Cheesy Spinach Treats

Do you remember the kid magazine, Highlights? Or the lite version, High Five? You'd see them in doctors' offices usually unless you had a subscription. And if you do remember them, you'll recall that there's a parent/child kitchen activity in every one (be sure to collect them all). Every so often, Kiddo receives one in the mail courtesy of a relative's continuous and annually renewing generosity. We used to read them with her, but she's gotten so stellar at reading on her own over the past year that I'd forgotten about the kitchen activities. That is...until the other day.

Non-interesting story less boring, and what's more, to the point: Kiddo and I made the Cheesy Spinach Treats tonight from the Highlights magazine. Why not? Kiddo will occasionally eat baby spinach leaves and sometimes cheese and eggs. I was thinking positively about the endeavor. Because, you know, get kids to cook with you in the kitchen  and they'll want to eat what they make, right? Sure. I had her read the recipe and tell me what to do too! She liked that a lot.

So here's what you need if you want to make Cheesy Spinach Treats:

Vegetable oil spray

4 cups baby spinach

Olive oil

2 eggs

1 cup sour cream

Salt

Pepper 

Cheese

Here's how you do it:
Heat your oven to 350. None of that preheat shit. It's either heating or not heating, there is no other state of being for an oven. Tear 4 cups of baby spinach into small pieces.

or use a pizza cutter. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

 Heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a skillet and saute the spinach for about 4 minutes (until wilted). Remove from heat and cool.

Whisk 2 eggs until the yolks and whites are mixed. Add 2 cups of sour cream, 1/2 teaspoon of salt and 1/4 teaspoon of pepper. Stir well.

Add the cooked spinach and 1 cup of your favorite grated cheese.

Looks like Charleston's Spinach Dip, yum!

Fill 12 muffin cups with the mixture. Top with grated cheese.

Bake on the middle shelf of the oven for 25 minutes. Wait 5 minutes before removing the spinach treat from the muffin tray. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Little quiches!

And the verdict?

Shitty. Absolutely shitty. Where the fuck does Highlights get off calling these pieces of snot, "treats"? Kiddo took one look at them and was all "nope nope nope nope nope". Mommy was not as clever. The smell and taste of these fuckers transported Mommy back to her 2nd grade elementary cafeteria in the OKC School District and remembering not being allowed to go out and play with all the other kids since she didn't eat her cooked spinach slop. Mommy still has evil thoughts about that mustachioed woman.

I just don't know what went wrong! There was a lot of steam that escaped when I opened the oven door and quite a bit of liquid at the bottom of each muffin tincup when I took out the shit. So, no...don't make these... unless you can make it better than this. Or unless you like that shitty flavor. Then, you should and you should also gloat to me about it. I hate you preemptively and curse your mustache.

My love affair of meat and slow cooking continues. Bonus: I get a basket.

I used this fantastic chicken recipe from this amazing lady, Danielle, of Mostly Food and Crafts. It's called Slow-Cooker Rotisserie Chicken. It was fantastic. Did I say that already? Because it was.

Got a really good deal on whole chicken, £2.00 per kg at Tesco. This bird cost me about £3.16. Click on Danielle's name for the recipe and other goodies she does.  Or just be lazy and read on.

1 whole chicken or lots of chicken pieces.

1 onion, quartered

4 cloves of garlic

2 tsp salt, kosher, sea, whatever.

1 tsp paprika

1 tsp onion powder (in UK, use 1 tsp onion granules)

1/2 tsp thyme

1/2 tsp oregano*

1/2 basil*

   (if you've got Italian seasoning, use 1 tsp of that instead of the oregano and basil. Be sure to take it with you when you go through security checkpoints, too.)

1/2 tsp cayenne

1/2 tsp black pepper

I skinned the bird because Danielle said stuff about skin and slow cookers that made sense. But if you like soggy avian flesh covering, be my guest.

Combine all the spices together in a container of some kind and if you've got latex gloves, I recommend you put them on now because my hands became ever so slightly stained by the chicken rubbing.  The stain's gone now, but it did look like I went to an Indian bridal shower.

