What the hell. Here's that white bean chicken chili recipe.
Presumably, as you will note while perusing the recipe, what makes this chili so ravishingly good is the four cups of low-salt chicken broth. No! I'm joking! It's clearly the three cups of half-and-half! Which equals something like 800 grams of fat! Actually, some quick and complex mental calculations suggest that it's more like 90 grams of fat which, divided among 10-12 servings, comes to approximately 9 to 7.5 grams of fat per serving which, come to think of it, isn't actually that bad.
Lila, by the way, is helping me write this by resting her twelve-pound head on the keyboard and dropping hairs and possibly other, more drippy sorts of unmentionables down into the spaces between the keys. Shhh! I think she knows we're talking about chicken.
So 9 grams of fat or whatever, I recommend cutting waaaay back on the half and half and replacing it with chicken broth - or even milk, I suppose, although Lila convinced me to go with the broth by pressing her face heavily on the can opener and causing the extra can of broth to open - oops! I thought it was plenty rich and extremely tasty with only half the half-and-half. Next time - and there will be a next time, so help me God - I'll cut back even more.
So I think you should make this chili while it's still three degrees out or whatever it is over there on the other end of the country. It'll warm you up and make your dog very happy and also drool a lot. Just don't let your dog near your laptop. And if you do use the three cups of half-and-half? Don't eat the whole pot by yourself. You'll be tempted, but you have to be smarter than the chili. Remember, the paramedics can't get up your icy driveway.
Friday, January 23
Thursday, January 22
UGH
Good morning! Remember me? Just last night, I said to myself as I drifted into dreamyland, "Just give yourself a blog vacation. Just set a date and commit yourself to posting absolutely nothing until that date. Give yourself a chance to get some new ideas, some new inspiration, a new voice."
I'm not going to do that, however. I'm probably going to just carry on for awhile with this painful practice of writing uninspired posts every week-and-a-half or so, la de da, whatever whatever, until I get back on my blog-writing feet.
Having a blog is a little strange in that you're not writing for yourself so much as for some nebulous, floaty audience - family, friends, random folks from states I've never heard of, etc. etc. There comes with it this sense of responsibility not unlike the monthly letters to your grandparents that your mom used to make you write. How hard were those? You had nothing of interest to say! These people you were writing to were like fifty years old! What could you possibly have in common with them other than the toys they sent you periodically? Could they possibly be interested in hearing about that disastrous tetherball game? Or the song about the fish and the pig and the star? UGH!
That's what's going on these days. I'm sitting down in front of the computer regularly - yes! - and staring at the screen and thinking, "How could these people possibly be interested in hearing about that white bean chicken chili we had the other night that, when we ate it, caused the sky to crack open and singing angels to appear? Or Lila's new fuzzy squeaker stick toy? UGH!"
Anway, I'm working on it, and the minute I'm inspired again, I'll sit right down and crank out the prettiest, most fascinating blog post you ever read, and it will all totally be worth it for all of us. UGH.
I'm not going to do that, however. I'm probably going to just carry on for awhile with this painful practice of writing uninspired posts every week-and-a-half or so, la de da, whatever whatever, until I get back on my blog-writing feet.
Having a blog is a little strange in that you're not writing for yourself so much as for some nebulous, floaty audience - family, friends, random folks from states I've never heard of, etc. etc. There comes with it this sense of responsibility not unlike the monthly letters to your grandparents that your mom used to make you write. How hard were those? You had nothing of interest to say! These people you were writing to were like fifty years old! What could you possibly have in common with them other than the toys they sent you periodically? Could they possibly be interested in hearing about that disastrous tetherball game? Or the song about the fish and the pig and the star? UGH!
That's what's going on these days. I'm sitting down in front of the computer regularly - yes! - and staring at the screen and thinking, "How could these people possibly be interested in hearing about that white bean chicken chili we had the other night that, when we ate it, caused the sky to crack open and singing angels to appear? Or Lila's new fuzzy squeaker stick toy? UGH!"
