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I've let two days pass. Thank god I live in a country where freedom of speech is granted, but never to be taken for granted.
I was appalled to open the paper and read yesterday's headline in the Post-Dispatch regarding the "legitimate rape" comment. No, let me restate that, I was trembling mad. I re-read the piece twice just to be sure I hadn't missed any detail.
What I cannot come to grips with is this: Republicans can't seem to release themselves from wanting to legislate a woman's body.
Get out of our bodies.
I make no apologies for being a woman. A strong woman. A woman who was always told by her mother to stand up for her rights. Don't ever be afraid. Don't ever allow intimidation influence your opinions. Stand tall.
I was a kid who aspired to be an attorney. In grade school, I took pen to paper to write a letter to President Gerald Ford expressing said hopes and--received a letter back! The local paper ran a column about my letter.
The world I was entering was slowly reckoning with the fact that women were no longer relegated to being second class citizens--submissive "types". My generation would have more choices than any female generation prior.
I don't need to elaborate or dredge up my own personal scars, or explain why I had such a visceral reaction to this unseemly comment. I simply need to vote. And I will. And because we live in a democracy and because other great women before me fought for this right, I will absolutely take the only action I can in the face of this insult.
As of my writing, an apology has been issued.
Apology not accepted.
31 Aralık 2012 Pazartesi
"So For My Next Act, I'll Limit Women's Rights"
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Really? So went the general direction of the narrative from one side during last night's debate. So much so, I lost sleep over it. Did I just step off of 2012 and step into the 1950s? Pre Roe v. Wade days were dark for women. Very dark. I remember the first "talk" I had with my mother on the subject of my responsibilities and rights as a woman. And it went something like this: Be careful. Be vigilant. And above all else, do not EVER walk into this house unmarried and pregnant. Period. And the story of her being left in an orphanage followed. One may assume given this history lesson, I might have different thoughts on the matter of birth control. One would be wrong to make such an assumption. And my mother would have been the first to tell you why.
I made a conscious decision to not have children. Thus, I took personal responsibility for ensuring I would not become a mother. Thankfully, I did not have to make this decision in a back alley somewhere. I met with our family physician instead. And nothing about my meeting with him was awkward. In adulthood, my option for maintaining my choice to eschew motherhood was never something I imagined might be at risk. It never once occurred to me that, in my lifetime, a movement would be underway to undo my say in this matter.
I have faith in our democracy. I have faith in both the women and men in congress to see that the right to make the choice never gets taken away.We do not live in a Utopian society where adults behave themselves All. The. Time. That's why there are protective measures in place to keep us from harming ourselves, or from harming others. In the ugliest parts of humanity there is an abominable force which causes some stronger types to prey on weaker types. These forces are referred to as rape and incest, and most often occur against women. And at its deepest moral indecency, the "women" may be as young as fourteen. As I've learned over the years this happens to be the age at which young women are most vulnerable to such an assault. I personally know this to be true.
Before any single human being thinks for one moment that they know what's best for women as it relates to "good moral behavior" and sees removing the option of birth control protection for women as prudent, they need first walk a mile in my shoes or a mile in the shoes of any number of young victims of date rape, uncle rape, father rape, neighbor rape and tell them why their birth control options are no longer on the table. Why corporations employing them cannot "in good conscience" provide the medical benefit of simple protection when women know first hand what being a victim feels like. We know first hand "just saying NO" isn't a guarantee of protection. And all this finger pointing, posturing and holier-than-thou, "Goodness gracious, why would a single woman ever allow herself to have a child and NOT be married and able to provide a decent life. . . a good moral life!" stuff is naive at best. Criminal at worst.
I made a conscious decision to not have children. Thus, I took personal responsibility for ensuring I would not become a mother. Thankfully, I did not have to make this decision in a back alley somewhere. I met with our family physician instead. And nothing about my meeting with him was awkward. In adulthood, my option for maintaining my choice to eschew motherhood was never something I imagined might be at risk. It never once occurred to me that, in my lifetime, a movement would be underway to undo my say in this matter.
