If Twitter Wasn't Firewalled...

Here's what I'd be saying.

And yes, I realize that I could just as easily Twitter from my Blackberry, but I stil haven't gotten used to the keys and predictive texting makes me want to punch cute little woodland creatures. In the face. Repeatedly.
So anyway....

9:40: Dan just sent me the following:



Steven Tyler looks horrible.

9:40: To which I responded:



Steven Tyler looks like Rachel Zoe in ten years.

Seriously – dude looks like a lady….who lunches on Palm Beach Island.

9:41: In all honesty, though? I wish I could dress like Rachel Zoe. On me, though? It would definitely look like Drunken Palm Beach Lady Who Lunches.
10:08: I want a huge cup of coffee.
10:08: 20 oz. Frosty Cold. Illy. One Cream. Two Brown Sugars.
10:09: Oooh....and a bagel! Multigrain with butter.
10:10: From here - Brooklyn Water Bagels. I can't wait for Christmas in South Florida!
11:04: Spend 15 minutes composing a mini travel guide for a co-worker's trip to London. I should be in London right now - Wandering city streets, spending entirely too much time in museums and used bookstores, hanging out with the Trans-Atlantic Best Friend and eating Ploughman's Pickle sandwiches at an absurd rate (and yes, I know Twitter would have punted me a long time ago for exceeding the 140 character limit, but since I'm using Google Docs, I see no need to be slavish to the form. And by the by? Google Docs? I love you. You're totally my BFFE!)
11:20: I think about food a lot.
11:29: I just spent three minutes spelling 'org' on the phone. That's a minute a letter. It shouldn't be that hard...
11:34: And we're back to food again thanks to this article. Crisp sandwiches, tons of cheese, frozen peas, fried spaghetti and marmite? Definitely my people.
12:03: According to Twilight, the smell of Bella's blood gives Edward a vamp woody. That being said, what happens when during Bella's 'time of the month'? Priapism? Anyone care to shed some light on this -- Stephanie Meyer, Dana, Joss Whedon, Alan Ball, Kevin Williamson....?
1:24: Megan Fox as Catwoman in Nolan's next Batman installment? I call shenanigans.
1:25: I mean, there's no way Nolan would ever cast her. She sucks.
1:27: There go the wet dreams of a thousand men...
2:15: Why does the office smell like a Cosmo? The drink, not the magazine or the Seinfeld character.
3:27: I have Under My Thumb by The Rolling Stones stuck in my head.
3:40: Just help decorate my co-worker's office with pictures of cartoon pickles. I love my office.
4:15: Knock off in ten and then, quality time with Raymond Chandler while I wait for Dan.

Grace In Small Things - 6/365

1. Finding a cute birthday present for my sister. I just hope she finds it as adorable as I do.

2. Stirrings Lemon Drop Mixer + tonic water + passion fruit flavored vodka on the rocks. I'm calling it a Sunsplash and suggesting everyone try one.

3. December 16-29 in Florida. I'm stoked!

4. The B.S. Report with Bill Simmons. Perfect for the treadmill because before you know it, you've listened to the entire podcast, laughed your ass off and managed to sneak in a pretty good work-out. Thanks, Sports Guy!

5. Sweet-Spicy-Salty Oyster Crackers -- my favorite new snack. Here's the recipe. I don't have pictures because they're never around long enough for me to actually take them.

Ingredients

1 cup oyster crackers
1 tablespoon canola oil
Pinch of cumin seeds
Pinch of salt (to taste but be careful because oyster crackers are kinda salty to begin with)
Pinch of sugar (to taste but be careful because if you add too much, the sugar will burn, stick to the bottom of the pan and you'll end up with an inedible mess instead of a tasty snack)
Pinch of hot cayenne pepper (to taste but again be careful because you know what's awesome? Not searing off all of the taste receptors in your mouth)

Directions

Heat oil in saucepan.
Once hot, add cumin seeds and let sizzle (this takes a few minutes).
Add cayenne pepper and let sizzle.
Add salt and sugar and shake mixture.
Add oyster crackers and fold until crackers are covered in spice mixture.
Turn off heat and let sit for two or three minutes.
Enjoy!

Serve with a cold drink and good movie/television show.

Put Food In Me....

Although delicious, strawberry yogurt and a chocolate-and-sprinkles covered pretzel make a pretty terrible lunch.

