, but my dislike of touching pork limited these cravings.  That is, until I discovered that I can make the pork in a slow cooker.  Now I'm passing the curse of that knowledge on to you!  Enjoy!

one hundred and forty-two

I've had my slow cooker for a little over two weeks now, which has been just enough time to fall in love with the contraption--and immediately fall into a state of confusion at the number of slow cooker recipes that rely on cream of whatever soup, or packaged soup mix, or soup seasoning, or... soup.  I was getting ready to give up and just throw everything into the slow cooker and call it a day, but then out of nowhere three words popped into my head: Home Ec 101 (shush, the 101 is hyphenated).  My go-to recipe index came to the rescue and I was able to get my roast on as planned.

Despite years of being one of Heather's squealing fangirls, I have a weakness: I can't follow a recipe.  Not even from a source I love and recommend.  No matter how good it may taste, no matter how classic it may be, there is not a single chef or cook that is safe from my modifications.  Most of the time, I would rely on my memory of the flavors of the finished product, rather than taking the 30 seconds to note any changes to the original recipe.

When others would ask for my recipes, I would direct them to the one that had inspired me, and would then sheepishly listen to the laments of my friends' failed attempts at "my" lime cookies, "my" roasted chicken, or "my" tortillas.  I would try to explain what changes I had made, but by that point it was always too late and the response would invariably be a short, "I'll just wait until next time you make it."

Now that I have a blog, however, I never fail to cook with a notebook at hand.  I taste, season, note, taste, season, note, until I'm almost too full for dinner (note that I said almost).  Why all of this strife?  Why not just post links to recipes and then say, "Add some rosemary and balsamic as needed?"  One word, my friends: content.

Slow Cooker Pot Roast with Gravy

Adapted from Home Ec 101's Wine Braised Pot Roast, this slow cooker recipe is super simple and super tasty--and the leftovers make awesome French dip sandwiches or stew!  Add some carrots and potatoes and you have a one pot meal!  The smell is almost unbearably delicious, so I recommend this meal for a busy weekend when you and your family won't be tempted to spend all day standing in the kitchen staring at your CrockPot.  (Not that I speak from experience.)

1 3-5 lb. roast (I used bottom round)

2 tsp kosher salt

fresh pepper, to taste

2 tbsp butter

1 tbsp olive oil

2 sweet onions, sliced

6 cloves of garlic, smashed

6 oz. red wine (I used a mini bottle of merlot)

2 bay leaves

2 tsp dried rosemary, crumbled

1-10.5 oz. can beef consummé

2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

3 tbsp balsamic vinegar 

4 large carrots, cut into medallions (optional)

2 lbs. red skinned potatoes, cubed (optional)

3 tbsp corn starch mixed with 3 tbsp cold water (for gravy)

Trim any silver skin or fat from the roast.  Season the roast with salt and pepper.

In a large pan over medium-high heat, melt the butter and olive oil.  Once the butter begins to bubble, place the roast into the pan, then wiggle it a bit to keep it from sticking.  Cook for three minutes, or until brown, then flip the roast.  Repeat the browning process on all sides, then transfer the roast into your slow cooker.

Reduce the pan's heat to medium, then add the onions and garlic.  Cook, stirring frequently, for about 15 minutes, or until the onions have caramelized.  Reduce the heat to medium-low if the onions are starting to brown too quickly.

Once the onions and garlic have caramelized, push them off to the side of the pan.  Add the wine to deglaze.  Remove the pan from the heat and dump the onions over the pot roast in the slow cooker.

Add the bay leaves, rosemary, beef consumme, Worcestershire, and vinegar to the slow cooker.

Cover and cook on low for about 10 hours.  For a one pot meal, add the carrots and potatoes after about 3 hours and continue to cook over low.

Remove the roast from the slow cooker and allow to rest, covered, on a cutting board.

If you added them, use a slotted spoon to remove the vegetables.  Discard the bay leaves.

