{ eat: coca-cola marinated london broil }

This is a yummy one.

For Nana and Papa Bear's first night in town, we decided to grill a beautiful, Whole Foods london broil.

I was looking for a simple marinade, and it struck me that I could use good, ol' Coca-Cola for the job. With a few little "improvements," of course.

First, I made the marinade.

I combined about a cup of olive oil, a cup of balsamic vinegar and 5-6 cloves of garlic, all chopped up, in a plastic container.

Then I added about half of a big bottle of Coke, some kosher salt and fresh ground black pepper, and gently stirred it together.

I put the london broil into the marinade, sealed it up, and left it in the fridge for about 4 hours to soak up all that yummy goodness.

About 90 minutes before dinner, I started to put together PW's Crash Hot Potatoes. Definitely the perfect complement to our Coca Cola london broil.


I boiled a bunch of red potatoes in salted water until they were about at the consistency you would need to mash them.

I lined a baking sheet with foil, drizzled it with olive oil, and set the potatoes on it. Then I used a potato masher to smash them on down.

I brushed the potatoes with extra virgin olive oil, 

and then sprinkled with ground black pepper, kosher salt and finely chopped fresh rosemary.

The potatoes went in a 450 degree oven on the top rack for about 30 minutes, until nice and crispy. Yum.

While at Whole Foods, I had also purchased a quartet of Spinach Cakes. They look like the spinach patties that my family makes, only larger. I thought they would be a yummy veggie for the meal.

And that meat? MacGyver put that bad boy on the grill. We were going for well done and medium (I prefer my red meat charred), so it's probably a little darker than most carnivores prefer. You do it your way. 

And last, but certainly not least... Coconut Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting, topped with toasted coconut for dessert (a belated birthday surprise for Papa Bear).

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{ turtle vs. ice cream sandwich }

I admit it. 

I'm one of "those moms" who whips out the camera for pretty much every first. I lug my DSLR everywhere, and when I forget it, I rely on my iPhone camera.

Even if it's something as silly as the First Ice Cream Sandwich.

It was an unexpected moment, the finale to Turtle's kids meal at The Ale House.

The first bite. He didn't want to hold it, so MacGyver handed him pieces.

 

Still not entirely sure about this whole ice cream sandwich thing...

Wait... There might be something to this...

 

Hey, yeah. That's the stuff. 

 

What do you mean it's all gone??? This displeases me. Greatly.

 

I think he enjoyed it.

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{ red }

Who's up for a little story?

Alright, gather round.

So the story goes that back when I was wee (let's say four), I had a thing for the color red.

Apparently, it was *my* color.

But how can a wee, four-year-old have a color, you ask?

Well. From what I am told, I had red everything. Red clothes, red utensils, red, red, red. I was so ahead of my time.


I am also told that I was extremely possessive about red. 


Now, I don't remember much about being four. I think what sticks out the most is that I was addicted to old Tarzan movies and had strong opinions that Johnny Weismuller was far superior to Buster Crabbe in the role of King of the Apes. That's about it.


So I have no recollection of what I am about to tell you.


My aunt had a friend named Polly Patterson. (For some strange reason, I am under the impression that Polly Patterson had Siamese cats, one of whom was named Buzzy. But that could have been the name of my Siamese cat nightlight with the green eyes, so who knows?)


I'm sure Polly Patterson was (and is) a very nice person.


But I guess she showed up at the house one day in a red dress.


And that was a no-no.


The way the story goes, I turned a color that no human child should ever turn. Raging, like a bull presented with a matador's cape, I screamed "RED! IS! MY! COLOR!!!!!1111!!!!"

And according to lore, Polly Patterson fled the house, terrified for her life, never to be seen or heard from again.


I blame my family. They should have warned her.


The reason I bring this up?


Turtle seems to have my thing for red.


He'll ask for a marker or Play-Doh or paint, and I'll ask what color. The answer is "red."


If he's tired and I ask him what color something is, or if he doesn't know or isn't sure? "Red."


Clearly it's genetic.


And then, when he was playing with his red Play-Doh this morning, I saw him go from this (perfectly nice) face:

to this (rawr) face: 

And I knew. We need to be vigilant at this house. Another Polly Patterson moment is definitely something we are going to try to avoid.


Oh, and Polly Patterson? If you're out there? I'm super sorry about all that. No hard feelings, right? If you're in this neck of the woods, maybe we can get a drink. Just don't order the red wine. That's mine. 

UPDATE!!!!

In the interest of accuracy, I wanted to post the comment my aunt left on the three pugs & a baby Facebook fan page. 

Pretty accurate recollection JR - The red dress was actually a terry cloth shorts and tank top set - Buzzy was PP's cat and she actually gave you the night light which naturally you named Buzzy (imagine that) - And the quote that drove her fleeing from the premises was "I'm RED!!!" which you repeated continuously 'til you could be calmed down well after she had sped away in her Honda Accord - Also regarding Tarzan, I'll just mention one thing . . . Lex Barker!

 So there you have it. I was pretty close. 

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{ eat : onion-crusted chicken }

Some nights, I'm not really feeling particularly inspired. I don't want to spend time coming up with something super creative, but I do want something yummy.

I stumbled upon this recipe while flipping through a magazine at my mom's house. It looked easy and interesting and I put it on the back burner til the time I needed to whip out something simple.