Anway, I'm working on it, and the minute I'm inspired again, I'll sit right down and crank out the prettiest, most fascinating blog post you ever read, and it will all totally be worth it for all of us. UGH.
Wednesday, January 14
the spider
I've been instructed to tell you about the spider. Relax. It's neither as scary nor as interesting as it sounds.
There was, when we moved into the casita, something called a junction box lurking up above the living room wall. This junction box had several spiderlike legs extending from it in all directions and also lacked several important safety features such as a cover, wire nuts, and electrical tape, so that, if a real spider or, say, a person, were to crawl into it, they would instantly be crispified.
So, kind of, this junction box was for two years like a giant, villainous arachnid crouched up in the darkness above the living room stroking its venom-filled mandibular appendages while calculating in its infinitely patient way the right time to strike.
But we've nipped that whole fiendishly evil plot in the bud, thank goodness. I know about spiders. I saw Arachnophobia - hands-down the best deadly tropical spider movie starring John Goodman ever made.
Oh...but wait. I am being instructed by the Guatemalan to tell you that the spider I speak of was actually the "heart of the house". As such, the metaphor abruptly becomes even scarier, the spider now more akin to the giant sewer-dwelling spider from Stephen King's made-for-television "It" -
remember that one? Oh, John Goodman, where were you when we really needed you?
Anyway, so the end of the story is, Raphael killed our giant spider. Killed it with one fell swoop and burst triumphantly into the kitchen with its carcass dangling from his hands. And now, as an indirect result, we have light in the living room. You rock on, my handsome Guatemalan. Rock the hell on with your bad junction-box-removing, spider-killing, living room-wiring self.
There was, when we moved into the casita, something called a junction box lurking up above the living room wall. This junction box had several spiderlike legs extending from it in all directions and also lacked several important safety features such as a cover, wire nuts, and electrical tape, so that, if a real spider or, say, a person, were to crawl into it, they would instantly be crispified.
So, kind of, this junction box was for two years like a giant, villainous arachnid crouched up in the darkness above the living room stroking its venom-filled mandibular appendages while calculating in its infinitely patient way the right time to strike.
But we've nipped that whole fiendishly evil plot in the bud, thank goodness. I know about spiders. I saw Arachnophobia - hands-down the best deadly tropical spider movie starring John Goodman ever made.
Oh...but wait. I am being instructed by the Guatemalan to tell you that the spider I speak of was actually the "heart of the house". As such, the metaphor abruptly becomes even scarier, the spider now more akin to the giant sewer-dwelling spider from Stephen King's made-for-television "It" -
remember that one? Oh, John Goodman, where were you when we really needed you?
Anyway, so the end of the story is, Raphael killed our giant spider. Killed it with one fell swoop and burst triumphantly into the kitchen with its carcass dangling from his hands. And now, as an indirect result, we have light in the living room. You rock on, my handsome Guatemalan. Rock the hell on with your bad junction-box-removing, spider-killing, living room-wiring self.
Sunday, January 11
welcome ye to 2009!
I'm having trouble with my voice. That's why I haven't been blogging lately. Not my actual voice. My electronic writing voice which has been getting snotty on me. Jerk. Anyway, now that we're almost halfway through 2009, it's probably time to jump back into the blogging game, unloveable voice or not.
So far, for all of 2009, we've had no power in the bathroom, the shop, or the entire back half of the house. It's a long story, involving old wiring, a new light switch plate, and a power drill.
It's all right, as chronic power outages go. For a few days there, the lack of power in combination with the absence of an adequate heat source and the unexpected virus-related near-demise of the computer was somewhat trying. The whole effect was that we were suddenly living in Pioneer times, which was kind of fun, hardships aside. We got through with only minor permanent damage - oh prithee pardon me, ye fair gentlefolk, a moment, as I adjust my bonnet...there.