Rub these combined spices on that bird. Put the onions and garlic in the crockpot, and place the chicken breast side down on top. Or you can follow Danielle's suggestion to "tuck the onions and garlic under the chicken or inside."

I put one of the quartered onions in the chicken's butt but didn't notice if it helped.

Cook on high 5-6 hours, or low for 8. I did 8 hours and HOMAHGOSH! It was beautiful. The "jus" was just amazing. 

And so I let Danielle know that I followed her recipe. But I don't think she cares that much.

****************************************************

I've been wanting a very large basket for some time now. With three floors of living space, it's essential.

The other day, after dropping Kiddo off at school, I saw a sign for a Coffee Morning, Tombola, and Bric-a-brac Fundraiser at the little church hall that is located on the other side of the playground/graveyard next to Kiddo's school.  I went in, because what else was I going to do, clean house?

No. 

I did that today. Besides, they advertised cake on the handwritten sign. I'll go anywhere there might be cake.

Anyway, I went in and there was a bit of a crush at the three tables items were set up on. Two of those tables were just books. You couldn't get to the middle table for love nor money, there were so many women standing there. I did what any passive aggressive individual does and stood behind them, twisting and turning, bending sideways at the waist, raising myself up on my toes to look over their shoulders. Finally, I'd had enough and decided to go get a free cookie off of the tables set up for sitting down and having tea and cake.

And then I saw it. It was on the floor with some other ugly and little baskets and it said to me, "Hey, hotstuff. Thinking about me a long time?"

I coyly said, "Yeah."  The large wicker basket beckoned me to its side. As I edged around a church maven, that's when I saw how much LWB was. Only three pounds.  I doubletook the sign. Only three pounds! I breathed heavier and faster. The metallic taste in my mouth was the same taste from junior high days, a fight or flight mechanism that would rear its ugliness every time the cute boys looked at me.

"I'm sorry... I'll be back." I muttered. Taunted by the ugly and little baskets, the LWB forlornly watched me make my way to the palsied lady in charge of the raffle. As I scrummaged in my wallet for the twenty pence needed to buy a raffle ticket, I resolved to buy the LWB; hell, high water, or church ladies would not bar my way.

LWB, if it could've, would've given me a smile when it saw me come back to it. I picked it up off the floor, dumped the ugly and little baskets out and proudly handed over a fiver to the lady behind the table. I even retained enough presence of mind to stick around for my change.

I walked out with LWB, not even bothering to stick around to find out if I'd managed to win anything at the raffle. That was forty pence well spent. Yes, I bought two tickets. But doing so allowed me the time and space to collect my thoughts. As in garage sale-ing, one does not just offer everything for the first thing one sees. LWB understands. After all, good things definitely come to those who wait and tiptoe behind church ladies. 

I'm determined to show LWB, who happens to be from China, a good life.

Artsy.

You're beautiful!

I'll have a demi half-fat cappu and whatever she's having.

Perfecting the art of doing nothing

For the last three days, I've done nothing above and beyond washing the dishes and brushing my teeth. I don't think I've cooked dinner either. SciMan did that for me. Look at this beaut!

Poached eggs on toast.

So, for the last few days, SciMan's been under the weather and has stayed home. I've taken Kiddo to school and one morning, after dropping her off, I went to the lounge at the bottom of the hill for breakfast. SciMan had waxed ecstatic over their poached eggs on ciabatta. I decided to give it a go. It was okay. Came with a fried tomato and mushrooms. Ciabatta is good for sammies and paninis, but not really useful for an eggy breakfast. The mushrooms were good though. While eating, and because I didn't have a book with me, I looked up how to make a poached egg as I was, overall, happy to eat one. The website I found, ThePerfectPoachedEgg.com is meticulously clear about the method of making The Perfect Poached Egg. I laughed out loud in the lounge and disturbed several students.

Why I laughed:

The three starter items needed according to ThePerfectPoachedEgg.com are a good egg, a non-stick frying pan, and a reliable toaster*.

 The simple steps

The variables 

I got home and told SciMan what I experienced regarding the ciabatta and said, "Tiger loaf would be more appropriate." He agreed. After more conversation, it was determined that we could ourselves learn to make poached eggs. After all, when in Roma...

