NEW BLOG SITE

http://www.myfirstkitchen.net

Moving On

We're moving! The blog is changing shape a bit and moving to a new location! Ten Minutes to Digest will now focus a lot more on food and cooking related topics and will find a home at the new My First Kitchen website! See you there!

www.myfirstkitchen.net

Thanks for reading!

I've Made a Breakthrough

Today was the yardsale.

Scheduled from 8am-12pm, the first people showed up at 6:53am. Good thing I was up. We sold almost everything we had. Seriously. We were really excited. Kaz and I sat in little chairs and spent the morning in regular yardsale fashion. We had a great time. It was fun to listen to him talk to the Spanish-speaking shoppers and answer questions. The best was when he turned to me to ask a question... in Spanish. Yeah, I don't speak Spanish. He does that at his parents' house too when Japanese is the main language spoken. I don't speak Japanese either.

We made about three times more than we thought we would, and the only awkward exchange was with a woman who wanted a container full of yarn for $0.25 even though I asked for $1.00. I dropped to $0.50 and she still wouldn't budge. She didn't end up buying, but... we think she sent her friend to buy it. They had the same it's-for-a-lady-at-church-who-knits-things-for-shut-ins story. I think that's a beautiful thing, to spend time ministering to people who are forgotten. But really, tagteaming over a quarter? A little nutty. And it was a lot of great yarn! Whatever. I'm over it...

Here's the breakthrough. Kaz and I loaded up the car with the items we had left and IMMEDIATELY drove to Goodwill to donate what didn't sell. Get out. I had stuff in this yardsale leftover from one we had three years ago. I made a vow this time though to not let any of it back in the house. I didn't follow through totally; the index card holder will probably come in handy eventually. But it's all gone! All the VHS tapes and tiny window blinds and sad looking dresses I wore in 8th grade. All gone. This is a big. I'm proud of myself.


Now I'll have to avoid the temptation of going yardsaling next weekend and doing the junk fill-up again. Chasing my tail, man...

Drumroll, Please...

It's time!

My new cooking class schedule is up! And my site looks a little different! And I'm really excited about teaching new stuff! And I hope you check it out!

Yay FOOD!

Cha-Ching!

See anything you want?

I didn't think I had enough to participate in this weekend's neighborhood yard sale. After two dozen sweaty trips up and down the stairs, I think I might have been wrong.

Do you think anyone will be interested in VHS tapes? That's a puzzler...

Grab a Good Thing

I hate dusting. HATE IT. But I found a way for the hate to turn into mild dislike.

Please try Pledge Grab-It dry cloths. They're amazing. I used one (ONE!) to dust a friend's house the other day, and I made it through the entire house (and a good-sized two-story) with one cloth, and it picked up everything I touched without leaving it on the bedpost of the next room. I have one of those microfiber mits that I've used the last few months, and it does a pretty good job. Sadly, pretty good doesn't cut it when awesome is available.

So go ahead, friends. Buy a pack. It's not a risk if someone else tells you they're great.

Oh, and if you're in the market for a house or know someone who is, my friend's house is for sale and not at all dusty.

http://www.coldwellbanker.com/servlet/PropertyListing?action=detail&ComColdwellbankerDataProperty_id=13387358&page=property

My Katie Holmes Face

How great is this?!?! Wanna play? You know you do. You can do a morph, see what celebrities you look like, see what celebrities your kids look like... so many great options. Just wanted to share the fun. Okay, I'm going to go morph into Queen Latifah now. Yep, she and I have 71% similar features. Go figure.

And just for you, Emily, Martina McBride didn't make the cut. I know, right?

MyHeritage: Celebrity Morph - Family reunion - Draw family tree

Classically Challenged

Today I'm doing something I've never done before - I'm working at Furniture Market.

I'm sitting at a desk, taking business cards from people rolling their luggage from showroom to showroom, trying to identify the different accents, and trying even harder to figure out what state MT is. (I had to look it up when the people left my desk - Montana.)

It's not a bad gig. The people are really nice, the coffee is good, and I have my laptop to play with.

Here's the thing. I feel DECIDEDLY less fashionable than these people. These furniture buyers are coming from all over... New York, California, Colorado... and most of them are dressed quite well. One girl just walked by me in the cutest little tunic that I've ever seen. Actually, I've never seen it. I guess it's a new fashion that hasn't hit Target yet.