It's 3:20 and I'm dreaming about spinach alfredo penne with fresh Parmesan and lots of black pepper.

Feed me....

They should call it FuckDonalds.

I hate McDonalds for a litany of reasons:

- Their mascot is a clown. Clowns are terrifying. John Wayne Gacy used to dress up as a clown. He was a serial killer. Think about it.

- Their food is terrible -- the fries don't taste anything like potatoes and don't disintegrate like real food should, they have a staggering lack of vegetarian options (even Burger King offers a thoroughly mediocre veggie burger) and their McFlurries end up giving you the McFlurries. Disgusting, but true.

- Breakfast stops at 10:30 a.m. as opposed to 11:00 a.m (Thank you, Big Daddy). Trying to order breakfast after 10:30 a.m. is like trying to get George W. Bush to pronounce the word 'Nuclear' correctly -- a damn near impossible and thoroughly futile task.

I rarely, if ever, patronize this franchise but Dan wanted a chicken sandwich and since Chik-Fil-A is closed on Sundays, we decided to hit up the McDonalds' Drive Thru.

It's 10:33 a.m.
Breakfast is over.
Has been for three minutes.

If you try and order an Egg McMuffin, I'm fairly sure that red and yellow stormtroopers will come out and attempt to drown you in a vat of secret sauce.

Luckily for us -- the chicken sandwich is on the lunch menu. The number eight. A lucky number in some culture. Not for us, though.

I pull up to the drive-thru and place my order, speaking loudly and clearly so nothing will get lost in translation:

Jaime: Hi! Can I get the number eight chicken sandwich and a Coke, please?
Drive-Thru Dude: (garble garble) Numba eight? (garble garble)
Jaime: Yeah -- the number eight chicken sandwich and a Coke.
Drive Thru Dude: (garble garble) $5.40 (garble, garble).

I pull up to the cash window, fork over my money and proceed to the pick-up window.

I pick up my food and am about to drive off when Dan realize that instead of a chicken sandwich, the bag contains a Sausage McGriddle.

Dan: This is wrong.
Jaime: The entire concept of McDonalds is wrong.
Dan: No, this isn't a chicken sandwich. This is a Sausage McGriddle.

The guy behind us blares his horn. Calm down, asshole. You'll get your artery-clogging garbage in a minute.

I tell Window Guy that the order is wrong.

Jaime: Hi! Sorry, but this isn't what we ordered.
Window Guy: What did you order?
Jaime: The number eight -- a chicken sandwich.
Window Guy: The number eight is a Sausage McGriddle.
Jaime: But it's past 10:30 and the board outside says "Number 8 -- Southern Style Chicken Sandwich."
Window Guy: Board's broken. Number eight's a Sausage McGriddle.
Jaime: But I said chicken sandwich and breakfast is over.
Window Guy: Number eight's a Sausage McGriddle.

Goddamn it.

We're going round in circles and the guy behind me is practically apoplectic, so I admit defeat and drive off, sans sandwich.

Dan bites into his sandwich and discovers that a McGriddle tastes like a syrup-and-grease coated hockey puck while I remember that my ex used to work at McDonalds and is now in the military. I am suddenly very, very scared for the future of our country.

I abide by the rules of McDonalds' facist breakfast regime and still manage to get screwed.

I'm not lovin' it.

Food + Work = Fork

One of the reasons I like the ladies I work with so much is because they all really appreciate food. Example: today, we decided to have a Thanksgiving-in-September Pot Luck Lunch.

Everyone's going to bring in a Thanksgivingy dish, we will feast like hell-damn-ass kings and then, I'll probably fall asleep at my desk and wake up with Post-Its stuck to my hair and an imprint of a paper clip on my cheek.

Being English, the glory of Thanksgiving was lost on me for eleven tragic years.

There were no cute little palm turkeys, no parades with giant inflatables and certainly no mashed potatoes and stuffing come the fourth Thursday in November.

Then -- I moved to the States and met The Best Friend's family. Wonderful, glorious people who introduced me to mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, stuffing, sweet potato casserole, Indiana corn, pecan pie and soft buttery rolls that practically floated off of the table and onto your plate.

Needless to say, Thanksgiving quickly became my favorite time of year. Football, family and enough food to quell the appetite of Kobayashi . What's not to like?