 SciMan used Alton Brown's method, but I sure did think that the poached egg website was a riot. And isn't that photo just lovely? It was taken with my new Samsung Galaxy S II.


Dual Core

Lots of Gigs.

Mega Pixels. Also lots.

 You can just feel the cracked pepper in your teeth because of my phone. The crunchy roughness of tiger loaf melting away in a puddle a buttery yolk is brought to you by the letter, Technology and the number, Mine Now. Thanks to contractual upgrades, I'm feeling all Enya-y because of the basil and tomato.

I leave you with a darling video of my darling Kiddo, circa 2009, titled  "In which Kiddo is gifted with her Momma's Grandma's jewelry".

*This is serious business. Unreliable kitchen appliances are shit. Wars have been fought, marriages ended, and jihads commenced over less. 

Mucking through the abyss- Part 2

If the number of movies I've had on in the background is any indication of how much I didn't want to write the next two entries delineating my experience, then so be it. I'm currently on Star Wars Episode V.

To read Part 1- Foray into the abyss, click the post with the same title to your left, or place your mouse on the designated word and click on it

The "Informal Chat" was over, Mr S took me on a tour of the school. It was a square doughnut layout, similar to my previous school site. And like my previous school site, this school looked old even though it was built sometime in the 2000s. Unlike my old school, this one has a rock climbing wall. I asked if there was a climbing club. There is not. There used to be but no one wants to sponsor it. The PE classes use it on occasion.

I was taken to the next classroom to meet Ms R, the teacher that is going on the pregnancy leave and for whom I'd be tolling the bells. I say goodbye to Mr S and look around for an appropriate place to put my two coats and largish purse. I settle for under the teacher's desk, next to the wall and behind some strategically placed bins.

Ms R asks me if I feel okay about the lesson since it is basically the same one from Mr S's class. I tell her sure. She then reiterates to me what Mr S nattered on about earlier, that this next class was "lower level". I said, "fine, no problem. Can I tweak the PowerPoint a bit?" So I did. She also told me I'd be taking attendance and showed me how to use the computer program attendance is counted on. Ms R also began to describe the personality dynamics of the class. She stressed to me about the set of four girls in the farthest corner of the room that were a bit of a bother and would need to be monitored and "if they act up, threaten them with separation." Immediately, I'm thinking, "What the hell kind of classroom management were you taught?" If you have an admittedly troublesome group, you don't let them stay together, you separate them before there's a problem, not during or after! The bell rang a bit later and I went to stand outside the door, like you do.

Class begins and I take attendance, trying to match names to the voices that come out of the faces. In this class there were only 14 students. And wouldn't you know it, the four girls had a couple in the group that didn't respond to the oral attendance. Now, this program is on the big projector and all of the students can see it. So, they knew what was what. Everyone else answered either "yes, Miss" or "here, Miss".

An aside note: this "yes, Miss" and "no, Miss" and "Miss? Miss?" got old pretty quickly.

I taught the lesson with no real problems other than the girls. Had a bit of an issue trying to get them redirected away from touching each other and refocused on the lesson's objectives which was to label the damn map of Madagascar with its "lower level" requirements. None of my magic touches worked, so I had to devolve and separate them. OH WHAT HISSY FITS WERE THROWN THAT DAY!

When time for the oral assessment, no one got any candy. Turds. I hate 14/15 year old girls.

That class ended and my coats, my purse and I were marched off to the next class where I "team-taught". Team teaching, I think, is a joke when done right, so this was hilarious. I get to the classroom and 40 faces look at me like I'm ... I don't know, ice cream? Anyway, after stashing my stuff, I helped out by passing out the worksheet I was going to teach them after the video. These kids were great. They asked me all kinds of things, like

1. Where're you from, miss?
2. How did you get here, miss?
3. Do you live here, miss?
4. Do you know any cowboys, miss?
5. Do you like beef jerky, miss?
6. Which do you like better, England or America, miss? I bet England.
1. Kid was really disappointed when I said the US.
7. Can you say "sector", miss?
8. How many guns do you own, miss?

