Eggplant Parmesan: You're welcome, part 10.

Eggplant.

I looked it up to describe what it tastes like, and sadly I found an entire forum that likens it to 'barf.' This made me sad, because 1.) no one wants a barf-o-Rama and 2.) I'm on an eggplant kick these days. I enjoyed it for the first time at a delicious Italian joint in downtown Indianapolis, called Iaria's. Their eggplant Parmesan was so good, I don't think I would ever go back to chicken Parmesan.

To me, eggplant has a pretty similar taste and texture to zucchini. It takes on the flavor of whatever you're cooking with, but there is something about combining it with peppers and onions that makes it so flavorful.

So, here is my attempt at converting any anti-eggplanters out there. I ate this the day after I made it, and the flavor was really nice. I also used fresh basil from my freaking gigantic basil bush in our backyard. Ours looks like a tree. You could tie a hammock to it.

• 1 eggplant, peeled and sliced 1/2 inch thick
  
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 4 cups Italian seasoned bread crumbs
• 6 cups spaghetti sauce, divided
• 1 (16 ounce) package mozzarella cheese, shredded and divided
• 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, divided
• 1/2 teaspoon dried basil
• 1 cup chopped green, red or yellow peppers and onions, your choice
• slat and ground black pepper for seasoning
  

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
2. Dip eggplant slices in egg, then in bread crumbs.
   
3. Use 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a heated skilled and cook eggplant until golden brown.
4. In a 9x13 inch baking dish spread spaghetti sauce to cover the bottom. Place a layer of eggplant slices in the sauce. Sprinkle with mozzarella and Parmesan cheeses. Repeat with remaining ingredients, ending with the cheeses. Sprinkle basil on top.
5. Bake in preheated oven for 10 minutes, or until golden brown.

These Shoes Suck

In an ode to my favorite youtube link, I write to you about a serious matter.

Growing up with ham hocks for feet never really bothered me as a kid, because I didn't care what I looked like (see profile pic). Pink moccasins with red corduroy pants were fine – more than fine, in fact. It was portrait-day worthy. I also recall spending a large portion of my middle school days wearing this fine pair of white, leather keds. They didn't have them in my size, so I think I romped around the playground in a loose-fitting size 11. Let's be honest, I spent the majority of my younger days wearing athletic shoes and eating small children, so it was never hard finding clodhoppers that fit my giant Hobbit feet.

As an adult, my quest to find remotely attractive shoes in the 10+ size range remains completely dehumanizing and fruitless. Last week's trip to TJMaxx only solidified these feelings. I always set myself up for failure when I start my search in the size 6 aisle. Mary janes, black leather stilettos, summer wedges, formal dress heels, ballerina flats, retro sneakers – you name it, they have it in size 6. The color selections are endless, the designer names are plentiful and they're always restocking the shelves with new pairs.

As I slowly approach the 10+ row (yes, they actually add a plus sign to the end of it, like you just fell off the growth chart of human possibility), you can almost hear the sound of elephants stampeding to find their aisle. It's like an island of misfit toys section of leftover fabric and plastic soles that could be salvaged into a Frankenstein shoe and other clearance items that have no hope to ever find a home.

This is my section. Pics above are not staged.

The options are limitless. It's either Grandma's closet or Raymond Babbitt, your choice. I choose suicide.

Fuck you, plus-sized shoes aisle. That is all.

Almond Danish Swirls: You're welcome, part 9.

Went on a camping vacay in beautiful Brown County State Park last week. Whenever we plan an outdoor adventure like this, I usually have these grandiose ideas about creating an entire menu of treats to bring along on the trip. Inevitably, I end up with hot dogs and granola bars in a cooler filled with beer and a suitcase containing one pair of underwear.*

This was no exception. I promised John I'd make brownies and create Cliff Huxtable-like hoagies for the trip. This never happened.

But, the beauty of this excursion was that it was only an hour or so away. Which meant we were in no hurry to leave. As we sat on the couch going over our itinerary, my personal hero and southern butter goddess, P'owla Dean, came on screen. I love her. Only P'owla can take the healthiest of foods, butter it, batter it, deep fry it and add cheese. No one else does it like her, y'all.

I happened to catch her recipe for Almond Danish Swirls, and just watching her pop one of those creamy lard balls into her little mouth at the end of the show was enough to make me say, 'dun and dun.' I made them while John packed the car, and they were so easy.

These were so incredibly delicious. We ate the entire batch in 24 hours.

*I didn't actually pack just underwear, but I know someone who packed one pair of tighty whities for an entire family vacation. You know who you are. Own it.

6 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
1/2 cup slivered almonds, chopped fine
2 (8-ounce) cans refrigerated crescent dinner rolls
1 egg white
1 teaspoon water

Glaze
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
4 teaspoons milk
1/2 teaspoon almond extract

In a small bowl, beat the cream cheese, almond extract, and sugar until fluffy. Fold half of the chopped almonds into the cream cheese mixture. Separate 1 can of dough and assemble into 4 rectangles. Firmly press the perforations to seal. Press or roll each piece of dough to form a 7 by 4-inch rectangle, and spread each with about 2 tablespoons of the cream cheese filling to within 1/4-inch of the edges. Starting at the short end, roll each rectangle tightly into a cylinder. Repeat with the other can of dough and remaining filling. Place on a plate, cover with plastic wrap, and chill until firm, about 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees while the rolls are chilling.

Remove from the refrigerator and cut each roll into 4 slices. Place 1/2-inch apart on ungreased baking sheets. In a small bowl, combine the egg white with 1 teaspoon water. Brush over the swirls. Sprinkle with the remaining chopped almonds. Bake for 18 to 20 minutes, until light brown.