Meanwhile, however, Raphael has performed his magic over the last couple of weeks and suddenly we have a complete bedroom ceiling, functioning (and dimmable!) lights in the kitchen and living room, and we are well on the way to completion of the Home for Orphans in the backyard. No. I'm kidding about the Home for Orphans. We'll eventually build a doghouse back there, though. Probably. If the dog's luck holds longer than the Orphans'.
Anyway, before-and-after pictures coming soon.
The other thing item of potential interest I have for you is this Spinach and Cheese strata recipe. It's pretty darn yummy. Make it. Eat it. Love it. Send me leftovers.
Question: So did anyone get any particularly fabulous gifts this year? A puppy? A baby? A blender? What? What?!?
So far, for all of 2009, we've had no power in the bathroom, the shop, or the entire back half of the house. It's a long story, involving old wiring, a new light switch plate, and a power drill.
It's all right, as chronic power outages go. For a few days there, the lack of power in combination with the absence of an adequate heat source and the unexpected virus-related near-demise of the computer was somewhat trying. The whole effect was that we were suddenly living in Pioneer times, which was kind of fun, hardships aside. We got through with only minor permanent damage - oh prithee pardon me, ye fair gentlefolk, a moment, as I adjust my bonnet...there.
Meanwhile, however, Raphael has performed his magic over the last couple of weeks and suddenly we have a complete bedroom ceiling, functioning (and dimmable!) lights in the kitchen and living room, and we are well on the way to completion of the Home for Orphans in the backyard. No. I'm kidding about the Home for Orphans. We'll eventually build a doghouse back there, though. Probably. If the dog's luck holds longer than the Orphans'.
Anyway, before-and-after pictures coming soon.
The other thing item of potential interest I have for you is this Spinach and Cheese strata recipe. It's pretty darn yummy. Make it. Eat it. Love it. Send me leftovers.
Question: So did anyone get any particularly fabulous gifts this year? A puppy? A baby? A blender? What? What?!?
Thursday, January 1
santa and the ladies' brunch
Jenny: So, uh, Santa. It's been a week since Christmas. I guess I was wondering if you had decided to get on back to the North Pole any time soon? Ring in the New Year with your missus or something like that?
Santa: Ho ho ho! It is the New Year, isn't it! How wonderful! What shall we do to celebrate?
Jenny: I don't know...maybe I could help you pack your things for the long trip...?
Santa: Oh ho ho no! I know! Let's have a brunch!
Jenny: A brunch.
Santa: Eddie makes a mean spinach-and-Gruyere strata, right Eddie?
Eddie: Si, Santa. This is true.
Santa: This'll be fantastic! We'll invite everyone we know in Tucson!
Jenny: Ooh. I don't know about that. I bet you know a lot of people in Tucson.
Santa: Not feasible?
Jenny: Not feasible.
Santa: What about we invite only the people you know?
Jenny: Better. What about we invite only a few of the people I know? Some of the girls, maybe.
Santa: Ah yes! The Ladies' New Year's Day Brunch! What a marvelous idea! And Eddie and I shall make the strata!
Eddie: No need for you to put yourself out, Santa. I can make the strata myself.
Santa: Nonsense!
Eddie (under his breath): Shit.
Jenny: What's wrong, Eddie?
Eddie (pulls Jenny aside): Santa couldn't cook his way out of a shoebox.
Jenny: I don't even know what that means.
Eddie: Imagine Santa Claus jammed into a shoebox, attempting to flip a crepe.
Jenny: Oh.
Eddie: All sweaty from the exertion--
Jenny: Got it. I got it.
Eddie: This "Ladies' Brunch" of yours will be a disaster if you allow Santa to help with the strata.
Jenny: Well, what can I do? Can a person say no to Santa Claus? Is that even within the realm of possibility?
Eddie: Yes. I understand el problemo. (He nods thoughtfully and then snaps his teeny, adorable fingers) I have the solution!
Jenny: What!?!
Eddie: We will allow Santa to mix the mimosas.
Jenny: We will?
Eddie: Yes. It is a brilliant plan. Santa will mix the mimosas, and, as he does so, he will taste them.