So these kids, after reviewing a video on the Amazon, did a worksheet which I did with them. And that was it. Nothing too taxing, just climagraphs and a few questions. I love 6th graders. I think the feeling's mutual.

That class ended and so commenced lunch. I leave Coat, Coat, and Purse in the most important room in the building (teachers' lounge, but that bathroom really was okay) and go get something to eat.

OH THE CHOICES! Fresh made to order sandwiches, hot meal of Yorkshire Pudding as big as your head with vegetables and gravies and mash! Jacket potatoes (in US, baked potatoes) with variety of topping, multiple pizza sizes in cardboard boxes...we're talking delivery or DiGiorno, your pick. Pasta bar, wraps bar, pastry bar... and in the middle, pre-packaged sandwiches. Really, I needed to do an eenymeenyminymo to choose, there was so much sensory overload.

I'd be looking at the choices in each offering, and a line would form up behind me. Tell you what, the British do love to queue. Could be an Olympic sport later this summer. I couldn't decide and I was still having that agonized nervous butterfly feeling from all the anger that was not yet fully realized. So I took a packaged sandwich from the middle and paid for it. Only £1.00. Went back to the VIP room and proceeded to eat sandwich and read John Le Carre's Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Was unsuccessful because the sandwich was not legen,,,wait for it...dary. Not legendary! True story. I was eating it and thinking, "where's the flavor?" I looked at the label.

It was a tomato, lettuce, and cress sandwich. No meat. No cheese. No condiments...not even butter. They put butter on every sandwich in this country except for that one. That bread was as dry as the Atacama Desert. It is totally in my personality dynamic to have all these awesome food choices and pick the not very best one. The bell was about to ring so I threw it away and we all wandered off to the next classroom, Coats, Purse and me. To the class that I'm to cover for the teacher who was out sick that day. The class that no other teacher in the building was willing to cover.

Tune in next time for THE CLASSROOM OF ABYSMAL DOOM.


Oh, in case you were wondering... Leia, Han Solo and Chewie are trying to leave Hoth.

Northeast England's answer to Chicken Matzo Ball Soup

All right now. This is the shit. I shit you not. You need to eat this. Now. But not right now, because you can't. BUT YOU WILL!

So you know all about Chicken Noodle soup and the variations of such, right? Of course right. Well, imma learn you now about "BROTH".

Broth is the Northeast of England's beautiful challenge to the Yiddish cooking mavens' matzo soup. Now, I do love me some of that yummy muck that is angel farts rolled in a ball of crushed matzo swimming in yellowyoniony goodness. But I hadn't yet had BROTH!

So, here's your layout... and I have totally oversimplified the whole shmear. Because I did.

From top clockwise: Carrots, HAM SHANK BITCHES!, Dried Pulses/Soup Mix (mine is barley, peas and other crap that may be wholesome), Parsnips, and Leeks. 

My fellow amurricanz, you need to google leeks. Dey's booiful!

Cleanse the veggies, especially the leeks. Dirt is attracted to leeks. Asks it out and takes it for a coke date, I kid you not. 

For bestest results that were achieved, shred dem parsnips.

Finely slice those leeks. Inhale the heady light oniony scent. Spend your time here. You won't regret it.

Like de pah-snips, shred dem carrots. Shred a fuckton of them. 

Boil dat HAM SHANK! Boil til it fall off de bone! When it be done boiling, pull dat meat off de bone!

Now, the night before, soak your soup mix and follow the directions the next day when you begin to cook. Soaking is essential. DO NOT SKIP THIS STEP. You will have some hard and chewy soup if you do. 

After the HAM SHANK has been boiling for a while, or hell, after it's done boiling, saute those veggies in butter. A lot of butter. Go Paula Deen on this shit.

Add the soaked and cooked soup mix.

Add the bits of salty, juicy, cherubic HAM SHANK meat to the pot. Add some of that stock too, while you're at it. Eyeball it, no measuring in this version!

Salt it up or not. Pepper it up or not. You can not mess this up. Unless you don't soak the soup mix. Then you will mess it up.

Now, when I make this, I need a 5.5 quart pan/pot. You do what you gotta do to handle this Broth.