I usually do a pretty good job of not getting freaked out by my "classic" fashion sense, aka I'm wearing a shirt I bought in high school. But, oh my goodness, I'm starting to feel a little freaked out that right now I'm wearing a shirt I bought in high school! My mom says that means I'm a good shopper, that I choose things that are timeless. But I don't feel timeless. I feel boring and a little faded. I don't think my shirt has holes, but I can't be entirely sure. And the jeans I'm wearing are the only ones I own without a hole or frayed bottoms. It's slightly awkward.

Holy cow, will someone PLEASE take me shopping?

Distractions

I'm a very VERY unhappy Tarheel right now.

My team is down by 17 points at halftime to stupid Kansas. I seriously am having chest pains. This performance is embarrassing.

Kaz and I had a conversation a few days ago about how important it was to us to have our kids like sports. We don't have any yet, so we can totally imagine these things. We looked at taste in friends, taste in food, taste in music, or taste in sports. Our lists were slightly different. Of course friends was first. I would so much rather my kids make good choices in their friends and only eat blue-box mac'n'cheese and listen to Daniel Powter while watching old people do pairs' figure skating.

But oh my goodness. A kid without a pallette? A kid who doesn't appreciate songwriters? A kid who doesn't love March Madness? That's tough. You know, I realize these words really mean nothing. I'm just trying to distract myself from this game. And for the record, I'm totally going to love my kids whatever they're into... unless it's puppy-killing or Jessica Simpson.

Smells Like Teen Something

I just witnessed something rather disturbing.

I flipped on Ellen while I was hanging out in my bedroom, and the Jonas Brothers were performing. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the Jonas Brothers, let me fill you in (on the tidbits of info I just off Wikipedia).






There are three Jonas brothers... well, actually four, but the fourth doesn't want to be in the band. Tsk tsk. They have quickly risen to the top of Teen Girl World with their ballads and cute? looks and their friendship with Miley Cyrus on Hannah Montana. Middle brother, Joe (I think he's the one in the middle), has a balance problem; he's taken a couple of hospital-requiring spills during performances in the last few months, and younger brother, Nick (on the left), has diabetes. Not sure why Wiki wanted us to know that. They have a show set to debut on the Disney Channel soon called J.O.N.A.S. (Junior Operatives Networking As Spies) where they play - you guessed it! - undercover spy kids. How long did it take the network execs to come up with that one? And they've done a cover of the song "Poor Unfortunate Souls" from The Little Mermaid. That's almost as bad as hearing a Weepies song on Laguna Beach. (Okay, my mom is TOTALLY lost right now.)

So back to Ellen. They're performing on this huge outdoor stage in Orlando, and there are TONS and TONS of little adolescent girls screaming their faces off for these boys. Here's what disturbed me. The camera panned across the front row of these girls just crammed in like... I don't know... something worse than sardines, and one girl (you ready?) had her eyes closed and her hands raised like she was in church. The girl beside her was singing and waving her hands and crying like that Sanjaya girl last season on Idol. The next one was reaching out as far as she could to get as close as possible to these boys, even though whatever Jonas brother was in front was a good fifty feet away. I mean straining with all her might; she looked pained.

Deep breath, Kendra. I just don't know how I feel about this. Wait, yes I do. I feel sick. I remember being fifteen.



I loved Hanson. I cut out pictures of Brad Pitt and Dean Cain (yes, Dean Cain... hot in the Lois and Clark days) and put them in a little notebook. I took a picture of the TV when I was watching The Outsiders (I'm old school) just so I could always have Rob Lowe with me. All I got was a picture of the flash glaring on the screen. How did we live before the Internet? But I don't remember worshipping these people. Maybe I did. It was a long time ago. But it really makes me sad to see these little girls put so much emotion into something that's so fading.

The Jonas Brothers will be hairy and lumpy and not-so-nasally in no time, and there's no way that they can take every one of those girls to their next middle school dance, even if there are three of them. I just feel sorry for these girls. I guess I'm naive. I want them to love books and ponies and board games and making muffins with their moms and giving each other makeovers with old blue eyeshadow and a crimper. Now they all have cell phones and booty shorts and boyfriends and attitudes. Okay, not all of them. I realize I'm disparaging every female under the age of sixteen with this diatribe, but I don't mean to. I just wish things were the way they used to be.


