Food for Thought: It's Vacation Time!

I'm taking off for a few days, but I thought I'd leave you with some eye candy and some food for thought.

Menu Page from Connor's Cafe, near Burley, Idaho, c. August 2010

Connor's Cafe as seen from the highway at high speeds, c. August 2010

I cannot adequately describe the scene at the Cafe, (farmers, truckers, and locals, oh my!) but the food! The food tasted as good as this looks. My fried chicken was awesome, and the baked Idaho potato - IN IDAHO - was flaky goodness: hot, steamy, dripping with butter and salt and pepper. So good.

The rolls were also delicious. I could have eaten just the rolls -- about a dozen of them. I exerted some self control, however, and saved mine for dessert - with a little jelly.

Grandmary tried to make us feel guilty by ordering a salad - but look at the size of that chef salad! You can't be too health conscious with all of those toppings. Grumpa Max solicited the recommendations of other diners and ordered a special not on the menu. I think it was called the Hangover Buster -- a scramble with potatoes, meat, peppers, onions, and cheese, that even the hardened truckers and farmers couldn't manage to finish.

There was supposed to be pie. Connor's is known for pie. There were signs about pie. I started salivating about pie, and I don't even LIKE pie that much. Sadly, we pulled in too late, and the waitress was pretty much "done" with working andthen forgot to ask us if we wanted any. I was pretty carbed out though, (corn is considered a vegetable, not a grain, in these locales), so it was just as well.

Sadly, on this long weekend getaway, I will not be getting this kind of food, but with three dinner appointments and a brunch scheduled, not to mention a bridal shower, I won't go hungry for company, laughter, and nourishment for body and soul.

Back later. Stay tuned.

Finally from the Faire, Paella & Kilts

After all these posts about Maker Faire, I can hear you thinking: Well okay. We've seen crafts, crafts, more crafts, transportation, friends, demonstrations, and even the sanitation facilities, but what about the food? What about your favorite things?

The food, my friends. The food that we had was fabulous. Because we got our tickets ahead of time, we were able to come in a side gate, right near what I'm calling the Paella Pavilion. Little did we realize that there were other food vendors at the Faire, down another pathway on the other side of the grounds. Vendors and trucks were set up to serve typical things like hot dogs, burgers, empanadas, gyros, etc. We didn't care. The first thing we smelled at the Faire was the saffron and our stomachs were set on having the paella. My dinky pictures can't do these vast vats of rice, shrimp, beans, and chicken justice. At $10 a plate we both knew we couldn't eat one by ourselves, so Jane and I split lunch. Well, I probably could have finished one off, but then it would have been siesta time at the Faire and I didn't see hammocks for naps.

As has been documented, Auntie Nettie likes to ogle men in kilts. It might be due to my English/Scottish Borderland heritage, my fascination with Jamie Fraser in Diana Gabaldon's Outlander, or my ongoing thing for Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod from the t.v. show, Highlander -- I likes me some men in kilts. Finding out that Utilkilts was going to be at the Faire was just another reason to go.

Yes, the shirt does say: "Reach up, reach up, and touch someone."

Don't worry. I restrained myself. Security didn't need to be called. I have to say, for all that there was a great many men trying on the kilts, I can't say that many were purchased while I was there. (I'm still trying to justify the purchase price for one for my bro.)

This gentleman was seriously WORKING the pose for his significant other. You go dude!

Then we stumbled upon the fairy and the faun. I'm not making any type of off-color or negative comment. This winged girl was at a SteamPunk fashion booth, and then I think this sculptor/artist? was named Faun. I may have read the signs wrong; I was just so distracted by the plastic? kilt, the knee high leather boots, and then the bleached hairdo. Maybe I'm more conservative than even I thought I was!

With bags full of Faire swag, minds full of inspiration, and a bit of a sunburn, Jane and I packed it in after a long hot day at the Faire. Our robotic lady friend here,

played us out by requesting a gigantic air guitar quartet solo.

Air FLARE! (Freebird!)

Seriously, if the Faire comes back next year? You.have.to.go!

It rocks.

Chocolate Chip Cheese Bar

After my kitchen catastrophe last weekend, it was nice to redeem myself with this deliciousness.

I've been going through the pantry, freezer, and fridge cooking my way through the odds and ends that appear to be left-overs and left behinds. To be thrifty, you know, plus to use stuff up. Noodles appear in soup. Brown rice is in soup. Jello is used in, well, jello, AND cookies as a subtle flavoring. Salad dressings are used up. Casseroles are created from ALLL sorts of things. Experiments have to be successful, since I have no choice but to eat them.

But what do with the 8 oz block of cream cheese when I don't have the energy or mad-skills to attempt a cheesecake? I turned to the handy cookbook my s-i-l Kelli gave me, oh so many years ago, to search for the answer.