I have faith in our democracy. I have faith in both the women and men in congress to see that the right to make the choice never gets taken away.We do not live in a Utopian society where adults behave themselves All. The. Time. That's why there are protective measures in place to keep us from harming ourselves, or from harming others. In the ugliest parts of humanity there is an abominable force which causes some stronger types to prey on weaker types. These forces are referred to as rape and incest, and most often occur against women. And at its deepest moral indecency, the "women" may be as young as fourteen. As I've learned over the years this happens to be the age at which young women are most vulnerable to such an assault. I personally know this to be true.
Before any single human being thinks for one moment that they know what's best for women as it relates to "good moral behavior" and sees removing the option of birth control protection for women as prudent, they need first walk a mile in my shoes or a mile in the shoes of any number of young victims of date rape, uncle rape, father rape, neighbor rape and tell them why their birth control options are no longer on the table. Why corporations employing them cannot "in good conscience" provide the medical benefit of simple protection when women know first hand what being a victim feels like. We know first hand "just saying NO" isn't a guarantee of protection. And all this finger pointing, posturing and holier-than-thou, "Goodness gracious, why would a single woman ever allow herself to have a child and NOT be married and able to provide a decent life. . . a good moral life!" stuff is naive at best. Criminal at worst.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies (My Best Friend: Thirty-Five Years And Counting And Why I'll Drop Everything To Be There)
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The story of this cookie began last week when I received a phone call from my best friend. Sometimes you think life couldn't possibly hand you one more thing. And then it does. The time of the call (early) told me all I needed to know. Something terrible had happened. I'd barely said 'hello', was going down the list: Are the kids okay? Are you okay? Is your mom okay? Dad? Do you have the "C" word. . . what happened?! As it turned out, something horrible had happened. It involved her mother. Which in turn, involved me. Gayle would then travel a thousand miles in one afternoon. I'd see her in six hours. Then we'd travel another two hours to her mom.
This post will be about a bit more than this cookie. It has to. I was drawn to it by way of a tragedy. Like most things involving food and memories, I had to share more than just the food part in telling you about it. Jump to the recipe below if you are so inclined. But I have a story to tell.
During the crisis, Gayle and I were able to steal brief moments away for "nourishment". Which, given the town we were in did not include Whole Foods. I'll refrain from naming said town. Let me just say it is quite southern in nature. Quite. (At least for this girl's Yankee roots.) But I love the drawl and at times can be heard carrying one on myself. It just creeps in.
Were you able to raise her? Translation: Did she answer the phone?
I found myself back where I'd gone to high school. Back in the town where my mother drug my sister and I kicking and screaming. Back to where our mother would take her last breath. Just back. But it was here in this town I met my best friend, some thirty-five years ago.
We settled on The Bread Company (that's what we call it here in St. Louis--because even though the chain has gone "national"--locally, it will always be known as TBC) for lunch during breaks from the hospital. Gayle spotted them first. These cookies. These glorious little packages of red joy. They were the size of dinner plates! I thought I couldn't possibly eat one by myself. Certainly not something under normal circumstances one would eat by oneself. But these were not normal circumstances. We were in major stress mode. Gayle ordered two. Then I ordered mine. There was no sharing. We devoured them.
I cared not whether they were vegan. I was ravenous. We both were. (We both love to bake. Both love to cook.) I said, "I have to veganize these . . . as soon as I get home." On my trip back, I stopped by the store to pick up another cookie to go--one for Dr. Thyme, and for taste testing--just to be sure the food memory stayed with me. He loved them, too. And then I began telling him of all that had happened. The tragedy. The tears. The utter disbelief of it all. Of how fragile and swift life can be. How in one moment, all can be changed. Forever. And it has.
Apparently red velvet is making a come back. I couldn't be happier. One of my all time favorite red treats were Hostess Zingers (RIP Hostess). Red cake and coconut and creamy filling. What's not to love? So my partiality to red foods goes waaay back. And if you tsk-tsk the use of red food coloring for your eating pleasure, that's a shame. Because to my mind, it's the red food coloring that gives this cookie--and its cake namesake--an unmistakable yum factor. As for amounts--this cookie does not require a full bottle of red coloring. (The cake does.) I was able to to eek by with only 2 teaspoons. 