Did I just say that? I guess that clinches it; I'm officially old. And the running count for pop culture references in this post: 15.

Merry Christmas '06

I just used a gift card I got two Christmases ago. It was for $25 at Hollywood Video. That shows you how much we rent movies despite loving them a ton. Anyway, I didn't rent. I bought. Two for $20. I am now the proud and way too excited owner of Once and Bourne Ultimatum. If you haven't seen them, shame on you. I wag my finger in your general direction. They're #6 and #11 on my favorite movies list.

Yes, I have a list. And I'm not embarrassed to say that it's my top 250. In order. Yeah, I said it.

My Best Friend

I realize the following statement is rather simplistic, but the simple things are often the best.

I really like spending time with my husband.

This is us at Christmas (what gave it away?), but it's one of the only pictures of us around. Anyway, he's on spring break this week, so we get an entire week of hanging out. Sure, today I worked on the new MFK website (coming soon!) and Kaz spend a couple of hours napping, but we were in the same room and got to smile at each other all day. He's a blast to be with, and we honestly don't ever get tired of each other. It's actually never happened. I consider myself one lucky wife.

I really like spring break.

Maybe I'll Open a Window

It's a beautiful March day outside. Beautiful. A perfect 73 degrees, a breeze, it's a Saturday... guess where I am?

On the couch. Watching basketball. Still in my pajamas. People are coming over for dinner in two hours. I really should get going. Really.

I should stop complaining that I'm pale. Apparently the sun does come out sometimes.

Datsa Spicy Meat-uh-ballah

I know you've got your favorite Italian restaurant, and I am by no means trying to make you convert from your beloved Macaroni Grill or Olive Garden, but you should give Salvino a try. It's tough to spot from the road, peeking out from behind a muffler place and wedged between a sports bar and a Jackson Hewitt. Location aside, it's a pretty tasty place.

I'm not a food critic. I'm not here to break down the cleanliness (it was clean) and the wait staff (very friendly and attentive) and the wine list (I know the difference between red and white). I just like to talk about good food when I eat it. So here it is.

The classic bread and olive oil combo at the start was really good. Crusty but not break-a-tooth bread and nice, spicy deep green olive oil. We ordered the gnocchi to start, and it was awesome. Gnocchi are Italian potato dumpling pasta things. The right texture is difficult to achieve, but these spinach gnocchi were deliciously tender, baked in a cheese sauce with gorgonzola cheese. So unexpected but really good. The caesar salad was nice and simple, and the house salad at the other end of the table looked really fresh. Everyone at our table was pretty happy with the entrees. My mother-in-law and I definitely got the best thing on the menu. Actually, it was a daily special not on the menu (but they always have it... go figure) - lightly pan-fried sea scallops in a butter white wine sauce with creamy spinach and angel hair. Shut-up, people. It was delicious. And even though we all needed assistance getting out of the restaurant, we still got a piece of cake to share - a lemoncello cake filled with mascarpone cheese. You can't see me, but I'm totally shaking my head right now since THERE ARE NO WORDS. I'd go just for the cake.

A few bucks more per person than grilling macaroni or gardening for olives, but it's definitely worth trying. Salvino Cucina Italiana on Battleground Ave. in the Big Lots shopping center next to the Jackson Hewitt. Yeah, I know. I didn't think they had restaurants there either.

Point, Shoot, Eat

Well, folks, here's my first shot at dabbling in my own food photography. The pictures on my website were taken by the fantastically talented Lucy Clement, but she can't be at my house every day to take pictures of what I cook.

(I'm working on a new website by the way that will have my recipes complete with pictures. I'll keep you posted.)

So anyway, here's the first collection. I call it Pizza. That's a joke by the way.

Considering it's just a glorified point-and-shoot camera, I think they're okay! Are you hungry? If they don't make you hungry, they're not good enough. I need watering mouths, churning stomachs, perhaps even a moan or two. That's when I know my pictures have arrived.

Okay, I'll keep working on it.

A Melancholy Goodbye

I cancelled my subscription to Real Simple today.