I began lusting after Thanksgiving food. March would roll around and I'd start to crave stuffing or I'd get a vicious jones for mashed potato volcanoes with green bean casserole lava (What? I make my food fun).

Thus began my bastardization of Thanksgiving dinner.

A couple of years ago, The Best Friend and I decided that waiting until November for Thanksgiving food was ridiculous and that lead to the birth of the Gobblewich-- a sandwich so delicious, it makes everything else on the planet taste like hot, wet garbage.

Although the name is genius, the sandwich's true genius lies in its simplicity.



A breaded mashed potato-and-stuffing patty served with slices of turkey and cranberry sauce on a buttered roll. Add a couple of green beans and a side of homemade macaroni and cheese and you'll be dropping into a food coma before you've had time to wipe that errant smear of cranberry sauce from your chin. What's not to like?

Hmmm....I'll bet this is exactly how Ben Franklin felt when he invented electricity.

My name might as well be Fatty McButterpants.

I got caught in a torrential downpour after work. By the time I got home, I resembled an extra from Titanic. A very grouchy extra from Titanic.

But because I spend a majority of my time channeling Slimer, my dinner made it all better.



So, what did my fabulous dinner consist of?

Flatbread topped with hummus and fresh salsa



Idiot-Proof Salsa:

Chop:

Tomatoes
Green peppers
Onions
Corn
Garlic

If you want to get a little more creative, feel free to add:

Black Beans
Tomatillos
Jalapenos, Habaneros or Serranos (if you're not afflicted with what Mom so tactfully refers to as, 'white man's tongue')

Mix with:

Salt
Cilantro
Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

Marinate for half an hour in the fridge.
Find any flat, edible surface -- chip, cracker, flatbread....
Smother liberally with salsa.
Eat!

Avocado and mango salad with fresh lime and crushed red pepper.



And for dessert, a chocolate-covered pretzel rod. Salt + Sweet = Winner. Every time.

Pascal from Big Night said it best -- "God damn it, I should kill you! This is so fucking good I should kill you!"

I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.

New hair. It's pretty sweet.

Also, I could totally devour some huevos rancheros and a tall frosty mojito right about now. Anyone wanna hit up Honey's with me?

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

One of the reasons I love these guys so much is that whenever the question, "Are you hungry?" is posed -- the answer is always, "I could eat."

I love people who love food. People who make semi-orgasmic noises when falling all over a big sandwich. People who lick their fingers with shameless abandon when they're eating ribs or chicken or anything remotely messy. People who are well acquainted with condiments and fiercely defend their love of Frank's Red Hot or Sriracha. People who understand that dinner can last three hours easily.

That being said -- any recommendations where this girl can go to dinner on her birthday?

Two rules:

A) Must be within a 15 mile radius of West Chester, PA
B) Must have a full bar or failing that, a kickass margarita selection.

I mean, I'm going to be 25. If that doesn't justify at least one good, stiff drink, I don't know what does.

Weekend Wrap-Up

This weekend consisted of movies, mediocre Mexican food and shopping for men's clothes.

Movies

We caught Cloverfield on Friday night.



Take it for what it is -- popcorn entertainment that combines the ethos of Godzilla with the camera work of The Blair Witch Project. The movie was surprisingly funny and even managed to have a fairly sweet and cleverly attached back story. Word of warning, though? If you suffer from any sort of motion sickness, be sure to pop a Dramamine before you go. I didn't and ended up having to excuse myself in the middle of the film so I could use the facilities, so to speak. It wasn't cute. Oh and to the catty high schoolers who came into the bathroom after me? A) I'm not a bulimic and B) bulimia isn't funny.

I also saw Transformers for the first time. Now, when it comes to kick-ass action sequences and blowing stuff up, Michael Bay knows his shit, but the forced emotional plot of this movie was just completely contrived and ridiculous. Bumblebee speaks through the car radio...to the poetry of The Cars? Come on! I love Drive as much as the next person, but this was just laughably awful. Loved Shia LeBeouf, though. His performance in this movie gives me hope for Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (which totally sounds like a Zelda game, doesn't it?)

