Fun with Siri

We just got iPhone 5s.

Siri is quite the jokester/minx, isn't she?

The Chef: I love you Siri.
Siri: You are the wind beneath my wings.

The Chef: curse word, curse word, non-curse word, curse word?
Siri: Ask nice, Chef. [She said his name.]
Then! She stopped talking to him!
The Chef: I'm sorry.
Siri: No need to apologize.

The Chef: Happy Kwanzaa.
Siri: I could be wrong, but I believe Kwanzaa was on the 26th.

It took a long time.

I knew my blog was missing something and it crippled me. I couldn't even stop in to say, "Hello," because something...not there.

I've missed you all very much while I've been enmeshed in school and running my Mary Kay business and thinking about writing but not actually putting many words on paper. Or screen. Whatevs.

I'll catch you up soon, but in the meantime, here it is, the very thing that all good blogs have and mine didn't but now that it does, we are back in session and ready to kick butt.

Hold on.

Ready?

(scroll down)

A cute cat picture. You're welcome.
XO

Look!!!

More details soon!!!

I am the cover to Penny's book! *

*Designed by the most awesomely amazing Jame Richards!

Pork loin is not photogenic

It kinda looks like a dead, boneless animal, doesn't it?  Oh, wait. It is. But a very delicious one.

There really are no words, but I sure do like to write captions!

Here's the recipe, for those of you brave enough to slow-cook. I've slow-cookered thrice, so I'm a pro now. (And by "pro," I mean The Chef helped/supervised every step of the way. We should all thank him. If you think I'm kidding, see Step 2, which I did on my own.)

Non-Photogenic but Most Delicious Slow-cooker Pork Loin

• 1 boneless pork loin, 2-3 pounds
• salt and pepper
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
• 3/4 cup water

Glazey McGlazerson:

• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon cornstarch
• 1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
• 1/2 cup water
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce

1. Get your in-home chef to wash pork, trim excess fat, pat dry.
2. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, then prick the meat all over with a fork or skewer. (NOTE: I forgot to poke and no one would have been the wiser if I hadn't just narced on myself.) (ANOTHER NOTE: I said "prick.")
3. In a cup or bowl, combine the brown sugar, mustard, and vinegar. Rub all over the hunk of meat. (Best to put the gloves back on before you do that--no messy cleanup!)
4. Cover and cook on LOW for 7 to 8 hours.
5. After an hour of cooking, add water around the side of the meat--not right on it!
6. About 1/2 hour before the pork is done, combine ingredients for glaze in a small sauce pan.
7. Heat and stir until mixture thickens.Pour off the excess juices and reserve.
8. Brush pork with glaze.
9. Add reserved juices to glaze and reduce on stove to nappe* stage. (The mixture coats the back of the spoon.) This is your gravy. You will drink whatever's left. I guarantee it.

*Does using this term make me sound like I know what I'm doing?

I am making food.

In the crockpot. Set on low. I have to STOP checking its progress. (Is it cooking yet? How about now? Now?)*

Here's a quiz (with imaginary prizes):

If left to my own eating devices, I would

a) Have a frozen dinner for just about every meal except the ones where someone else cooks
b) Die of malnutrition
c) Live on a giant batch of shepherd's pie.
d) Eat cake for almost every breakfast
e) Any and all of the above.

The answer is E, of course.

But you know what's funny, in a not funny-haha way? Every single solitary thing (book/story/whatever) I write has super descriptions of tasty treats (not just cake) and delicious recipes in them.  If pressed, could I actually make these recipes/foodstuffs?

Other people could. Me? Well...I have this whole following-directions problem, which kind of goes along with the shiny button syndrome.**

As I was falling asleep last night, I was thinking, "Hmmm...I could actually SHARE these things, these recipes with you all. And The Chef could help me make sure I'm not effing up big-time mid-creation."

What's that? You want to know what I'm making now? What would you say to Slow Cooker Brown Sugar Pork Loin? 



Get in mah belly. (Lousy pic, I know. I'll get you a mouth-watering one later!)



When The Chef emailed me the recipe yesterday, what I said was "This looks so good I want to have sex with it on the first date."  I know what you're thinking: Um, Penny, that (the food, not the sex) sounds fancy and direction-y. I KNOW! But two things:

1. The Chef prepped the meat last night
2. I only had to mix brown sugar with a few other things. When sugar's involved, I'm an idiot savant. (I love you, sugar.)

Plus another thing, which makes three things: slooooow cooker, whose motto should be I'll do all the work. You go relax--or perhaps GET BACK TO WORK! That book ain't going to write itself!

Is it done now? No.

More on this potentially-delish dish of deliciousness later, once full contact has been made with my mouth. Nom nom nom.

*Now?

**Latest episode? Yesterday I was taking clothes from the dryer and something--the phone ringing? a bunny hopping across the yard? an alien invasion?--something happened and I walked away from the task; aforementioned incomplete task was discovered by The Chef. Open bifold laundry doors. Open dryer. Clothes spilling onto the dryer door like they were trying to make an escape.

