Just Plain Tired

Tonight, my husband and I are hittin’ the town—Shelby style.

I’m not sure what that means, but it sounded nifty.

You know what else sounds nifty? Sleeping. Which is something I haven’t done since our oldest was born. And because monsters have decided to move into her closet, the chances of getting any are looking slim.



So, I’m too tired to tell you that last week I attended the Taste of Home cooking show at Shelby High School. 

Or that sitting in high school auditorium seats last upholstered in the 1970s is exceptionally uncomfortable after any length of time.

Or that when you’re in a yellow room, with yellow walls, and yellow seats, everything and everyone in your pictures look----well, yellow.

I’m too darn exhausted to tell you that the highlight of my evening was sitting next to Gaye and Rachel. They’re fabulous friends, wives, and mothers. And listening to them enjoy each other’s company and the anticipation of another great Taste of Home cooking show was utterly delightful.

As were their smiles. Happy birthday, Rachel!

I cannot see straight enough to type that this gentleman has this same expression in nearly every photo I took that evening. And it's kind of scary.

Or that these high school students ran 5 miles each around the auditorium collecting door prize entries and I felt old just watching them.

Or that this delightful photographer from The Star and I had a showdown with our cameras.

And this cheerful woman was caught in the cross-shuttering. (Sorry, bad photography joke.)

Sleep deprivation has rendered me so hopeless that I’m not even ashamed to admit that I considered knocking The Star photographer off stage and stealing her vantage point more than once. Because it was better than mine. And my hips are bigger than hers.

Or that my camera loved this girl. She’s got that wonderfully quiet, nonchalant, girl-next-door look that was mesmerizing.

But mostly, I just wanted to knock her off stage.

Because toothpicks are propping my eyelids open, I can’t tell you how jealous I was of Michelle Roberts’ red chef coat and her endless backstage assistants.

Or that the projected video of her work surface was less than quality and mostly a string of advertisements for major sponsors.

Or that this picture makes me giggle as if I were 9 again. I don’t know why. 

I can’t even tell you about the decadent desserts she prepared.

No, really.

I can’t.

I left halfway through. It’s a new mother thing. That and my favorite cookies really do work.

 

Laissez Le Bonne Lait Affluez

My best friend is a picky eater. She abhors one of my favorite local restaurants and adores one that I fondly despise. She’s the kind of person who passionately defends “the best” dessert in Shelby and spends 15 minutes critiquing the vices and virtues of various steakhouses in Charlotte. She has a personal vendetta against HFCs and complex theories about the texture of sushi.

I love her, but she’s a picky eater.

She also pronounces “salmon” funny. She’s cute that way.

Still, she’s a picky eater. Which is why I expected to duck and cover when I offered her an oatmeal raisin cookie made from one of my favorite recipes. Especially when she casually mentioned that she’s not a big fan of oatmeal raisin cookies—after accepting it.

Clearly, we can’t all be perfect.

But she comes close. Mostly because she enjoys this recipe as much as I do.

You’ll need butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, eggs, vanilla, flour, baking soda, salt, oats, raisins, and sliced almonds.

Cream together the butter and sugar. Add the eggs and vanilla, stirring after each addition until well blended.

 

In a separate bowl, mix together the flour, baking soda, and salt. Then slowly add these dry ingredients to the wet and stir until combined.

Stir in the oats, raisins and almonds—again, slowly. With these ingredients, your dough really starts to bulk up and will give your mixer a considerable workout. Lock it into position so that it doesn’t “bounce” excessively, or finish mixing the rest by hand.

Which is what I did.

It’s the most exercise my arms are going to get this holiday season and I’m too in love with cardigans to care otherwise.

It’s pathetic, but true.

With your dough completely mixed, spoon it onto an ungreased baking sheet. 