Get you some good and crusty rolls for soaking it up.

And no, there's no picture of the final product. Because mostly I eat my food when it's in front of me; too busy moving my hand to my mouth to bother with a camera. You got lucky for the process pics.

I've made this twice now and will make it again. Ohmystars yes!

And now for your viewing pleasure... A butterfly walking on the sidewalk

Visiting historic site with an architect.

My dad's an architect. I've got him and my sister here in town (today's their last day) and when in Durham, you got to go see the World Heritage site that is Durham Cathedral.

We took the "scenic route" up the river hill, really, for the reason that if done right, the first view of the Cathedral is jaw dropping. I had the two of them stop at the alley corner to shut their eyes and then I guided them around and from under the overhanging trees so that the first thing they saw of the Cathedral was the whole of the building in all its enormity.

My sister said,

"I wasn't necessarily breath-taken, but I was astounded...but that's because my words are very rarely taken from me...because I'm a talker. And then you told me The Venerable Bede was entombed there and of course I flipped a nut."

Dad's jaw did drop, which was the reaction I wanted from him. He studied Durham as an undergrad and for him to get to see it in person for the first time was, for me, very touching. We had poignancy; it was a real moment there for me. But then he started doing this...

He took pictures of the drains. 

Who does that? My dad, that's who.

So that was the first full day...walking around the Cathedral and walking around Durham City centre. There was lunch, too. Lots of real bonding for Kiddo and her Poppa.

No really...

She wanted to be chased. Honest.

And today, on the last full day with them here, we took them to what I've been told is the best fish & chips restaurant in the region...Trencher's in Whitby.

Seafood Surprise! There was caviar! That goop on the left was crab meat... um, yum? Yes.

Um, I'm not going to bother showing you the fish and chips because you can go to your local Long John Silver's and see what it is for yourself. Also, no pictures were taken of said fish & chips. And yes, it is the best fish & chips in the region. So go there when you're in town next.

Took a bus tour and really enjoyed the commentary! Saw all this crap!

Do you see my awesome photobomb? Totally not inadvertent; I meant to do that. Just like my dad meant to derp.

And...EVERYONE got to touch the North Sea...or Bay of Whitby.

I think touching every ocean is on my dad's bucket list.

Whitby. And this is a cool picture too, because you can see the evident Human-Environment Interaction.

Whitby Abbey. The one and the same that inspired Dracula.

And because I can't ever resist teasing my dad...here he is coming out of the bus station's pay toilet after using it. Just want you to be sure that you know that.

My sister says I am turning into "British-ese if you please."  What butchering of Lady and the Tramp! She says I'm speaking like they do here. Like, "quite nice" and "brilliant" and "hiya" and that's it. And so, then...am I really 'going native' if it is just those three? 

Well, when in Rome. And Rome was burning this last week.

Something to be excited about

A friend and I are taking the train one month from now to go watch a wedding procession in London.

 We're going to go see these two ride up and walk into Westminster Abbey. Maybe even watch them come out too. Aren't they cute? Too bad about that hat.  I've got a poll up so make the decision for me what we do that day.

I was thinking I'd go full-out, tailgating style somewhere along the procession route. Folding lawn chairs. A cooler filled with hotdogs and beer for me, peanut butter and honey and Merlot for my friend. A portable radio, blaring pre-game analysis from Joan Rivers. She'd definitely bring something unique and special to this happy occasion. Doubt she's invited though. I'm not either, so it's okay Joan.

The Five Second Rule is a Lie.

The Malteser fell to the floor. She picked it up and proceeded to rub it between her hands.

Me: NO NO NO!  You either pick it up and throw it away or you put it in your mouth. We do not rub chocolate all over ourselves.

Yeah kiddo, if you want to rub chocolate all over yourself, be my guest. Don't let me get in your way. Oh? You were wiping it off? That's a whole 'nother story

If I'd've gotten there first, I'd have just blown on it before popping it my mouth. More hygienic, I think.