Heavenly. .JPG)
This is my best friend Gayle. We are in the parking lot of the hospital this past weekend. Both of us wanted a picture of the two of us for our phones. We acknowledged that given the stress, crying and "our age", sunglasses were in order. A moment of laughing was good for us. I sent a copy of it to my sister who said, "You guys look exactly like you always do. . . I've seen this picture a hundred times." And it's true.
She and I met at a horse barn where her father and my mother both stabled their horses. I was new to town, as was mom and my sister (who is a bit younger than I). Mom came home one day asking if I'd ever met Gayle. The only people I'd "met" were the neighbors, and kids in my classes (junior high--oh the horror)--and briefly at that because I was still super bitter over being uprooted at such a vulnerable age. (This was to be our mother's third husband. Yes. third. And not her last.) Basically, I hadn't branched out "socially" yet in our new home town. Apparently our mother had. More mentions of Gayle and her dad. Then one day, mom brought me to the stables (I grew up riding horses because our mother had an affinity for them). I finally met Gayle. We agreed to catch up some time at school. And that was all she wrote.
I'm not going to tell you we were attached at the hip. But we were. And as you might imagine in all these years, there have been ups and there have been downs. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of pure hell. Shared celebrations. Shared sorrow. Spans of time without one another. We are both women after all.
When my mom was in the hospital during her last few months, Gayle's mom was, too. I could barely stand watching my mom going through all her "stuff". My sister and I were taking turns nursing to her when we could. My mom adored Gayle. (They shared a kinship of sorts, Gayle was an only child, so was our mother.) When Gayle couldn't stand watching the poking and prodding her mother went through and I couldn't stand my mother's tests (and pain affiliated with them)--we'd switch. I'd go sit with her mom and stand along side for the tests and whatnot, and Gayle went to be with my mom and hang out with my sister. They were in different hospitals. . . at the same exact time. Ultimately, her mother got to leave the hospital. Ours did not.
But that was one of the many too-many-to-count memories. There is her father's role in my life as well. After her parents divorced, he would call for Gayle to visit him--she'd always drag me along. (Okay "drag" may be too strong a word-especially for that trip to Denver.) Then on and on life went with both her mother, her father, her aunts, uncles and usually at some point were Gayle and me. In and out of each other's lives so many times.
She called me once and asked if I wanted to go on a vacation together. . . again. I was never much for "traveling" vacations--my jobs in the past required me to be on the road entirely too much. I can't stand hotels to this day. But this time she wanted to do Memphis: Graceland. We did the whole nine yards. Bought the CDs. Bought the Elvis t-shirts. Wept at the grave site. The. Whole. Nine. Yards.
We stayed at the Peabody. Yes. We watched the ducks, too.
On a much earlier vacation--with her mother and her two children (now grown, both in college and amazing)--we all spent eight days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She took this picture of me. We both laughed about how Kennebunkport this looked. We called it "The Postcard from Dahling" shot. (And yes, I had to go brunette at least once in my life. I wanted people to take me more seriously. It was the only time in my life gentlemen stopped holding doors open for me. So I said "screw this" and went back to being a blonde.) 
She has always had something of an affinity for bikes and things that go varoom-varoom. (She gets that from her father. That's who took this photo.) She owns her own Harley. She will never get me on that damn bike. Okay?
I got home this weekend completely exhausted. I slept for thirteen hours straight. Then woke up and took a nap. I'm still emotionally spent. We all are. There is much to be done. More for Gayle and her family to manage through. I am praying for them all, and I am especially praying for her mom.