"What the...?" he started.

"It's best you don't ask," I told him. That's best for everyone.

So I went to Pittsburgh...

And I ate this whole sandwich all by myself. We were at Primanti's, which you may have seen on various Food Network shows throughout the years.

I know what you're thinking: Holy moly. Are those french fries in that delicious looking sandwich? As I recall that ginormous meal also had pastrami, lettuce, tomato and an egg. Don't ask--the Pittsburgh people seem to like eggs on lots of things that normal people don't usually put eggs on. I've learned it's best just to accept that.

But I CAN explain the fries thing. Stolen directly from the Primanti's website

Back in the 1930's, Joe Primanti opened a cart in the Strip District selling sandwiches to truckers on the go. It was decided that he should expand to a small restaurant on 18th Street. The hours were 3am to 3pm to accommodate truckers and the like. His brothers, Dick and Stanley, joined him along with nephew John DePriter who was the cook.

According to John, "One winter, a fella drove in with a load of potatoes. He brought a few of 'em over to the restaurant to see if they were frozen. I fried the potatoes on our grill and they looked pretty good. A few of our customers asked for them, so I put the potatoes on their sandwiches." And the rest is history. The Primanti Sandwich: a true taste of Pittsburgh.

That's not all the deliciousness, though.

As you may know, or may not know because you live on the moon, my birthday is on Christmas. I spent the holiday and Christmas (heh heh. See what I did there?) with my family, in the traditional holiday/Christmas celebration: Helping my son pack a UHaul trailer so he could move to Missouri the next day.  Then there was food and presents with the whole clan. Delicious and fun.

The next morning I went to Logan Airport and got on a plane ALL BY MYSELF* with NO LUGGAGE** and a ONE-WAY*** ticket, which meant a first-class pass to a full body scan. Good times, people. Yeah, like I would risk blowing up my new Vera Wang purse or missing out on that sandwich above.

Anyway, back to food.

After apparently some serious shenanigans including The Great Search for a Round Pan and Is Your Lemon Curd Lemony Enough? on Christmas night, in anticipation of my arrival the next day, The Chef and his family stayed up all night while he created the best birthday cake ever, complete with homemade aforementioned lemon curd and delicious coconut, my all-time favorite cake flavors.

I will end this post by allowing you to bask in the glow of the lemon curd...and no, I will not stop saying lemon curd.****


I am a delicious cake and you should be jealous because you cannot eat me!



"Nom nom nom," said the little butterfly...

* I was only a little bit afraid.

** Because I had sent it along with The Chef when he drove out to see his family.

*** Because I would be driving back with The Chef and my luggage.

****Lemon curd, lemon curd, lemon curd...

Because this sums up my mental state at any given time...

Happy New Year!

Our traditional/annual Grainy New Year's Eve picture!



(Why the pink hue? Who knows???)



XOXO

764 words (for now)

I came; I wrote; I showered, got ready to go out, and then went out and partied like the rock star that I am.

Stop laughing.

We are going out later. Probably partying more like a chamber music choir member than a rock star, 'cause that's how I roll!*

It's research for my next book! I pinky swear!

XOXO

*Actually, in the movie Rock Star, wasn't Mark Wahlberg's Chris "Izzy" Cole a member of the church choir?

"When is choir practice?"

The siren song of the pumpkin pie...

Pumpkin pie...



why must you beckon me from across the room?

I love you so much,

but I am so lazy.

Come to me, please.

XOXO

Five months later...

I swear, I've been thinking about you a lot. I really have. And I have lots and lots to tell you, except I'm feeling shy and awkward because its been so long. You know how that goes, right?

In bullets, because that seems like the easiest way to get through a bunch of it--the blogging equivilent of pages flying off a daily calendar in a movie.

Oh, and keep in mind that this is nowherenear a complete list.  In fact, it's just this past week...

• My son decided he is going to move to Missouri for his job.  I don't know if you know this, but Missouri is far away from Massachusetts, so far it is actually a place that I couldn't find on a map if hard-pressed. (Shut. Up.) This also involves much parental angst and staring off into space, not to mention map-Googling.
•  The Chef (with whom I now live--in sin!) is off shooting things in the woods for a week, after many shopping trips and errands and lists. I think much drinking will also be going on at Man Camp, although probably not at the same time as the shooting. (Not to be all girly, but I miss him.)
• I cooked my very first Thanksgiving dinner for eight people. No one died (that I know of). Pies were made! Bread baked! Turkey watched obsessively!
• I plotted out my next writing project (adult!), complete with character sketches and location descriptions and chapter outlines.  Can't wait to get to it! [This burst of genius brought to you by the mad brainstorming skillz of the best BFF ever.]  I've always been a pantser-type writer (as in flying by the seat of your pants) but this thinking about it beforehand might actually have some merit. I reserve my right to go back to winging it at any time.
• But first I must finish the current project, an adult chick-litty novel., which has not been plotted out except with some shady bullet points in my head.  This weekend I managed to pound out about 25 pages (with about that much more to go before much-needed revision--my romantic lead turned Irish about 40 pages ago; a little warning would have been nice).  I would have done more this weekend but there were too many snacks and leftovers that needed to be eaten and that takes TIME, people!