Turn the slow cooker onto high.  Whisk in the corn starch slurry and cook gravy until thickened, about 10 minutes.  Taste, then season as desired.

Serves 6-8.

one hundred and twenty-three

Late post today.  The power's been out for the last six plus hours, but it's back now... Just in time for me to tell you a story about shellfish.  And ovens.  Mostly shellfish.  Spoiler alert: the story ends with a recipe.

When Mr. N and I moved to Maryland, we learned just how big crab and crab accessories truly were amongst anyone with a stomach.  While my husband loves shellfish, I am not much of a fan.  Something about the briny fishness of it all really puts me off, so I tend to pass when a well meaning individual offers up one of their famous lobster rolls or clam bakes.

Then, one day I met a man named Mike.  We met at a party where I was armed with lime cookies and he with a baguette and an awesome hot dip of some sort.  After hovering over the dish for a few hours, I cornered him and asked what I had just devoured.  When I learned that it was crab dip, I didn't know if I should gag or shrug, so I opted for the latter of the two.

When later I asked Mike for the recipe, he gave the standard answer of someone who's prepared the same dish umpteen times, "Some cream cheese, some crab, some Old Bay..."  Figuring we would be in the DC area for a while yet, I never bothered to probe the issue further; yet here I am two years later living in New Jersey.  D'oh.

After a year or so of crabby cravings, I finally gave in and made my own version.  Like Bubby's chicken soup, it's not quite as good as when Mike makes it, but it's still something I'd make again.  Who knows?  Maybe I'll send Mike my recipe and have him cook it in lieu of his own.  You know, so he can see what crab dip is supposed to taste like.

one hundred and eight

If you'll direct your eyes to the left sidebar on the blog (assuming you aren't using a reader), you'll see a new link: recipes!  On that page, I'll be listing and categorizing each and every recipe I post on my blog.  Please let me know If you catch a recipe that I posted on the blog and forgot to include!

Speaking of, it seems that many of the recipes are either modern reworks of classics, or are longtime family favorites courtesy of Mama or Gran.  From beef stroganoff to meatloaf to chicken pot pie, these are the sorts of recipes that give most Americans warm fuzzy memories of childhood dinners.  Note that I said "most".

I was vegetarian before that was the hip thing to do--not that I had a choice about it.  When I think back to the dinners my family ate, I remember oven baked eggplant Parmesan, barbecued tofu, and spaghetti with wheat balls.  My fairly rational mind can appreciate the fact that my parents tried to give me some semblance of traditional American foods like barbecue and spaghetti (I think I even remember tofu bacon).  Heck, I'm even grateful that they attempted to make vegetarian food taste good, rather than just serving lentil soup every day!  My not-always-rational heart, however, often feels a little bit left out when those around me start reminiscing about childhood favorites.

As soon as I was in charge of cooking for Mr. N and myself, I was prepared to dive headfirst into the world of comfort foods, but there was a problem.  Since I hadn't eaten much salt or processed foods as a child, I soon realized that simply don't like most of the recipes out there.  Even worse, many of the recipes called for Cream of Something Soup or disturbing quantities of Velveeta.  Undeterred, I realized that I would just have to do like good ol' Gran and start from scratch.  Many of my versions are merely approximations, but others (in my oh so humble opinion) are good enough to make you kick your Mom's recipes to the curb--like these meatballs.

ninety-one

In case I haven't gotten my point across yet, I'll state once again that I'm a fan of food.  I like cooking it, I like eating it, and I like reading about it, but I don't like looking at it.  I know that the Internetz are full of people with thousand dollar cameras who love to create blogs, sites, and Pinterest boards full of pictures of cakes meant to resemble the Tibetan monks that milled the super special wheatless "flour" that went into the batter or child-pleasing plates of broccoli made into scale models of, say, Sherwood Forest.  Even the humblest of casseroles can be made to look like Manna rained down from the heavens to come to a rest on platinum-edged china.

 Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed by the work and the skill behind the photography, but the pictures certainly don't make me hungry or leave me inspired (maybe because I've learned too many food photographers' "secrets").  Usually, I just end up feeling too embarrassed to post my original recipes because I feel like the pictures aren't up to par.  Today, I was hit with the realization that, duh, this is the Internet!  This is the one place where I could say I enjoy sandwiches made of modelling clay and I wouldn't be alone.  So I've decided that I'm standing up for ugly-yet-delicious meals by sharing one of the ugliest, cheapest, easiest foods in the world...

sixty-six

Until I moved in with my husband, I was not a "breakfast person".  I would wake up and be content to not eat until lunch time, even if I was planning on doing something active in the morning.  I know that, in theory, skipping breakfast makes one sluggish and can wreak havoc on one's metabolism, but from an early age my body just wasn't cool with eating before noon.

That's not to say that I didn't love breakfast food, mind you.  I've always loved muffins, cinnamon rolls, omelets, pancakes, bagels, English muffins, etc. but I usually ate them as a snack or dinner.  Mr. N doesn't quite share my belief that breakfast foods are best served at dinner time (not that he doesn't appreciate pancakes for dinner) and actually appreciates eating before noon.  Sure, I could let him make a bowl of cereal, but I'm Super Wife, damn it.  That means that I martyr myself, make banana bread in the afternoon*, haul myself out of bed at 6 a.m. and toast the bread while my husband showers.  After all of that hard work, I have to share the recipe I used with my many fans so that you, too, may finally be as awesome as the Nifty Mrs. N.  You're welcome. ;-)

*you know, to trick myself into craving it all night and into the next morning

sixty

Wow, sixty posts!  I was amazed when I got to thirty and am mighty dumbfounded by how long I've managed to keep blogging.  I know that sixty isn't exactly a milestone, but considering the fact that blogging is essentially a chore to me, I'm going to celebrate anyway.  Party, party!  Okay, celebration over; now, it's time to discuss something interesting and positive to come out of this blog.

I am the sort of person to mention something in passing, then forget all about it.  For example, I'll muse that I want to stop using coupons or that I want to save money on groceries.  Since I've been blogging, these random thoughts have become (possibly boring) post fodder and, in doing so, they have also become Official Thoughts rather than just random conversations with my husband and/or myself.  In writing a post, I have to actually sit down and think about, say, how much money I'm wasting on newspapers ($250 a year!).  It can probably go without saying that those realizations make me feel kind of guilty and wasteful, so I can't just do nothing.  This blog has opened my eyes (yeah, yeah, call me corny) and been the kick in the butt that I need to let go of my newspaper subscriptions, drop my grocery budget from $200 to $75 a week, and become a(n even) better homemaker with my husband's help*.

*that post will be coming in the next couple of weeks

Kay, recipe time!

fifty-eight

I know, I know, I didn't write a make-up post today, but at least I have a regularly scheduled post!  That has to count for something, right?  If it doesn't, I'll blame my lack of the promised post on the fact that I'm a newlywed--or on the hurricane that's supposed to be blowing right over New Jersey this evening.  Your choice of excuses!  How's that for service?

As I've gotten older and have become a better cook, I have been faced with a frustratingly depressing reality in which restaurant food ceases to be worth the exorbitant prices listed on the menu.  And since both my husband and I have been students for a majority of our adult lives, we've always viewed going out to eat as a Special Treat that we have to save up for and/or use a coupon to be able to comfortably afford (and thus enjoy).  Obviously, these two facts don't really go hand in hand, so I've found a way to make them work together: copycat recipes.  Nine times out of ten, when I go to a restaurant I come out able to recreate both my and Mr. N's entrees and the appetizers, and, nine times out of ten, I come home and test my skillz.  The recipe I'm sharing today is one I've enjoyed for years now, but is also one I've felt guilty about spending around $10 on for equally as many years: Panera Bread's "Sierra Turkey" sandwich