While the swirls are baking, combine the glaze ingredients in a small bowl. Cool the swirls for 3 minutes on wire racks placed over a sheet of waxed paper. Drizzle the icing over the warm swirls.

Precious!!!!!

For Pete's sake. Call the marriage off. We're dun.

If you know me, you know that I lose everything. When I graduated from high school, my friends bought me one of those janitor keychains that clip to your side and has a retractable cord. This way, I could have my keys attached to my body at all times and still continue to be undesirable to men throughout college. Whether I was sleeping, driving, brushing my teeth, you name it – keys were still findable . They were plastered to my hip. I think the keychain eventually broke, but I didn't lose my keys for at least a year. It didn't matter though – I was busy losing other things. My purse, my cell phone, clothes, jackets, shoes, my virginity.

Time has allowed me to overcome this disease. I no longer lose things.

I misplace them for less than a day.

John would call B.S. on this statement, except for one simple fact. He lost his wedding ring on Friday, therefore making his opinion null and void in the state of Indiana. He was golfing at an outing in Kentucky, and decided to put the sacred sacrament of our holy union in his pocket for safekeeping. By the end of the day, he realized that ... his precious was gone.

He called on his way home from the tourney, and delicately mentioned he hit a 30 yard putt and
his wedding ring was lost forever. Thankfully, he asked one of the greenskeepers to keep an eye out for a small, white gold ring on the 18-hole golf course. I'm sure they'll find it.

Although I spared him the guilt trip initially, it is now the greatest weapon in my satchel. Throughout the evening, I dropped, 'and you lost your wedding ring' at least a dozen times into conversation.

Happy seven month anniversary. That is all.

Keeping Diabetes Alive Since 1965

We crave sustenance!


Once it hits your lips ...





It's time to put a little chunk in your swagger.

If you live in the great city of Indianapolis, you're probably familiar with a little thing we like to call the Strawberry Festival. Once a year, thousands of people make the lunchtime pilgrimage to Monument Circle and celebrate diabetes and strawberries. I love diabetes, so I'm in. If you need more persuasion, I'm sure this rousing video of Dick Lugar is just what the doctor order to get your ass down to the Circle and lather your body in vats of stewed strawberry chunks.

I look forward to this event every year, mostly because it's fun to watch little kids eat strawberry shortcake the same way I do – like a filthy little hog. Two years ago, I waited in line for almost an hour to get my little mound of heaven, and when I finally had the chance to take a bite, I spilled the entire thing down the front of my shirt. Because that's what I do. I spill things.

To be honest, I really don't even eat the strawberries – I use my fork to push aside the only healthy thing in the damn dessert and suck down the ice cream, whipped topping and shortcake that's been saturated in strawberry juices.

Happy hogging!

Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space.

En route to Chicago.

The newest addition to the family, Shay, meets Eleanore.

It's always an unsuspecting moment. You're in the midst of some mundane task, thinking about how your stomach is growling or that you need to pick up milk from the grocery store. Nothing seems significant about your day. And there it is – an unexpected dose of reality. Sitting in my inbox.

Subject line: Aunt Eleanore

Tried calling your cell but it’s going straight to voicemail
since you’re working.

Aunt Eleanore peacefully died at 1 in the morning. Funeral is Monday.

Aunt Eleanore was a force to be reckoned with. Stoic. Brassy. Fiercely Irish. It's who she was ... is ... will always be in my mind.

As I sat in the plane bound for Chicago a couple days later, my thoughts drifted in and out. I started to think about how strange and yet oddly fascinating funerals are. Here you are in this room filled with a bunch people somehow connected to some facet of this person's life. Mothers, husbands, cousins, babies, friends, siblings, neighbors, coworkers ... They all come out to pay homage to this person's life.

Then suddenly, I felt this great sadness consume me. Eleanore was the last one standing in a line of great women in my family to grow up first generation American. She was the last living relative who watched my grandmother grow up. The last one to keep the memories of relatives come and gone, alive in our heritage. With her passing came the end of an entire generation of family history.

I will always be thankful for the stories my Aunt Eleanore shared with me about her life this past summer. Even though she had lost her eyesight long ago, I would watch as her beautiful blue eyes lit up to recall the stories of our family.

Here's to you, Eleanore.

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Tomato Basil Pasta Salad WITH classy cheese. You're welcome, part 8.

I whipped this up for some friends last week, and it reminded me of a special tip I wanted to share. I've learned that adding pine nuts and goat cheese to any recipe makes people think you are sophisticated. We all know this is not true about me; I have the sophistication of a chimp. I laugh when my dog lets out wet, squeaker farts on the floor. I drink milk from the carton. I have a propensity to run into things on my bike. I watch the Real Housewives of Orange County, New York and soon-to-be New Jersey (I draw the line at Atlanta, because like I said, I have class).

Classy lady. That's me. Well, not really. But pine nuts would make you believe otherwise, apparently.

I'll give you a couple scenarios:
You could have a grilled cheese sandwich OR bread with olive oil, melted goat cheese AND pine nuts. Positively reeks of mahogany and Equestrian riding.

A salad with veggies, lettuce, American cheese and croutons OR veggies, lettuce, the cheese of a GOAT and pine nuts. Care for a spin on the Yacht, anyone?

I cannot explain this phenomenon, but it will make your guests believe you are rich and cultured every time. Enjoy.


3 Roma tomatoes, diced

cubed or crumbled goat cheese or mozzarella

1/2 cup (or more) Sun-Dried Tomato Dressing

1/2 cup chopped fresh basil

1 pkg. (16 oz.) miniature bow-tie pasta

1/2 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted
Parmesan cheese for flavor

TOSS tomatoes with cream cheese, dressing and basil; cover. Refrigerate at least 2 hours.

COOK pasta as directed on package; drain. Place in large bowl.

ADD tomato mixture and pine nuts; toss lightly.