Mediocre Mexican Food

The Mexican Post in Wilmington, DE. My whole objective in going out to dinner is to eat food that I couldn't get at home. Bottled salsa and sub-par enchiladas that I could very easily improve on myself do not make a good meal. Why is it so hard to find good Mexican food?! I mean, I'm not looking for Mexican molecular gastronomy -- I just want fresh, good food and a fruity margarita to back it up. Regardless of where you are -- what's your favorite place for good Mexican food?

Shopping

Dan needed to update his wardrobe, so we spent some quality time for shopping for men's clothes. Men's departments, in case you were wondering, are remarkably dull places. The shoes aren't cute, all the clothes kind of look the same and on the off chance that you do find something pink, it ends up being the most garish thing in the universe. Seriously, if Dan wore this shirt -- I'd set him on fire just to get it off.

You tried to save the sandwich from a bullet?

I am not a foodie by any stretch of the imagination. Being a vegetarian has a tendency to put the kibosh on chowing down on Kobe beef, roasted duck, lardo and ceviche. I'm not really a food snob, either. I'm perfectly content sipping on Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate instead of plunking down $4 for a Starbucks Hot Chocolate.

But -- I am passionate about what I eat. I fall in love with food in the same way most people fall in love with other people -- completely and rapturously. You can't stop talking about your beloved and want to be with them all the time.

I fell in love again recently. With Sandwich -- a food so glorious that it deserves to be considered as a proper noun. I've had one of these every day for the last three days and I plan on having one for dinner tonight.

Sandwich is simple, easy to make and weepingly delicious. Eating it for the first time caused me to have a bit of a metaphysical crisis -- "Why? Why did I even bother eating anything else? This is so good! So good!"

So, because I want you to be as gloriously happy as I am when eating Sandwich, here is the how-to:

+ One Amoroso Hoagie Roll (Yes, it must be an Amoroso roll because they are proof of divinity. Dan told me that bread tasted better in Philly because of the water. I didn't believe him and then, I moved here and completely changed my mind. Trust me on this one).
+ Extra Virgin Olive Oil (And for those of you thinking, "Oooh! EVOO!", let me paraphrase a little Anthony Bourdain for you -- "Rachael Ray does to food what Hitler did to Poland")
+ Red onion
+ Green pepper
+ Portobello mushrooms
+ Mozzarella cheese
+ Sundried tomatoes
+ Salt, black pepper and basil.

Drizzle the olive oil lightly on the bread. Lay down portobello mushroom slices. Lightly drizzle olive oil again. Layer alternating rings of pepper and onion. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and basil. Lay down sundried tomatoes. Add cheese. Add salt, pepper and basil again.
Bake at 350°F for ten minutes or until melty and slightly blackened.
Serve with sweet tea and experience gastronomic ecstasy/metaphysical crisis.

A conversation between Dan and I last night:

Jaime (with mouthful of Sandwich): I love you.
Dan: I love you t...Wait. You're talking to the sandwich, aren't you?
Jaime (muffled by Sandwich): Mmmhmph...yeah.

And if that doesn't convince you how amazing Sandwich is, here is a man who truly understands the importance of sandwiches -- Mr. Ross Geller:

Surprise Chocolate Chip Cookies

Every now and then, I get a little cocky and start thinking I can emulate the chefs on the Food Channel. Usually, this results in two phone calls -- one to the fire department and one to the local pizza place, but every now and then, I get something right.

Like Surprise Chocolate Chip Cookies. Named so because:

A) I figured it would be a nice surprise for Dan to come home and find fresh-baked cookies waiting for him (the weather's miserable, his car window's messed up and this week has seriously dragged ass. I figured the guy deserved a little pick-me-up).
B) I was planning on making sugar cookies and then, surprise! I found a bag of chocolate chips in the pantry!

So, to make a batch of Surprise Chocolate Chip Cookies, you will need:



Flour, baking soda, baking powder, sugar, an egg, butter, vanilla extract and chocolate chips (not pictured because I hadn't found them yet).

You will also need to pre-heat your oven to 375°F and follow this recipe:



(A much more legible version can be found below)

First, you mix the flour, baking soda and baking powder together in a small bowl. Once you're done with that, set the bowl aside.



Grab another bigger bowl and in that, mix the sugar and butter. Note: smashing butter into sugar is actually a pretty tough task, so you can use this opportunity to take out all of your pent-up frustration.



Next, add an egg.



And some vanilla extract.



Mix the wet ingredients together and slowly start adding the dry ingredients (flour, baking powder and baking soda).