5 Ingredients or Less: most in under twenty minutes! compiled by the Professional Home Economics Teachers of California, Nevada, Arizona and Utah, c. 2002 California Cookbook Company.*

Chocolate Chip Cheese Bar
by Gale Hooper of Casa Roble High School in Orangevale, CA

1 tube of refrigerated chocolate chip cookie dough
1 (8 oz.) package of cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg

Cut cookie dough in half. For crust, press half of the dough onto the bottom of a greased 8 inch square pan. In a mixing bowl, beat cream cheese, sugar and egg until smooth. Spread over crust. Crumble remaining dough over top. Bake at 350 degree for 35-40 minutes or until a toothpick near center comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack. Cut into bars.
(Supposed to serve 9-12)

To be thrifty, I didn't purchase the refrigerated cookie dough. I used up the last of the chocolate chips from my freezer and used the other ingredients I still had in the pantry. The dough was fresher -- and I think there was a bit more than what would come in the tube. I did chill it down while I made up the cream cheese layer. As you can see, it cooked up over the sides of the pan, so I had to use a knife to check the center. I could have baked it a bit more than the 45-50+ minutes I baked it (my stove runs slower than normal), as the center did settle in as it cooled and when I transferred it out of the pan. But is is soooooooo yummy. I had to test it, you know.

My officemates will be saving me from myself with this creation. I already scarfed down a whole edge. They need to eat the rest or I'll never forgive myself.


*recipes do reflect ingredients and brands not available in other parts of the country, but you can find some substitutions.

Kitchen catastrophes

You never know when the lessons from your youth are going to come in handy. Take this weekend for example …

I have never been known for my gracefulness. It can be said (and there are police reports and facial scars to back me up) that I’m more than just a little accident prone. There was no point sneaking into my house as a teenager because I would inevitably stumble over, or drop something, to give it way. To this day, my parents SWEAR they’ve never heard so much noise as when I visit, because I’m always knocking something over in the kitchen or bathroom. (I say the latter is because I’m used to my own stuff in my own tiny space. There’s more walls and stuff at their house that gets in my way!)

In an earlier stage of my life I worked for a major fast food chain, where I got a thorough education in many, many things (some not suitable for innocent nieces and nephews to ever learn about.) In addition to learning that “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,” I got the first of my marriage proposals (more on that MUCH LATER). One of the oddest things I remembered from my time in the grease pit came back to me in a big ol’splash one day this past weekend.

It was one of the first autumnal days we’ve had this season, with tropical rains and winds making it seem like it was late November instead of mid-September. I got in the mood to cook, so I was spending time in my teeny tiny kitchenette. On the stove top I had a large cauldron of black bean soup bubbling away, and the oven was full of scarily spicy peanut butter cookies. Since my minuscule sink was full of dirty dishes, I was bustling around to put things away to make room. As I blindly reached down to put pots and pans away on my rolling shelves/counter top, I wasn’t really paying close attention. Suddenly I heard a large splat and saw that somehow I’d managed to knock over the gallon jug of olive oil … and it was glooping and glopping its contents across my kitchen floor and onto the walls … and the puddle was getting bigger and bigger! Hysterical panic set in, as my paper towels ran out and no newspapers were to be found. I just wanted to scream “CLEAN UP IN AISLE 1!” and let someone else deal with the mess. Alas, no one rode their mop to my rescue.

It was in that instance when the lessons learned at the fry vat suddenly came to mind. In case of major grease spillage, look for the salt box! Not the salt shaker, but the large container of salt that hides in the recesses of every pantry or kitchen shelf somewhere in most of the world. Grab it, open it, and spread the content around on the spill, very very liberally. Not only does the salt seem to absorb the oily mess, it adds some traction to your shoes while you run around and try and contain the rest of the disaster. (This is akin to using sand and/or kitty litter to get traction in the snow in the winter.) It also buys you a moment or two to take stock of the situation.

As I was contemplating the cleanup of my kitchen catastrophe, the perfect storm of conditions continued to hit critical mass. With one hand dripping in oil, the other caked with salt, and me trying to figure out how to get the almost burning cookies out of the oven or how to get the pot to stop from boiling over, wouldn't you know it? The cell phone rang. Rather than let it go to voice mail, I just had to answer it. (You know, ‘cause I’m conditioned that way. D**n it PAVLOV!) I believe that’s when the hysterical laughter--AT MYSELF--began to emerge. [Sorry about that, Jenn. Thanks for understanding and for calling me back.]

Once calmed, I managed to find a way to gloss over the situation. I rescued the cookies, turned down the soup, and then turned to tackling the huge salt and oil slick on the floor. I also very carefully put the gallon of olive oil BACK in the pantry … on the floor … away from the ministrations of my bumbling self …. .

Plus I took pictures to remind me of the mess, though they don’t quite capture the Technicolor wonder of the olive oil contrasting with my nasty linoleum.

After many minutes making salt "castles" on the floor, followed by the services of my Dust Buster sucking gross stuff out of crevasses and grooves, and lots of scrubbing with Lysol wipes, the floor has a nice sheen to it. Is it me though, or does everything taste oh so slighty ... salty?



Nah. You’re imaging that Auntie “Grace,” along with the phantom grit that you’re feeling when you walk across the floor …

Chocolate? YES PLEASE

Don't you ever have those days when you feel like you could literally eat everything? Now you can ....

"An all-chocolate room was unveiled in Manhattan on Tuesday -- a pre-Valentine's Day creation complete with furniture and artwork made of the sweet stuff."

Click here for the whole article.

Look, I don't care if it's a shameless promotion for Godiva -- it's FREAKING BRILLIANT!