Saturday, June 28, 2014

Dire need

Two and a quarter cups warm water makes the world go round, when a tablespoon yeast walks right up to you-know-who, and asks nothing of 2 tablespoons sugar, ever!  Shedding some light on the matter (finally!) and ensuring French bread loaves were dang pleased with their half whole wheat status, in case anyone asks, or forgets to mention it, or tweet.

You know with instagram accounts laying around everywhere, sporting pinterest-type personalities, you just can't whip up enough pasta al Forno to please every sixteen year old's birthday.  It takes stamina to direct all your energies towards wholeness, I should know exactly this path, I brandish it, smiling.  Refusing to give credit where it's due, is ridiculous.

God meant for my mushroom gravy swiped from Mel 's kitchen-y Cafe to become my new favorite mashed potatoes coverup, chicken cutlets browned in a med-heat skillet in enough olive oil to make it all worth it, four established minutes per golden, yet straight-forward side.  The vanilla cupcakes admitted faux-heartedly that it would trade places with schoolyard cupcakes in a split second, any day of the week, but it was the easy buttercream frosting that kept us all sane.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

It's genetics

If you knew me and skillets you'd decide then and there that a Chicken Parmesan came into being without much fanfare, so long as sun dried tomatoes didn't get offended from the moment I met all the broccoli I desired.  It kinda IS a big deal to brown up some skillet chicken, and at the same time get the method recommended, as a tried and true track towards a steady supply of Asian.

Oh you'll get with the program eventually, don't criticize.  Breading, then browning chicken is a delight I'll never cease to endeavor, but it's the mere marinating several flavors into a skillet worthy of browning chicken goodness, please, I'll apply.  Someday when every shredded carrot meets steamed broccoli where it's actually at, instead of supplying interpretations destined for fiction.

Then we'll agree that taking a longer than necessary break from stir fry was more than useful, it's the highlight of life's journey.  If steel cut oats actually doubled its recipe, then six cups of water with two cups of oats would make perfect sense.  As if a quarter cup each brown sugar and pure maple syrup knew it all along, a teaspoon of cinnamon generally does not endorse such unconventional behaviors, we know, we know.

But then a half teaspoon salt walks right in, sits down, and apologizes for nothing.

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Spreads

Overcoming the hurdles of pesto and hummus, much like standing your ground when chickpeas and basil determine your fate, who doesn't crave olive oil and garlic in large doses?  It's an easier than pie feeling when discussing past meals feels wronger than usual, as if a refrigerator full of waiting meatballs wasn't celebration enough with whole wheat bread a victory not yet achieved prior.

Turns out French toast was the perfect investment for all my extra loaves, those incorporated into meatball subs with red sauce notwithstanding.  Not sure what all the blocks are about when a week's worth of meals studded with oatmeal crisp cookies and even baked potatoes topped with homemade chili comes so naturally.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Entering the pantry

It's established that 28 oz crushed tomatoes is the throw-together sauce basil, oregano, garlic powder, sugar and salt would make of it.  Doubling a recipe known to be delicious and freezable makes 50-60 meatballs common sense, when French bread rolls are invited to every grand opening, of cooking inspiration in my kitchen.

Doesn't happen every day, oftentimes I whip up refrigerated deep dark chocolate brownies with nary a whistle, and mistaking rotisserie shredded chicken as a bow tie pasta salad ingredient when it was really meant for albacore tuna in the first place, green olives and artichoke hearts completely aside.

No one's perfect in this family is the point that I was making, when Italian meatball subs barged into my life, stole my lack of ambition and replaced it with a motherly sense like no other.  Took a determination to grill chicken all the way from amateur to expert, before my time, light years ahead they tell me.

Because if you knew how many recipes I have waiting for some leisurely grilled chicken, which will be stockpiled for the coming winter that tries its hardest to be real when it's easiest to feign a comfortable distance, you'd wholeheartedly believe.