This magazine has practically been my domestic lifeblood since I started receiving it a couple of years ago. All of the recipes and the product reviews and the lists of things to have in your pantry, closet, bathroom, and car trunk. Indispensable information.

But last week I realized something. I am no longer the targeted RS reader. I don't have an iPhone. I don't buy tea in decorative tins. I don't splurge on a $1200 handbag. I don't send Christmas cards (much less the $42 for a box of six kind). I don't tip my mail carrier $50 on National Post Office Day. I don't buy organic produce. I don't care about mixing modern furniture with beautiful antiques. I'm not an account executive or pottery thrower. I don't host spring tea parties for my girlfriends. I don't consider Crate&Barrel my "bargain" store. And I don't vacation in Botswana. For real. That's where RS told me to go on vacation.

I wear t-shirts. I watch college basketball on a non-plasma TV. I buy wine that costs less than ten dollars, and I keep it way longer than I should. I don't have texting on my cell phone. I sleep in non-matching pajamas. I haven't purchased a swimsuit in three years. I buy groceries at Walmart. I don't wear heels or wedges or espadrilles. I still use Lysol and Clorox to clean my house. I don't own a sundress. I don't give hostess gifts. I have taken one for-real vacation since my honeymoon, and I've been married five and a half years.

I just don't think I fit the mold anymore. In some ways, I like that. I'm unique and will no longer be influenced when RS tells me to spray my hair with color serum to preserve shine and vibrance. But then again, no longer being relevant feels like I'm the ugly step-sister. I'm invited to family functions, but no one will talk to me or compliment me on my outfit.

This is the end of an era. Like when Joey and Chandler didn't live together anymore. Sad but necessary. So goodbye, Real Simple. Thanks for trying to improve my life with $75 umbrellas and a life coach who taught me to prioritize my dreams. I'll miss you.

Open Mouth. Insert VERY LARGE Foot.

I stuck my foot in my mouth last night. BIG TIME.

I got a phone call at dinner (with the lovely almost Mr. and Mrs. Stagner), and the caller ID said Melody Watson. Kaz and I both looked at the name on the phone, shrugged, and Kaz answered. Apparently Melody wanted to talk to me. Here's how the conversation went...

Me: "Hello?"

Her: "Hi, Kendra! This is Melody Watson!"

M: Who the heck is Melody Watson? "Hi, Melody! How are you?"

H: "I'm great! Do you have a minute to talk?"

M: Talk about what? "Well, we actually have some friends over right now, but go ahead and give me the quick version to get us going!"

H: Well, you didn't have to answer the phone if you have friends over. [I'm just assuming that's what she thought because that's what I would've thought.] "Sure! I was just calling to see if Monday was still a good time for you?"

M: Umm, what? "Monday... Monday... let me check my planner!" Oh my goodness, I hope I have something written down in my planner to let me know who this person is. Sigh. Crap. Monday's blank. No clues. "Well, I think Monday should work. Umm... remind me why we're getting together?" [Yes, I really said that.]

H: "You wanted my help on your website! I'm the Squarespace consultant that worked with your mom?"

M: Holy cow, I'm a moron. "Ooooh! Melody! Oh my goodness, the name just didn't click. Yes, Monday is great!"

H: "Wow, you're good! That was really subtle. I had no idea you didn't know who I was!"

Okay, friends, I'm saving you some work. If you don't know the name on the caller ID, pretend you're not home and trust that the message left on the answering machine will give you a hint. Not everyone will be nice and friendly when you carry on a conversation not knowing who they are! Fortunately, Melody was.

Thanks, Melody. I'm glad we can start off our professional relationship with a little humor. And I will never forget your name again.

A Simple Sneeze

Yesterday, I was doing my laundry, and I sneezed. It was a good sneeze, one of those that gives your whole body warm chills. Warm chills? Is that like jumbo shrimp? Anyway, it was a good sneeze. It reminded me of the one episode of 3rd Rock from the Sun that I ever watched. Remember that show? The one about the family of aliens that come to earth to gather information? I'm not sure if that was the premise or not; like I said, I only ever saw one episode. The older daughter (or wife... I'm not sure) caught her first cold on earth and sneezed. The whole family violently reacted to nose explosion, and the dad/husband asked, "What was that!?!" The sneezing alien said, "I don't know... but I want another one."