And may I please say that My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic AbFab? Case in point:

The target demographic for this show is not in fact 7-10 year old little girls. It is in fact, 18-26 year old males. In my house, we heart this show superhard. So does a redditor in his "My Little Pony Broventure". It was inspired by this particular rage comic. [Of course, reddit is how I find most cool stuff nowadays. By the by, I've been seeing a lot of rage comic characters as blog avatars. Sweet]

Honestly, I have felt that way many times. If you didn't click on either of the hyperlinks above, then you don't know what I'm talking about. Once you have, and you've read it...and frankly, you have to live in a country with participating McDonald's or other toy-hawking restaurants...But McD's is definitely at the top of the cheapo toy market... Have I gotten off track? Yeah. Once you've read it, you'll recognize that little stick figure in you.

Evey: "He was Edmond Dantès, and he was my father, and my mother, my brother, my friend. He was you, and me. He was all of us."

So, that's a little heavy for a stick figure, but maybe you'll see the everymannishness of it. And later, after munchkin had gone off to bed, I was taking some laundry upstairs. Wedged in the limbo between a folded sleeve and the floor rug, was a Malteser.

Blew on it. Popped it right in. 

National Toothache Day

And it's a-happy to see you!  Went out to the MetroCentre in Gateshead (finally!) and got to spend time walking around in an honest-to-goodness mall. Was told by the employee at Lush that it's the biggest of its like in the EU. Whoosh.

Ate a Bramley Apple Pie with custard. It was warm and tasty. My first time with hot custard.

It didn't look like this in the advertisement. Le sigh.

And this... THIS IS LUSH!!!  I heart Lush. 

It's like a Whole Foods store or International Deli. XD

My hands still smell good!  

This week I received two awards...those posts are coming... I'm thinking about what to say. I've got DMB's What Would You Say in my head.

Oh. I apparently haven't lost my American accent. The bus driver for our road trip to Consett asked me where I was from. Also, I volunteered at the Shop on Monday. A customer told me I sounded like Dolly Parton. 

I wish it had been that I looked like Dolly Parton. She's so sweet, she gives people a toothache.

I love you so hard, by the way. Thanks for all that you said about that love letter from Monday. I wrote it, laughing pretty much with each line and for you to also laugh...well, that's the stuff of angels' eyeboogies. Thanks. 

Love letter to Tesco's Christmas Scottish All-Butter Shortbread Selection.

FTLOB's idea

Dear Buttery Shortbread Biscuit,

I love you. You helped me recognize my inner Englishwoman. It is because of your buttery, shortbready, tasty sugar-dusted goodness that I realized how much I enjoy a cuppa.

I look for you when you're gone. I've made a safe place for you in my heart and my kitchen cabinets. One of you is sufficient, but two of you are the stuff of angel farts. Three is right out.

I'm a bigger woman because of you. You complete me. My hunger is abated. You do that for me. All you ever ask of me is to keep you away from the trash. I can do that for you.

If you were chocolate, I'd still love you. If you were profiteroles, I'd still love you. If you were black licorice, we would never have met. I hate black licorice.

You were on sale when we first met, but you didn't hold my not paying your full asking price against me.

You keep your container fresh and sweet smelling. I confess, it's heady. And even though I may get jealous when others are eating you and I'm not, I still appreciate your contribution to the general welfare of my household and to my inner thighs and hip fat.

I'd've loved to take you on a trip around the world. I wanted you to meet my parents. They'd have loved you just as much as I do. But since I didn't want to pay for the additional cost in weight for shipping, I kept you, selfishly, close to home, close to heart, close to my mouth. Maybe next year.

With all my love and over-activated saliva glands,

M

Sensible Lady rears her head again.

Finally got to see 'The King's Speech' today...was sold out last week. Pffft.

 I wish I had a Lionel Logue in my pocket a few years back for my kid brother. I won't review the movie because I did way too much of that in college and it is most likely that most of you have already seen it. I will say that I loved that they used a German composer's music in the climax...you know, where Bertie addresses the BRITISH EMPIRE (all of it) about how might is not right, specifically in regards to DAS DEUTCHELANDERS or Germans as I'm sure they prefer to be called.