If you’re like my best friend, you’ll portion the dough out appropriately and get 36 cookies out of the batch. If you’re like me, “portion” is a dirty word and it's best not to count how many cookies you bake because numbers will only add to the guilt you feel when they’re gone in 24 hours.

It’s pathetic, but true.

Bake at 375° for 10-12 minutes. For a softer cookie, pull them out just as the edges are starting to turn golden brown. They’re best served warm, right out of the oven.

Delicious.

Even better, the oatmeal and almonds are lactogenic—they’ll increase a nursing mother’s milk supply if consumed regularly. As a new mother, this clearly gives me the right to horde the entire batch myself.

Right?

Whether you’re a new mom like me, or a fan of oatmeal raisin cookies—try these. You’ll thank me for it.

Recipe: My Favorite Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

Inspired by eHow’s “How to Make Lactation Cookies”

Prep Time: 10 minutes · Bake Time: 10-12 minutes · Servings: Up to 36

Ingredients

• 1 cup Butter
• 1 cup Granulated Sugar
• 1 cup Brown Sugar
• 2 large Eggs
• 1 Teaspoon Vanilla
• 2 cups Flour
• 1 Teaspoon Baking Soda
• 1 Teaspoon Salt
• 3 cups Oats
• 1 cup Raisins
• ½ cup Sliced Almonds

Preparation

Preheat your oven to 375°.

Cream together the butter and both sugars. Add the eggs and vanilla, mixing well after each addition.

In a large bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, and salt. Slowly add the flour mixture to the wet ingredients. Mix well. Slowly stir in the oats, raisins, and almonds.

Drop cookies onto an ungreased baking sheet and pop them in the oven for 10-12 minutes or until the edges begin to turn golden brown. Serve warm. Share only if compelled.

Grandma 'Saves the Egg'

When my husband and I were first married, I knew very little about cooking. A “great” dinner in our tiny apartment was a Skillet Sensation paired with Texas Toast. And we had a lot of “great” dinners. Eventually, my husband could stomach no more and I had to shop beyond the frozen food section.

Soon, my grandmother made it into my speed dial. Urgent calls from the middle of the grocery store became ritual. So much so that she started to answer my calls, “What aisle are we in today, Jen-Jen?” From thousands of miles away, she taught me basic cooking tips and techniques that are still treasures in my kitchen.

I recalled one such tip—testing ‘expired’ eggs for freshness—as I began pulling together ingredients for one of my favorite cool-weather recipes.

It’s no secret that many foods are still safe to eat past stamped expiration dates. But unlike most foods, eggs can’t be eyed for palatability.

So how can you tell if it’s time to toss them?

Fill a bowl with water enough to submerge the eggs you’re testing. Place each egg in the bowl. If an egg touches the bottom, it’s safe to eat. If it floats, it’s best to throw it away and use another.

Four of the eggs in my fridge were good to go and they did—promptly mixed into my favorite oatmeal raisin cookie recipe. I promise to share—the recipe, that is.

Family and Food

At any given moment, there are dirty dishes in my sink. Most of the time, there are a lot of them. And I’m ashamed to admit that once or twice, I’ve neglected a mountain of dirty dishes with the excuse that the dishwasher was full. Only to find it empty. Two days later.

There are also fingerprints all over my dishwasher. And my oven. And most of my cupboard doors.

But it’s home and nowhere near the disrepair of the living room. At least not yet.

With two under two, most people might question my sanity when I announce that it’s my intention to make this small project something bigger—a business that inspires people to make meals memorable by making them. Where I invite friends and strangers to join me in the kitchen to create something healthful and delicious. Even I was compelled to verify mental health benefits through my insurance carrier before moving forward.

But it's moments such as having my roux burn as I remind my toddler that her princess potty seat goes on the potty—not on her head, or carving a turkey with a colicky newborn strapped to my chest in our Baby Bjorn, that remind me that even if I don’t have everything figured out, I have a passion for melding family and food.

And that is a recipe that sets the stage for something wonderful.