I told her over the phone last night that I'd come home determined to make that damn cookie vegan. Baking was a great salve. DH said he couldn't believe I'd even had the energy to bake. But I did. It somehow righted me. I can't wait for Gayle to try them. And my sister--who will be here in a few short weeks! Dr. Thyme gave them a big thumbs up. Gayle told me she went back for more cookies, took one up to the hospital yesterday and gave it to her mom. The nurses busted her. Hard to hide a giant red cookie in the sterile white backdrop of a hospital! But her mom loved them.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies*Adapted from Great Cookies by Carole Waltermakes appx. 24 cookies
6 tablespoons unsalted vegetable margarine (at room temperature)6 tablespoons vegetable shortening (at room temperature)3/4 cup sugar1/4 cup molasses2 teaspoons red food coloring1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (*use the scoop and sweep method of measuring the flours)3/4 cup white whole wheat flour2 tablespoons baking cocoa (*I used Ghiradelli) 1 teaspoon baking soda1/4 teaspoon salt1 1/2 teaspoon Ener-G Egg Replacer mixed with 3 tablespoons water1/3 cup chopped pecans1/3 cup white chocolate chipsextra granulated sugar for rolling cookiesextra powdered sugar for rolling cookies
Preheat oven to 350. Line two cookies sheets with parchment paper. Place about 1/4 granulated sugar in a small bowl, and next to it, 1/4 cup powdered sugar. Set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Add the molasses, egg replacer and then red food coloring. Mix until well blended. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, salt and chocolate baking cocoa. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet (in thirds)--mixing just until the dough begins to form clumps. Fold in the pecans and white chocolate chips. If the dough won't form a solid dough ball, add a teaspoon more water. Take a tablespoon of dough and roll it in the palm of your hands to form a small ball. Roll the ball in the granulated sugar first, then the powdered sugar. Place on cookie sheets spaced about 2 inches apart. Bake for 13 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool on trays for about three minutes, then remove to cookie rack to cool completely. Store in freezer for about two weeks. Or store in an airtight container for a week.
The story of this cookie began last week when I received a phone call from my best friend. Sometimes you think life couldn't possibly hand you one more thing. And then it does. The time of the call (early) told me all I needed to know. Something terrible had happened. I'd barely said 'hello', was going down the list: Are the kids okay? Are you okay? Is your mom okay? Dad? Do you have the "C" word. . . what happened?! As it turned out, something horrible had happened. It involved her mother. Which in turn, involved me. Gayle would then travel a thousand miles in one afternoon. I'd see her in six hours. Then we'd travel another two hours to her mom.This post will be about a bit more than this cookie. It has to. I was drawn to it by way of a tragedy. Like most things involving food and memories, I had to share more than just the food part in telling you about it. Jump to the recipe below if you are so inclined. But I have a story to tell.
During the crisis, Gayle and I were able to steal brief moments away for "nourishment". Which, given the town we were in did not include Whole Foods. I'll refrain from naming said town. Let me just say it is quite southern in nature. Quite. (At least for this girl's Yankee roots.) But I love the drawl and at times can be heard carrying one on myself. It just creeps in.
Were you able to raise her? Translation: Did she answer the phone?
I found myself back where I'd gone to high school. Back in the town where my mother drug my sister and I kicking and screaming. Back to where our mother would take her last breath. Just back. But it was here in this town I met my best friend, some thirty-five years ago.
We settled on The Bread Company (that's what we call it here in St. Louis--because even though the chain has gone "national"--locally, it will always be known as TBC) for lunch during breaks from the hospital. Gayle spotted them first. These cookies. These glorious little packages of red joy. They were the size of dinner plates! I thought I couldn't possibly eat one by myself. Certainly not something under normal circumstances one would eat by oneself. But these were not normal circumstances. We were in major stress mode. Gayle ordered two. Then I ordered mine. There was no sharing. We devoured them.
I cared not whether they were vegan. I was ravenous. We both were. (We both love to bake. Both love to cook.) I said, "I have to veganize these . . . as soon as I get home." On my trip back, I stopped by the store to pick up another cookie to go--one for Dr. Thyme, and for taste testing--just to be sure the food memory stayed with me. He loved them, too. And then I began telling him of all that had happened. The tragedy. The tears. The utter disbelief of it all. Of how fragile and swift life can be. How in one moment, all can be changed. Forever. And it has.