So to recap: I sneezed a really good sneeze, thought about the 3rd Rock sneeze comment, and thought about all of the other things that were great the first time and have just lost their zing, possibly by no fault of their own.

Do you remember the first time you were tickled? The first slice of pizza you ever ate? Your first trip to the beach? Granted, all of those things probably happened when you were three years old, but cut me some slack.

Maybe you're good at living in the moment, but I'm not always. My challenge for myself is to look at things like they're happening for the first time. Even a good sneeze can be something special. So take a minute, appreciate whatever's happening, and... gezundheidt.

Canada Kendra

There's another Kendra Adachi.

She lives in Edmonton, Canada. She takes pictures and is friends with some guy named Tyler who likes to pose in his underwear. She's single and a cashier at the T-Bo. I don't know what that is exactly. Maybe a grocery store or Canada's version of Walgreens.

I honestly didn't think another Kendra Adachi existed. Maybe that's conceited, but I have good reason! My first name is fairly unique. My last name is really unique (at least in the US). The combination of the two (I thought) was singular. Now I find there's another one, taking pictures and money somewhere in Canada.

I wonder if she's nice. I wonder if she likes her mom. I wonder if she enjoys cooking and eating. I sort of want her to give Kendra Adachi a good name. Okay, that does sound conceited. It's her name, too. She can be whatever Kendra Adachi she wants to be. It got me thinking though, and isn't that what a blog is for?

We represent ourselves by what we do, but when we follow Christ, we represent Him even more. We should honor the name of Jesus and not do anything to lessen that name in any way. It's the greatest name there is, and I have the privilege of being a reflection of His love, an ambassador for Jesus, for the Savior of the world. His name is the only name that matters. Mine becomes less and less as His becomes more and more. I feel so relieved by that. That takes so much pressure off of me, off my need to prove the truth. Thank God that the truth isn't contigent on me or on my name.

I hope Canada Kendra loves Jesus.

Your Favorites

I'm working on some new recipes for upcoming My First Kitchen classes, and I'd love some ideas from anyone interested in sharing!

What's your standby ingredient that is always in your kitchen? What do you love to cook with? Or better yet, what do you love to eat?

I want to focus on dishes that use popular, easy-to-use ingredients, so help me figure out what those are!

Soundtracks

Do you ever feel like you're in a movie? Music does that to me. It transports me to a New York street in the fall waiting to meet my long lost love. It puts me in a car, driving down a thickly tree-lined street to a home I haven't seen in years. It comforts me after a loved one dies. It makes me stop, close my eyes, smile, and think about how music is one of the most emotionally powerful mediums in my life. It goes beyond something fun to sing or something sentimental to listen to. A moment can be perfectly identified by a lyric, a note, a voice. I cry listening to music more than I cry about real life problems. It just speaks to me in a way that nothing else does. It's abandonment and quiet and rest. It's love and death and courage and hurt. It's perfect.

My Favorite Day

It's 1:11pm on a Wednesday, and I'm still in my pajamas. Granted I have been working all day, but I haven't taken the time to change. That FlyLady lady would be quite angry that I don't have my shoes and my face on. But there's something about pajamas. They're cozy and soft and warm and safe. Nothing bad happens when I'm wearing them. I'm not self-conscious (unless a neighbor drops by... oops), I don't feel bloated after I eat because of precious elastic, and I can crawl back in bed without worrying about wrinkles... on my clothes, not my face. Just to clarify.

So why am I sharing this? I have no idea. I'm just happy right now! I just ate a tasty lunch, I'm warm and comfy in my pajamas, I'm working but it's mindless, I'm halfway watching season three of LOST, and I am deeply loved. It's just really nice.

I like this kind of day.

A Great Uncle

Let me tell you about my Uncle Rex.

I told him I'd start my blog that way. Who knows if he'll actually read it. Still, I'm a woman of my word. So here's a post dedicated to my Uncle Rex.

He's my grandpa's brother, so I guess that makes him my great uncle. He is that... a great uncle. You know those people that you just feel totally comfortable with even if you don't see them but once every year? It's like Anne Shirley looking for her kindred spirit. I found one of very few in Uncle Rex.