Jenny: Personal experience?
Eddie: Trust me, he will taste them. As I was saying, as he makes the mimosas, we will no doubt begin to notice that Santa has become, how you say? Tipsy. He will forget all about helping me with the strata and I will be left in peace to create a masterpiece of cheese and eggs that will not only satisfy your ladies, but also make them feel like women.
Jenny: What?
Eddie: They will feel like women.
Jenny: Oh my god.
Santa: What are you two whispering about? Are we on for the Ladies' Brunch?
Eddie: Of course, Santa. But only if you will grant us the honor of mimosas mixed by you.
Santa: Ho ho ho! Sure! Mixing mimosas is a speciality of mine! (He winks at Jenny) I'll make sure they're delicious, you hear what I'm saying?
Eddie: He means he's going to taste them.
Santa: Well, I'd hate to mix them incorrectly. Especially if they're for the ladies.
(Later)
Clariza: OMG, Eddie is too cute!
Kim: And he makes a mean spinach-and-Gruyere strata!
Christine (comes out of the house onto the patio): So it was the weirdest thing - I was just in the loo, powdering my nose, and I swear I heard some guy humming "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" and hiccuping a lot out in the kitchen. What's that all about?
Jenny: Uhhh...old houses, you know?
Christine: I hear lots of strange noises at my house, but never Christmas songs.
Jen: What's this is my mimosa?
Clariza: A marshmallow...?
Kim: Oh my god. It looks like...
Jen: ...the white puff off a Santa hat. What the hell?
Christine: What's going on here?
Clariza: And wait just one minute...where did Eddie come from anyway?
Jenny: Uhhh...
Eddie: I am from Colombia.
Distant Voice: ...underneath the mistletoe last niiiight...hic.
Christine: That's him! That's the guy!
Jenny (under her breath to Eddie): Great. What are we going to do now? They're onto us!
Eddie: Nonsense. They are not onto us yet. Wait here.
(Eddie abruptly vanishes)
Jenny: Way to be subtle.
Jen: This all seems most extraordinary.
(Eddie pops back into existance, carrying a large pitcher)
Eddie: Who would like another mimosa?
Jenny (hisses to Eddie): Not seeing that anything has been resolved here, Eddie.
Distant Voice: I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claaaauuus...hic.
Eddie (holds up a precious widdle hand): Patience, senorita.
Kim: Wow. This batch of mimosas is a bit stronger.
Clariza: Is there any actual orange juice in these, Eddie?
Christine (slams her glass down): It was Santa Claus in there singing, I'm telling you...
Jen: hic
Clariza (laughing tipsily): Santa Claus! Yeah, right!
Kim: Ho ho hic! Ha ha ha! Santa Claus!
Jen: Huh?
Christine: Santa Claus! What was I hic thinking! Clearly I'm hearing things!
Jenny: These are awesome mimosas, Eddie. Looks like you've saved the day, after all.
Eddie (winks): And better yet, senorita, no more mysterious singing.
Distant Voice: Snoooooooorre.
Santa: Ho ho ho! It is the New Year, isn't it! How wonderful! What shall we do to celebrate?
Jenny: I don't know...maybe I could help you pack your things for the long trip...?
Santa: Oh ho ho no! I know! Let's have a brunch!
Jenny: A brunch.
Santa: Eddie makes a mean spinach-and-Gruyere strata, right Eddie?
Eddie: Si, Santa. This is true.
Santa: This'll be fantastic! We'll invite everyone we know in Tucson!
Jenny: Ooh. I don't know about that. I bet you know a lot of people in Tucson.
Santa: Not feasible?
Jenny: Not feasible.
Santa: What about we invite only the people you know?
Jenny: Better. What about we invite only a few of the people I know? Some of the girls, maybe.
Santa: Ah yes! The Ladies' New Year's Day Brunch! What a marvelous idea! And Eddie and I shall make the strata!
Eddie: No need for you to put yourself out, Santa. I can make the strata myself.