Apparently red velvet is making a come back. I couldn't be happier. One of my all time favorite red treats were Hostess Zingers (RIP Hostess). Red cake and coconut and creamy filling. What's not to love? So my partiality to red foods goes waaay back. And if you tsk-tsk the use of red food coloring for your eating pleasure, that's a shame. Because to my mind, it's the red food coloring that gives this cookie--and its cake namesake--an unmistakable yum factor. As for amounts--this cookie does not require a full bottle of red coloring. (The cake does.) I was able to to eek by with only 2 teaspoons. Heavenly. This is my best friend Gayle. We are in the parking lot of the hospital this past weekend. Both of us wanted a picture of the two of us for our phones. We acknowledged that given the stress, crying and "our age", sunglasses were in order. A moment of laughing was good for us. I sent a copy of it to my sister who said, "You guys look exactly like you always do. . . I've seen this picture a hundred times." And it's true. She and I met at a horse barn where her father and my mother both stabled their horses. I was new to town, as was mom and my sister (who is a bit younger than I). Mom came home one day asking if I'd ever met Gayle. The only people I'd "met" were the neighbors, and kids in my classes (junior high--oh the horror)--and briefly at that because I was still super bitter over being uprooted at such a vulnerable age. (This was to be our mother's third husband. Yes. third. And not her last.) Basically, I hadn't branched out "socially" yet in our new home town. Apparently our mother had. More mentions of Gayle and her dad. Then one day, mom brought me to the stables (I grew up riding horses because our mother had an affinity for them). I finally met Gayle. We agreed to catch up some time at school. And that was all she wrote.
I'm not going to tell you we were attached at the hip. But we were. And as you might imagine in all these years, there have been ups and there have been downs. Moments of sheer joy. Moments of pure hell. Shared celebrations. Shared sorrow. Spans of time without one another. We are both women after all.
When my mom was in the hospital during her last few months, Gayle's mom was, too. I could barely stand watching my mom going through all her "stuff". My sister and I were taking turns nursing to her when we could. My mom adored Gayle. (They shared a kinship of sorts, Gayle was an only child, so was our mother.) When Gayle couldn't stand watching the poking and prodding her mother went through and I couldn't stand my mother's tests (and pain affiliated with them)--we'd switch. I'd go sit with her mom and stand along side for the tests and whatnot, and Gayle went to be with my mom and hang out with my sister. They were in different hospitals. . . at the same exact time. Ultimately, her mother got to leave the hospital. Ours did not.
But that was one of the many too-many-to-count memories. There is her father's role in my life as well. After her parents divorced, he would call for Gayle to visit him--she'd always drag me along. (Okay "drag" may be too strong a word-especially for that trip to Denver.) Then on and on life went with both her mother, her father, her aunts, uncles and usually at some point were Gayle and me. In and out of each other's lives so many times.
She called me once and asked if I wanted to go on a vacation together. . . again. I was never much for "traveling" vacations--my jobs in the past required me to be on the road entirely too much. I can't stand hotels to this day. But this time she wanted to do Memphis: Graceland. We did the whole nine yards. Bought the CDs. Bought the Elvis t-shirts. Wept at the grave site. The. Whole. Nine. Yards.We stayed at the Peabody. Yes. We watched the ducks, too.On a much earlier vacation--with her mother and her two children (now grown, both in college and amazing)--we all spent eight days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She took this picture of me. We both laughed about how Kennebunkport this looked. We called it "The Postcard from Dahling" shot. (And yes, I had to go brunette at least once in my life. I wanted people to take me more seriously. It was the only time in my life gentlemen stopped holding doors open for me. So I said "screw this" and went back to being a blonde.) She has always had something of an affinity for bikes and things that go varoom-varoom. (She gets that from her father. That's who took this photo.) She owns her own Harley. She will never get me on that damn bike. Okay?I got home this weekend completely exhausted. I slept for thirteen hours straight. Then woke up and took a nap. I'm still emotionally spent. We all are. There is much to be done. More for Gayle and her family to manage through. I am praying for them all, and I am especially praying for her mom.