 Okay, I have to go. It's an hour past my bedtime; blogger is being stupid and I'm getting frustrated; I can't leave my main character literally standing in the middle of the street while I head off to bed. (That's just mean, especially since she's smack dab between a bakery and a cafe.) Oh, and I may need one more snack to cap off this Thanksgiving weekend.  The rest of it goes in the trash tomorrow. Swear!

XOXO

P.

A reminder...

Sorry, kids. Be back soon!

And then I will show you cool Valentine's Day pictures.  But in the meantime, this should keep you occupied...

Foodstuff and Stuff (but not H.R. Puffenstuff)

So The Chef and I went to NYC this weekend under the auspices of me going to the SCBWI (make it up or look it up) conference. He frolicked about whilst I...did not. Although I did play nicely with my friends.  More about the conference another day. Maybe I'll even tell you about hanging out with R.L. Stine (yes, he of Goosebumps fame).

But! We frolicked together in the night! And on Friday, we went to one of our all-time favorite places, Eataly.  There, amongst the amazing foodstuffs, we had meals made of the very foodstuffs we'd been mingling amongst. (Please tell me you caught the gist of that sentence.)

Imagine this as a whole pizza, with buffalo mozz and high-end olive oil, and basil of course. We also talked the folks sitting next to us to get one of their very own. We are very good suggestive sellers. That was not meant to sound dirty, and yet...it does.

This is fritto misto. Or it was...before we ATE it. I had the calimari and a piece of skate. The Chef ate everything I didn't, because he will eat anything (almost). And he WILL try everything. I try to try everything, but sometimes I have to squash that idea.

This is me squashing the try everything idea. It is a SEA URCHIN and it was still MOVING (which was both gross and cool). It also made quite a nice hat. I think The Chef is tired of me openly mocking this foodstuff. But...but...I just can't help it. As my BFF pointed out, a few years ago I wouldn't even eat garlic in my mashed potatoes. So this...no.

More NYC reports coming up, but not now, as I am very tired from the jaunt that shall bring you more blog posts--another time.

Scribbling and snacking my way to NYC

FIRST DRAFT
"Don't get it right, just get it written”
          --James Thurber
Me: scribblescribblescribblescribble DONE!

SECOND-ISH DRAFT/MINOR OVERHAUL
“Writing is the hardest way of earning a living, with the possible exception of wrestling alligators.”
          --Olin Miller
Me: scribble Look! Something shiny! scribble scribble This stinks! scribble ::years pass:: (imagine a calendar with the pages flying off, a la Hollywood) scribble?

THIRD-ISH (and by this I mean SEVENTH-ISH) DRAFT/ MAJOR OVERHAUL
“Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.”
          --Moliere
Me: scribble snack scribble ::sees end of the story, a mere weekend away:: scribble snack scribble snack scribble

I said I would get this thing (known by friends and family merely as "Hazel") done by the end of the month. Actually, I said I would get this YA novel done by the end of last November, during NaNoWriMo, but there was that whole extended hospital stay (kidney infection, pneumonia, and gall bladder) and pain-medication-fueled recovery, during which time my brain resembled a tumbleweed.

Of course, anyone who knows me also knows

1. I will do anything for attention
2. I will do, no, would have done anything to avoid finishing this thing--but not anymore. Now I want to be done. Done-er than done.
3. I rarely feel badly about not achieving a self-imposed goal. I just wave to it as it passes by. No sense beating myself up; I was probably distracted by shiny things, and who can feel badly about THAT?

Psst. The Chef doesn't know this but he's going to help me this weekend with some of the foodstuff descriptions included within Hazel. The book, not the person. Not that she's a real person. You know what I mean. But I digress (again). My degree has made writing about the sweet stuff easy. The savory? Not so much, especially considering if left to my own devices, I'd eat Campbell's tomato soup for every meal. Except breakfast, at which time I would have French toast.

Don't worry! He shall be rewarded--with a trip to New York for the SCBWI conference next week. Well, it's kind of a reward. It's reward-ish.

When Jame asked if he'd be attending sessions, I said (via the facebook), "He will run amok in the city whilst we suffer for our craft. Or sneak off and drink. Whatever." 

Then she pointed out, "Watch he'll get a book deal while he's out: Drinking in the Underbelly or some such." Knowing The Chef as I do, I TOTALLY see that happening.Stay tuned to see who he signs with. :)

We'll be staying here. Well, kind of here. Dare I say, here-ish?

Words to live by.

Again from One Twenty Five