Santa: Nonsense!
Eddie (under his breath): Shit.
Jenny: What's wrong, Eddie?
Eddie (pulls Jenny aside): Santa couldn't cook his way out of a shoebox.
Jenny: I don't even know what that means.
Eddie: Imagine Santa Claus jammed into a shoebox, attempting to flip a crepe.
Jenny: Oh.
Eddie: All sweaty from the exertion--
Jenny: Got it. I got it.
Eddie: This "Ladies' Brunch" of yours will be a disaster if you allow Santa to help with the strata.
Jenny: Well, what can I do? Can a person say no to Santa Claus? Is that even within the realm of possibility?
Eddie: Yes. I understand el problemo. (He nods thoughtfully and then snaps his teeny, adorable fingers) I have the solution!
Jenny: What!?!
Eddie: We will allow Santa to mix the mimosas.
Jenny: We will?
Eddie: Yes. It is a brilliant plan. Santa will mix the mimosas, and, as he does so, he will taste them.
Jenny: Personal experience?
Eddie: Trust me, he will taste them. As I was saying, as he makes the mimosas, we will no doubt begin to notice that Santa has become, how you say? Tipsy. He will forget all about helping me with the strata and I will be left in peace to create a masterpiece of cheese and eggs that will not only satisfy your ladies, but also make them feel like women.
Jenny: What?
Eddie: They will feel like women.
Jenny: Oh my god.
Santa: What are you two whispering about? Are we on for the Ladies' Brunch?
Eddie: Of course, Santa. But only if you will grant us the honor of mimosas mixed by you.
Santa: Ho ho ho! Sure! Mixing mimosas is a speciality of mine! (He winks at Jenny) I'll make sure they're delicious, you hear what I'm saying?
Eddie: He means he's going to taste them.
Santa: Well, I'd hate to mix them incorrectly. Especially if they're for the ladies.
(Later)
Clariza: OMG, Eddie is too cute!
Kim: And he makes a mean spinach-and-Gruyere strata!
Christine (comes out of the house onto the patio): So it was the weirdest thing - I was just in the loo, powdering my nose, and I swear I heard some guy humming "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" and hiccuping a lot out in the kitchen. What's that all about?
Jenny: Uhhh...old houses, you know?
Christine: I hear lots of strange noises at my house, but never Christmas songs.
Jen: What's this is my mimosa?
Clariza: A marshmallow...?
Kim: Oh my god. It looks like...
Jen: ...the white puff off a Santa hat. What the hell?
Christine: What's going on here?
Clariza: And wait just one minute...where did Eddie come from anyway?
Jenny: Uhhh...
Eddie: I am from Colombia.
Distant Voice: ...underneath the mistletoe last niiiight...hic.
Christine: That's him! That's the guy!
Jenny (under her breath to Eddie): Great. What are we going to do now? They're onto us!
Eddie: Nonsense. They are not onto us yet. Wait here.
(Eddie abruptly vanishes)
Jenny: Way to be subtle.
Jen: This all seems most extraordinary.
(Eddie pops back into existance, carrying a large pitcher)
Eddie: Who would like another mimosa?
Jenny (hisses to Eddie): Not seeing that anything has been resolved here, Eddie.
Distant Voice: I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claaaauuus...hic.
Eddie (holds up a precious widdle hand): Patience, senorita.
Kim: Wow. This batch of mimosas is a bit stronger.
Clariza: Is there any actual orange juice in these, Eddie?
Christine (slams her glass down): It was Santa Claus in there singing, I'm telling you...
Jen: hic
Clariza (laughing tipsily): Santa Claus! Yeah, right!
Kim: Ho ho hic! Ha ha ha! Santa Claus!
Jen: Huh?
Christine: Santa Claus! What was I hic thinking! Clearly I'm hearing things!
Jenny: These are awesome mimosas, Eddie. Looks like you've saved the day, after all.
Eddie (winks): And better yet, senorita, no more mysterious singing.
Distant Voice: Snoooooooorre.
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