I told her over the phone last night that I'd come home determined to make that damn cookie vegan. Baking was a great salve. DH said he couldn't believe I'd even had the energy to bake. But I did. It somehow righted me. I can't wait for Gayle to try them. And my sister--who will be here in a few short weeks! Dr. Thyme gave them a big thumbs up. Gayle told me she went back for more cookies, took one up to the hospital yesterday and gave it to her mom. The nurses busted her. Hard to hide a giant red cookie in the sterile white backdrop of a hospital! But her mom loved them.
Vegan Red Velvet Cookies*Adapted from Great Cookies by Carole Waltermakes appx. 24 cookies
6 tablespoons unsalted vegetable margarine (at room temperature)6 tablespoons vegetable shortening (at room temperature)3/4 cup sugar1/4 cup molasses2 teaspoons red food coloring1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (*use the scoop and sweep method of measuring the flours)3/4 cup white whole wheat flour2 tablespoons baking cocoa (*I used Ghiradelli) 1 teaspoon baking soda1/4 teaspoon salt1 1/2 teaspoon Ener-G Egg Replacer mixed with 3 tablespoons water1/3 cup chopped pecans1/3 cup white chocolate chipsextra granulated sugar for rolling cookiesextra powdered sugar for rolling cookies
Preheat oven to 350. Line two cookies sheets with parchment paper. Place about 1/4 granulated sugar in a small bowl, and next to it, 1/4 cup powdered sugar. Set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Add the molasses, egg replacer and then red food coloring. Mix until well blended. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, salt and chocolate baking cocoa. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet (in thirds)--mixing just until the dough begins to form clumps. Fold in the pecans and white chocolate chips. If the dough won't form a solid dough ball, add a teaspoon more water. Take a tablespoon of dough and roll it in the palm of your hands to form a small ball. Roll the ball in the granulated sugar first, then the powdered sugar. Place on cookie sheets spaced about 2 inches apart. Bake for 13 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to cool on trays for about three minutes, then remove to cookie rack to cool completely. Store in freezer for about two weeks. Or store in an airtight container for a week.
Amanda's Sweet and Spicy Maple Chicken
To contact us Click HERE
I love my sister for many reasons...and this is one of them. She made this recipe with salmon, which I think would be equally delicios, my husband is just not a fan of fish. This has a ton of flavor, a punch of spice, and a hint of sweet! Its a perfect mix of all your taste sensations. AND it's easy:)
Amanda’s Sweet and Spicy Maple Chicken
Printable Version
2 chicken breasts, trimmed
1 tsp. paprika
1 tsp. chili powder
¼ tsp. cumin
½ tsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 Tbs. maple syrup
Preheat oven to 350. Combine seasonings and rub chicken breasts on both sides. Place in a baking dish and bake for 15-20 minutes. The last 5 minutes, remove chicken from the oven and glaze with maple syrup. Serve.
Recipe from Amanda
Serves 2.
I love my sister for many reasons...and this is one of them. She made this recipe with salmon, which I think would be equally delicios, my husband is just not a fan of fish. This has a ton of flavor, a punch of spice, and a hint of sweet! Its a perfect mix of all your taste sensations. AND it's easy:)Amanda’s Sweet and Spicy Maple Chicken
Printable Version
2 chicken breasts, trimmed
1 tsp. paprika
1 tsp. chili powder
¼ tsp. cumin
½ tsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 Tbs. maple syrup
Preheat oven to 350. Combine seasonings and rub chicken breasts on both sides. Place in a baking dish and bake for 15-20 minutes. The last 5 minutes, remove chicken from the oven and glaze with maple syrup. Serve.
Recipe from Amanda
Serves 2.
Croque-Monsieur Madame
To contact us Click HERE
We love to experience new little restaurants whenever we can. I have mentioned before that small bistro-type places are our favorite. Recently we have been going to a delicious shop here in Omaha, and we just can’t get enough. From their upscale burgers to stuffed squash blossoms, everything is top of the line. The first time I went there I got a Croque Monsieur Madame and I just can’t stray from it! It is perfectly creamy, a little bite, and rich, rich, RICH. And boy do I like RICH!