My grandpa has been in the hospital for the last month going through triple bypass surgery and subsequent surgeries and therapies to help him recover. Over the four weeks, I've only gone a couple of times, but every time I've gone, Uncle Rex has been there. He sits and waits. Even on days where seeing my grandpa is hours away, he sits and waits. He's quiet and consistent, and silence is okay. And he's got my website in his favorites on his computer which I think is sweet.

And he teases. Goodness, does he tease. He loves to take little jabs at people he likes. Today I opened an issue of Entertainment Weekly in the waiting room, and Uncle Rex said, "You can read?" He does that. He loves to tease. But that's one of the reasons why I love him. I love that when he questions my mom's cooking ability and work ethic, he's really saying that he respects the woman she is. I love that when he tells me to keep my mom in line, he's really saying that he likes the fact that my mom and I love each other and love each other well. I'm glad he teases me, because it means he likes me. And I sure do like him.

So, Uncle Rex, if you're reading this, I did what I said. I wrote about you in my blog. I hope none of the words are too big for you.

Restaurant Review

Kaz and I went to Fincastle's Diner last night. You should, too.

I was going to cook, but you know how it goes (or try and remember how it went pre-kids). You have a dinner plan; ours was baked potatoes and salad. Not the most exciting thing, I know, but it works on days I don't feel like cooking (yes, there are days I don't feel like cooking). Somehow though, baked potatoes didn't seem like the fun Friday night dinner young couples unsaddled with families are supposed to have. So we went to Target. Not to eat. To buy shaving cream and dish soap and to think about what we wanted to eat.

Quick note on the dish soap. I almost got the "green" version to help save the environment a little. I picked up a bottle of Seventh Generation, took a whiff, quickly put it back on the shelf, and grabbed a bottle of good ol' Dawn. Stuff smelled like old dish water with a few lavender petals thrown in. Gross. I'll have to figure out another way to save the planet. Okay, back to dinner.

So we thought walking around Target would inspire a dinner plan; it did not. We sat in the parking lot for a couple of minutes throwing out ideas. Nothing. We don't eat out much, so we wanted to make this meal count; we take our food seriously. We landed on Napoli, a little Italian place on State St. that's actually quite good. We went there for lunch a couple of months ago and decided then we wanted to try it for dinner sometime. Was tonight that sometime? For four and a half minutes, it was.

Then sitting at the intersection of Cornwallis and Elm, we had a brainwave. We've always wanted to try Fincastle's! It's a little burger joint on Elm St. downtown that's been open for a couple of years. Now a word about downtown... Kaz and I don't feel cool enough for downtown. There are restaurants we want to try and we realize we're the last people in Greensboro to have never gone to the Greenbean (one word or two?), but Kaz's glasses aren't cool enough, my coat is too "soccer mom," and we definitely don't walk like we know what we're doing or where we're going. But despite all of those anxiety-producing facts, we decided to try Fincastle's. So glad we did.

It's a little narrow restaurant with maybe ten tables and a long counter. They serve perfectly simple burgers, freakishly awesome onion rings, and ice cream that I will try the next time we go. The service was casual and prompt, the decor was fun and diner-y, and the food kept us from talking for awhile because we just kept cramming it in. We liked that there were kids and older folks and college kids (and us) in the same restaurant. The jukebox makes the place a little throw-back. The prices are great. We got burgers with fries/onion rings, Kaz got a soda, and it was just under $14. Sure, you have to leave a tip on top of that, but that's just a buck or two more than dinner for us at Panera. Totally worth it. And parking in the deck a block over is free at night.

So go to Fincastle's. It's fun no matter who you are. And seriously... get the onion rings.

Words.

I just spent the last thirty minutes reading the thoughts of my dearest friends. They're people I admire, people who say funny and profound things, people who make me feel the most myself. I throw a little party when I see a new post or even their comment on someone else's post. I'm that obsessed with their words.

I love words. I've always loved words. Ever since my mom started butchering my English papers with her merciless red pen (when I was twelve, people!), I've had an appreciation for what people write. Umm, I've never been all that interested in what they say; is that terrible? Yes. Yes, it is. Cut me some slack though - I'm working on it. Anyway, I got an English degree to feed my love. My parents spent thousands of dollars so that I could read the words of others and write about them for a grade. I adored it. Every paper. Every book. Well, except Heart of Darkness. And The Sound and the Fury. And I loathe the publisher who took a gamble on anything by James Joyce. But other than that, I loved it all. I was trained to read with a discerning eye, write with an introspective tone, and critique with grammatical perfection. Just try and misuse a semicolon; I'll come after you.