Discover that you have chocolate chips in the pantry and rejoice!



Ignore the fact that I look like Marty Feldman (Igor) from Young Frankenstein.



Add chocolate chips to mix.



Resist urge to shove entire gob of chocolate chip cookie dough in mouth.



Hand-roll cookies into bite sized blobs and place on baking sheet.



Bake for 11-15 minutes (or more, depending on how dark you like your cookies). Watch American Beauty on HBO while waiting. Fall in love with Thomas Newman's score all over again. Wonder why Peter Gallagher looked so bad in this movie, but so good on The O.C. Decide it's the hair. It's gotta be that hair.



When the timer dings, remove cookies from oven and let stand on sheet for two minutes.



Place cookies on a plate and enjoy!



Serving suggestion: Tall glass of cold milk.

As promised, here's the less graphic account of my culinary adventures:

INGREDIENTS

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 cup butter, softened
1 1/2 cups white sugar
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
6 oz. chocolate chips (about half a small bag)

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. In a small bowl, stir together flour, baking soda, and baking powder. Set aside.

2. In a large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Beat in egg and vanilla. Gradually blend in the dry ingredients and chips. Roll rounded teaspoonfuls of dough into balls, and place onto ungreased cookie sheets.

3. Bake 11-15 minutes in the preheated oven, or until golden. Let stand on cookie sheet two minutes before removing to cool on wire racks.

Yields approx. 35 cookies.

This boy not only has cajones, but he's got burritos and huevos rancheros too

Despite the fact that my appetite has been weaker than Britney Spears' list of excuses lately*, I am a fat woman trapped in a little girl's body. Seriously. I love food and last night, I actually had a dream about a meal I had.

The way I see it is if it's good enough to dream about, it's good enough to blog about.

I'm not a foodie by any small stretch of the imagination. The idea of crudos and truffle-infusions doesn't set me off in a fit of gastronomic ecstasy, but you know what does make me happy? Food that tastes good. It doesn't have to be pretty or well-plated. It doesn't have to feature exotic ingredients like Tahitian vanilla or Meyer lemons. It just needs to taste good.

And the Huevos Rancheros at Ruby's Diner are delicious.



(I didn't have my camera, so I couldn't snap a picture -- but it looks like a bigger, somewhat messier version of the above)

Two fried eggs atop crispy flour tortillas layered with spicy black beans, fresh homemade salsa and guacamole, cheese, black olives, chopped green onion and fresh cilantro served with a side of home fries.

Hands-down, one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten. The only thing that could have made this feast more palatable would be eating it at 2:30 A.M. after a long night of drinking with friends or eating it at 9:00 A.M. after a long weekend of camping with friends.

Unfortunately, Ruby's only has locations in - Arizona, California, Colorado, Hawaii, Nevada, Pennsylvania, Texas and Washington State so if you don't live in one of these states, you're somewhat SOL. But, huevos rancheros is a pretty common Tex-Mex breakfast dish, so with a little searching, you should be able to find it at an eatery near you.

Good luck and happy eating!


* So, my appetite's been nil as of late and I have no idea why. Last week, over the course of 48 hours, I ate a collective of a dinner roll and a Snickers Creme Pumpkin. I mentioned this to Dan's mom (she's a nurse) and she told me that sometimes, pregnant women lose their appetites. After recovering from the six simultaneous heart attacks I suffered at that very moment, I came to the logical realization that Dan and I will not be having little Irish-Indian babies anytime soon.

Dear Indian Restauranteurs:

You fail at life.

Your food wasn't mediocre -- it was just flat out bad and not only did you screw me over when it came to the food (not nearly enough curry and no incidentals. Your grandmothers are spinning right now), but you screwed me financially too. You never screw over another member of the tribe. Didn't y'all get that memo?

See, this is the problem with being ethnic. Any time you go out to eat at an eatery catering to your particular ethnicity, you get screwed because the food never tastes as good as your mom's.

That and I think that the sub-par Indian food I had tonight singed The Boyfriend's vocal chords.

From now on, unless it's made by Mom or monks -- I'm not going anywhere near it.

Sincerely:

Jaime

P.S. -- I supplemented tonight's dinner with a half a bottle of Sparkletini, so if this entry isn't exactly lucid...well, that's why.