Croque-Monsieur Madame Sandwiches
Printable Version
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups milk
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Pinch nutmeg, optional
12 ounces Gruyere, grated (5 cups)
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan
8 slices dense white sandwich bread
Dijon mustard
8 ounces baked Virginia ham, sliced but not paper thin
4 eggs, optional
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Melt the butter over low heat in a small saucepan and add the flour all at once, stirring with a wooden spoon for 2 minutes. Slowly pour the milk into the butter–flour mixture and cook, whisking constantly, until the sauce is thickened. Off the heat add the salt, pepper, nutmeg (optional), 1/2 cup grated Gruyere, and the Parmesan and set aside.
To toast the bread, place the slices on 2 baking sheets and bake for 5 minutes. Turn each slice and bake for another 2 minutes, until toasted.
Lightly brush half the toasted breads with mustard, add a slice of ham to each, and sprinkle with half the remaining Gruyere. Top with another piece of toasted bread. Slather the tops with the cheese sauce, sprinkle with the remaining Gruyere, and bake the sandwiches for 5 minutes. Turn on the broiler and broil for an additional 3 to 5 minutes, or until the topping is bubbly and lightly browned.
While sandwich is baking, prepare a sunny-side up egg, if desired. Top broiled sandwich with cooked egg, serve hot.
Makes 4 sandwiches
Recipe adapted from the Barefoot Contessa
We love to experience new little restaurants whenever we can. I have mentioned before that small bistro-type places are our favorite. Recently we have been going to a delicious shop here in Omaha, and we just can’t get enough. From their upscale burgers to stuffed squash blossoms, everything is top of the line. The first time I went there I got a Croque Monsieur Madame and I just can’t stray from it! It is perfectly creamy, a little bite, and rich, rich, RICH. And boy do I like RICH!Croque-Monsieur Madame Sandwiches
Printable Version
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups milk
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Pinch nutmeg, optional
12 ounces Gruyere, grated (5 cups)
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan
8 slices dense white sandwich bread
Dijon mustard
8 ounces baked Virginia ham, sliced but not paper thin
4 eggs, optional
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.
Melt the butter over low heat in a small saucepan and add the flour all at once, stirring with a wooden spoon for 2 minutes. Slowly pour the milk into the butter–flour mixture and cook, whisking constantly, until the sauce is thickened. Off the heat add the salt, pepper, nutmeg (optional), 1/2 cup grated Gruyere, and the Parmesan and set aside.
To toast the bread, place the slices on 2 baking sheets and bake for 5 minutes. Turn each slice and bake for another 2 minutes, until toasted.
Lightly brush half the toasted breads with mustard, add a slice of ham to each, and sprinkle with half the remaining Gruyere. Top with another piece of toasted bread. Slather the tops with the cheese sauce, sprinkle with the remaining Gruyere, and bake the sandwiches for 5 minutes. Turn on the broiler and broil for an additional 3 to 5 minutes, or until the topping is bubbly and lightly browned.
While sandwich is baking, prepare a sunny-side up egg, if desired. Top broiled sandwich with cooked egg, serve hot.
Makes 4 sandwiches
Recipe adapted from the Barefoot Contessa
27 Aralık 2012 Perşembe
Pioneer Woman's Creamy Mac
To contact us Click HERE
My heart lies with Mac and Cheese. Really, if you know me, you know that I could eat it for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. It makes me so happy. My mom made it constantly, and she got me addicted.
Pioneer Woman’s Creamy Mac
Printable Version
4 cups Dried Macaroni
1 whole Egg Beaten
4 Tbs. Butter
1/4 cup All-purpose Flour
2-1/2 cups Whole Milk
½ tsp. Dry Mustard, More If Desired
1 pound Cheese, Grated (I used 8 oz. colby jack, 6 oz. velveeta, and 2 oz. american)
1/2 teaspoon Salt, More To Taste
1/2 teaspoon Seasoned Salt, More To Taste
1/2 teaspoon Ground Black Pepper
Optional Spices: Cayenne Pepper, Paprika, Thyme
Cook macaroni until very firm. Macaroni should be too firm to eat right out of the pot. Drain.