You know what stinks though? All I wanted was to be a good writer. Scratch that... a great writer. I can't tell you how many times I have sat down with a pen and legal pad ready to write the world's next American novel. This again started when I was twelve. But I never got there. I never wrote a novel. I never even got through a short story. Up until just a few minutes ago, I've called myself a failure in writing. Even in the blog world, I have freakishly high expectations of myself. If I don't make myself laugh or cry or think or act, I've failed.

Then I read the words of my friends. In these wee small hours of the morning (is 1am considered wee though? and is that even how you spell wee?), I laugh, cry, think, act. My love for words is touched by those I love. Tonight, for the first time, I realize how valuable that is. Because my words are valuable, too. They allow me to keep trying, to share more of myself, to not give up on that twelve year-old's dream. Their words give my words life because who they are enriches my life.

So thank you, friends, for feeding my soul with your stories and vulnerabilities and perfect views on the world. Perfect because they're genuinely you. And perfect because you wrote them.

Just remember - I don't like it when you talk. KIDDING.

In Good Company

A couple of days ago, I watched Masterpiece Theater's Persuasion by Jane Austen on PBS. I'm pretty tolerant of anything based on Jane's work, so my expectations weren't terribly high. It's usually all pretty good. This movie was definitely fun to watch, and I'd watch it again in a heartbeat. And because of the miracle and lifeblood that is DVR, I can. My favorite part of the movie though wasn't the story or the acting or those perfect empire waist dresses...

My favorite part of watching Persuasion was listening to my friend Kate watch Persuasion.

The dashing male lead character is named Captain Frederick Wentworth... sounds so noble. He's not supposed to be crazy hot or anything like Mr. Darcy or Frank Churchill, but he should be fairly nice to look at. Well, I think Kate thought he met the hotness quota.

The guy playing Wentworth was named Rupert Penry-Jones... sounds even more noble. Everytime he came on the screen, my friend would sigh or say under her breath (or very loudly), "Oh my goodness, he's just so beautiful!" Yes, he's cute; she's not telling a lie. But I had such a good time watching the movie, hoping that Wentworth would appear, not to move the story along but to hear what Kate would say about him.

Today's lesson learned from Austen? I recommend watching movies with friends. If I had watched it by myself, I would've enjoyed the story and moved on. Watching it with Kate gave it another dimension that brought a lot more joy than without. So grab a friend, pop some popcorn, and set your DVR for this Sunday at 9pm on PBS... Mansfield Park is on.

Risotto Therapy

You should cook risotto sometime. It does take about 45 minutes from start to finish, but standing in one place stirring for half an hour, watching rice slowly absorb the warm stock (sounds rivetting, I know), truly is so calming. Add a glass of wine, and you're in a dreamy place that only Norah Jones could enhance. So take some time to make risotto next weekend when you're not as rushed, and if you have kids, send the husband out on a pre-dinner walk with them for a little while. Pop on some Norah, pour a class of Sauvignon Blanc (you have to use it for the risotto, so you might as well drink some while the bottle's open!), take some deep breaths, and patiently stir creamy risotto. I promise... it's worth it on so many levels.

Here's a recipe if you want to give it a try. This will make two huge bowls or four regular ones.

First heat up 7 cups of chicken stock in a saucepan. That's just shy of two boxes of stock. Keep it at a low simmer while you make the risotto. Dice a small yellow or white onion into pretty small pieces, season with a pinch or two of salt and pepper, and cook it in about three tablespoons of butter over medium-low heat in a heavy-bottomed pot for about three minutes. Stir the onions every 45 seconds or so so they don't get too brown. Lower the heat to low, and stir in two cups of risotto (also known as arborio) rice. Stir it constantly for about two minutes, and make sure that every grain gets coated with some butter. Pour in one cup of white wine (this is when you pour yourself a glass, too), and stir for about a minute. Now comes the fun part! Get a ladle, and pour in the hot stock one ladle at a time, stirring constantly over medium-low heat. Don't pour the next ladle in until the liquid from the first has been absorbed. You basically want to see the bottom of the pan when you stir before adding anymore. So take your time with the ladles of stock. It will get creamy and translucent and decadent. Once all of the stock has been absorbed, stir in about a cup of freshly grated Parmesan cheese (please... don't use the green plastic can stuff), a half a cup or a good handful of chopped Italian parsley (the curly kind doesn't have the same flavor), and the zest (the yellow part of the lemon peel - use a grater or better yet a Microplane to get it off) and juice of one lemon. Season it with a little more salt and pepper, and immediately pour into shallow bowls and serve. Risotto isn't the same if it sits, so do your best to eat it right away.