Yes, Symphony #7 is totally evocative of George VI's closing his eyes and thinking of England moment. At least for me. Because, you know, England declared war on Germany just prior.  Or does Beethoven transcend Nationalism?

Also, I dunno if I was the only American in the audience. But given that there were times when I was the only one laughing, specifically, at the part where Bertie calls his family a "firm", well, maybe I was. But I've got a penchant for laughing in movies even when no one else does. Call it hereditary. I was, with Ruth, one of the handful of "young people" in the audience. Everyone else was at least sixty or older. And the place was jam-packed. Wednesdays at 3pm...Goldie Oldies.

Last night was My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding night again. This time, Ruth and I were Sensible Ladies. I took chocolate chip cookies with assorted nuts, she had a plate of cut veggies and carmelized onion tartlets ready to go. I drank tea with milk (blechegads) because I'm nice and that's how I roll. Roll over.

A Sensible Solution to last week's Overthetopness

Really, tea with milk isn't bad... I didn't add the sugar. Idiota! I <3 carmelized onion tarts now.  And my baking is ohsoawesome! Thanks to Nestle Toulouse. Please tell me that you remember that episode of Friends.  I think last week, some of you got to experience some lovely pictures of me after I got home from last Tuesday's MBFGW watcheroo. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. But (over)indulgence was the word last week, not so this week. This week, we're Sensible Ladies again as evidenced by Exhibit A above.

Making da cookies. Gratuitous picture of progeny.

So, Gypsies and Travellers? Yeah. They still come across as crazy. Each week's a gift! I despise their anachronistic posturing but adore their persistence against adverse conditions. Last night's episode was a bit all over the place, so I'll just talk about the boys that were followed by the documentary crew. They were asked if they respected women.

Boys: "Oh yeah, sure. Yeah."

Interviewer: "As much as you might respect a man?"

Boys: "No. No way. That's a different respect, you know, like?"

The boys admitted to roughing up girls to get a kiss. When asked if they thought the girls might like that, they said they reckoned not. As we watched them preen and get ready for Appleby where they went to "hunt for women", Ruth and I both thought they looked like 1950s thugs. {snapping} Boy, boy, crazy boy. Keep cool, boy.

Ruth's mom came along with us to see the movie and on the way, I shared this letter that was dropped off through the mail slot in the door. I wanted to see if Ruth's mom thought what I thought. She had a photography business once upon a time and photographed a few of these Traveller weddings...so, really, she's my reachable expert.

Click to enlarge. Note the rampant grammatical errors. I mean, I'm not the greatest self editor when I'm streaming conscious but, it made me nostalgic for Nigerian scammers.

And she did think what I think. It's from a Traveller! I'm hunkering down at the window tomorrow to watch for them! 

source

Un jour grand dehors à la bibliothèque et d'autres endroits

Yeah. I read this book. Today. All of it.

And obviously, the book was good. I got to sit by a huge window, drink some coffee, and eat the tastyhardawesomeness of Bourbon Chocolate Sandwich cookies. All for £1.10. So I hung out at the local library then moved to The Coffee House, Gregg's, and back to The Coffee House. Picked up the kid and the man, went out for curry. I like chicken tikka shashlick. 

Why am I not surprised that 'shashlick' gets the red squiggly lines. It's the damn spelling from the menu!

Bus trip home. Now in a comfy t-shirt and the gray yoga pants the man stole from Autumn. THAT'S A FUN STORY! Save it for another time. [trollface]

Here's where I admit that getting out today was the first time I got out of the house (other than to the local Tesco) since last Friday. I am on a seriously extended three-day weekend, lull, vacay, holiday...whatever. When Natalie wasn't at St O's, I had more shape to the days because I made sure to get and and and and... well, provide her with opportunities and activities other than staring at a TV screen. And then we started to get on each other's nerves. Well, more me on hers than her on mine. 

Here's a fun trollmom thing that I did to her...you recall a previous post where I vowed to call my farts 'the barking spider'? Well, at dinner two nights ago, kiddo lets it rip...and asks us if we heard that spider barking. The man is not amused and I'm like 

Yup. Paving the road to her therapist's office with troll intentions. Hopefully his or her office is across the street from a library.