In a small bowl, beat egg.
In a large pot, melt butter and sprinkle in flour. Whisk together over medium-low heat. Cook mixture for five minutes, whisking constantly. Don’t let it burn.
Pour in milk, add mustard, and whisk until smooth. Cook for five minutes until very thick. Reduce heat to low.
Take 1/4 cup of the sauce and slowly pour it into beaten egg, whisking constantly to avoid cooking eggs. Whisk together till smooth.
Pour egg mixture into sauce, whisking constantly. Stir until smooth.
Add in cheese and stir to melt.
Add salt and pepper. Taste sauce and add more salt and seasoned salt as needed! DO NOT UNDERSALT.
Pour in drained, cooked macaroni and stir to combine.
Recipe from The Pioneer Woman
Serves 4.
My heart lies with Mac and Cheese. Really, if you know me, you know that I could eat it for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. It makes me so happy. My mom made it constantly, and she got me addicted.Pioneer Woman’s Creamy Mac
Printable Version
4 cups Dried Macaroni
1 whole Egg Beaten
4 Tbs. Butter
1/4 cup All-purpose Flour
2-1/2 cups Whole Milk
½ tsp. Dry Mustard, More If Desired
1 pound Cheese, Grated (I used 8 oz. colby jack, 6 oz. velveeta, and 2 oz. american)
1/2 teaspoon Salt, More To Taste
1/2 teaspoon Seasoned Salt, More To Taste
1/2 teaspoon Ground Black Pepper
Optional Spices: Cayenne Pepper, Paprika, Thyme
Cook macaroni until very firm. Macaroni should be too firm to eat right out of the pot. Drain.
In a small bowl, beat egg.
In a large pot, melt butter and sprinkle in flour. Whisk together over medium-low heat. Cook mixture for five minutes, whisking constantly. Don’t let it burn.
Pour in milk, add mustard, and whisk until smooth. Cook for five minutes until very thick. Reduce heat to low.
Take 1/4 cup of the sauce and slowly pour it into beaten egg, whisking constantly to avoid cooking eggs. Whisk together till smooth.
Pour egg mixture into sauce, whisking constantly. Stir until smooth.
Add in cheese and stir to melt.
Add salt and pepper. Taste sauce and add more salt and seasoned salt as needed! DO NOT UNDERSALT.
Pour in drained, cooked macaroni and stir to combine.
Recipe from The Pioneer Woman
Serves 4.
Amanda's Sweet and Spicy Maple Chicken
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I love my sister for many reasons...and this is one of them. She made this recipe with salmon, which I think would be equally delicios, my husband is just not a fan of fish. This has a ton of flavor, a punch of spice, and a hint of sweet! Its a perfect mix of all your taste sensations. AND it's easy:)
Amanda’s Sweet and Spicy Maple Chicken
Printable Version
2 chicken breasts, trimmed
1 tsp. paprika
1 tsp. chili powder
¼ tsp. cumin
½ tsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 Tbs. maple syrup
Preheat oven to 350. Combine seasonings and rub chicken breasts on both sides. Place in a baking dish and bake for 15-20 minutes. The last 5 minutes, remove chicken from the oven and glaze with maple syrup. Serve.
Recipe from Amanda
Serves 2.
I love my sister for many reasons...and this is one of them. She made this recipe with salmon, which I think would be equally delicios, my husband is just not a fan of fish. This has a ton of flavor, a punch of spice, and a hint of sweet! Its a perfect mix of all your taste sensations. AND it's easy:)Amanda’s Sweet and Spicy Maple Chicken
Printable Version
2 chicken breasts, trimmed
1 tsp. paprika
1 tsp. chili powder
¼ tsp. cumin
½ tsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 Tbs. maple syrup
Preheat oven to 350. Combine seasonings and rub chicken breasts on both sides. Place in a baking dish and bake for 15-20 minutes. The last 5 minutes, remove chicken from the oven and glaze with maple syrup. Serve.
Recipe from Amanda
Serves 2.
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