Enjoy the calming effects of risotto, friends. It's cooking therapy at its best.

They're Just Like Us

So they've canceled the Golden Globes. Well, the big ceremony at least. No dressing up, no posing with your back to the camera with the head slightly turned so as to make the waist look smaller than my knee, no schmoozing with other celebrities and pretending like you don't think Tom Cruise is crazy... none of that is happening. Instead we're getting a sixty minute news conference announcing the winners, most of whom won't be there so that they can support the writers on strike.

I must admit that I'm sad about it. I love award shows. They're the perfect combination of celebrity and list-making. The nominees, the winners, the best and worst dressed, and the hope of a show of the Top 100 Red Carpet Mishaps on E!. It's fun. Silly, but fun.

One of the reasons I dislike celebrities though is how perfect they all look all the time. I mean, PERFECT. Flawless skin, amazing proportions, and they always seem to have their own lighting crew following them around. But I recently happened upon a website (once you're there, click on portfolio) posted by my friend, Emily, that made it all better. They're not all perfect. Not even close. Just look at the pictures. (You actually have to click on and off the pictures to see the difference. And what a difference, let me tell you.)

I'm not perfect either though. Well, that's obvious, but I mean none of us are perfect... in anything. We fail all the time, even those we love more (or hope to love more) than ourselves. It's part of life, but it's in those imperfections that we realize we are absolutely nothing without Jesus. NOTHING. We're beautiful to Him, and His blood has made us righteous. So awesome. So let that be a reminder to all of you trying-to-be-perfect-people out there; no one is perfect, not even celebrities. And better yet, there's a God whose perfection is all you'll ever need.

Okay, I'm going to go back and look at how they edited out the creases on Naomi Watts' thumb.

Culinary Risks

I used my crockpot for the first time last night... yes, the first time. I made a Mexican flavored rice and beans thing that we topped with cheddar and fresh cilantro. It was pretty good. But I used a new ingredient (which I like to do as often as possible) that I thought I'd share with you... all three of you.

Chipotle in adobo. Say it with me (chi-POLT-le in uh-DO-bo).

They're smoked jalapeno peppers, and they're spicy and taste a little like barbecue sauce (hence the smoked part). I chopped one of them up and threw it in the crockpot with the chicken, black beans, rice, salsa, chopped onion, some spices, and water. The chipotle pepper gave it a nice smoky kick, and I highly suggest you try one. I also learned that when cooking with chipotles, combine it with something sweet. I didn't have anything sweet in my crockpot, and next time I'll throw in some canned tomatoes instead of salsa (didn't need the extra kick) and some frozen corn. That should be just enough sweetness to balance the smoky spice.

Here's another idea; I haven't tried it yet, so don't get mad if it isn't good. Throw the following in a gallon plastic bag: chicken breasts or thighs cut into small pieces, a chopped chipotle, the juice from a lime, a squeeze of honey, about a half a teaspoon of cumin, a quick drizzle of canola oil, and a couple pinches of salt. Squeeze out the air, seal the bag, and mush it all together. Let that hang out in the fridge for about thirty minutes. Cook the chicken over medium-high heat in a nonstick pan (the honey will be a beast to get off otherwise), stirring pretty frequently until the chicken is done. It'll probably take about four or five minutes. You can serve the chicken on some lettuce with some mild salsa and cheese or wrap it up in a flour tortilla with some lettuce, cheese, sour cream, salsa, or whatever you want. It would also probably be pretty good thrown together with some pasta, fresh tomato, and fresh cilantro.

Okay, there you go. Go grab a can of chipotle in adobo sauce. You can find a can (yes, a can) at any grocery store in the international foods aisle with the Mexican ingredients. And now that you know how to say it, asking for help won't be a problem.

Happy cooking.