Preheat your oven to 400 and line a baking dish with foil.


You're going to need a can of French's fried onions. I realize that I tend to avoid processed things like this, but I don't make a green bean casserole at Thanksgiving, so this is my time for the French's. 

Pour about half a can of onions into a large ziploc bag. Seal the bag and crush the onions with your hands or a rolling pin.

Beat an egg in a bowl and set aside.

I had really huge chicken breasts, so I cut them into tenderloin-size pieces. I'm sure there's a right way and a wrong way to do this, and I'm also sure I did it the wrong way. There will not be a test on this later. 

Dip each piece of chicken into the egg and then toss it into the plastic bag of onions. 

Seal the bag and do the ol "shake & bake" method. Use your fingers to press onion on to all the chicken surfaces.

Place each strip into the baking dish. You can sprinkle extra onions on top for extra yumminess. See how that works?

Bake anywhere from 20-40 minutes (depending on the thickness of your chicken). 


This will be so juicy and so flavorful. It's really the perfect answer for a night when you would really rather be ordering takeout. :)


I had some leftover limas (yes, we really like lima beans in this house) and I like yellow rice with chicken, with a little sprinkle of fresh cheddar and green onions. 

 

This is great for easy baked chicken tenders with dipping sauce, for salads, for really anything where you want a juicy, crispy chicken.

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{ activist-in-training }

I have a rule.

Ok. I have a lot of rules.


But this rule is one of the biggest. And if asked, MacGyver will be able to tell you what it is.

Don't get arrested. If you do ever arrested, you get one phone call. Don't waste it by calling me.

I don't say this to be mean. Mostly.

I say it because it's just good sense. While *technically* you would think your spouse should be your call, the reality is this. This spouse is not equipped to deal with it. This spouse does not know how to go about getting an attorney and/or arranging bail. This spouse could probably bake a hacksaw into a cake, but probably lacks the cajones to actually get to the jail to deliver it.

See where I'm going with this?


It's all about finding the right person for the right job. And, in this case, I am not it. If you need a spider smashed, I'm your girl. If you need to be sprung from jail, go elsewhere.


The reason I bring this up is because we may have a problem. 


Turtle's got a bit of an animal activism streak.


We noticed it first with our pug, Bentley. Bentley is a crate dog. When we rescued him, he was very accustomed to his kennel, and so we left well enough alone. Turtle, however, is not a fan of his "Benton" being stuck in a crate. On mornings where we did not immediately release said pug from his hidey-hole, we would suddenly notice him sitting at the back door to go out, his crate door swinging by its hinges, Turtle standing nearby, the picture of innocence. The theme song to "Born Free" inexplicably plays in the background. Weird.


The next situation presented itself at a local farmer's market.The Humane Society had set up a kennel of fluffy kittens for adoption. Turtle was fascinated. He loves cats. We watched him edge closer and closer to the cage. He glanced over his shoulder, to see who was observing him in action. 


And then he reached for the latch.


Fortunately, while big for his age, Turtle is still of a size where a Mommy or Daddy can swoop in and foil his attempts of liberation. Crisis averted.

Things have been quiet on that front for a while. Until yesterday. When we went to the zoo.

I noticed Turtle had on his "calculating face" as we passed the warthogs and rhinos. But when we reached the giraffe enclosure, he was totally ready to act.

As I went to purchase a ticket to feed the giraffes, I saw Turtle was sizing up the gate to the enclosure. He was making eye contact with Geoffrey (names have been changed to protect the participants in this plot). 

Geoffrey was totally hopeful that there was going to be a jail break.

And Turtle set to work.

He finally realized that he was a bit out of his league. You know, considering he's only 3 feet tall and trips a lot. But that didn't stop him from shooting me this beseeching gaze.

He was all "Please, Mommy. Let's get them out of here."


And I was all "Crap. My son's going to get himself arrested on some PETA lab raid."* Which was followed by "Crap. I don't think we have enough room in the yard for a giraffe." You see where he gets it from.

MacGyver better be the one to handle that phone call. I'll be baking a hacksaw cake.

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{ lemons out of lemonade }

In my spare time, I bake.


A client asked me to create another candy box cake for her husband's birthday, and I was happy to comply. She wanted chocolate toffee, his favorite flavor. I thought it would be no big thing to add some toffee chips to my delicious chocolate cake recipe, and I made an extra big batch: enough for a 10" heart, 24 mini cupcakes and and 8" round (for practicing techniques).

Easy, right?

There were tears in force when I went to pop the heart out of its pan and realized that the toffee had melted to the metal and it was stuck. When it finally did release, it was in pieces. 


Not. Good.


But, no use crying over broken cake. I handed the fragments off to MacGyver and went in for Round 2, determined not to make the same mistake twice.


And I got a beautiful heart, for this beautiful cake.

But I still had an 8" round, stubbornly stuck to a pan.


I was all for dumping it. After all, what good would an ugly, broken cake do me for practice?

But MacGyver is far less impatient than me. He adopted this poor cake as his own. He coaxed it out of the pan with gentle taps, and possibly some form of crowbar (I was on the phone and didn't see). 


And then he melted my leftover chocolate icing and poured it over the cake as a sort of glaze, and created this fantastic bit o' chocolatey goodness for dessert.

Be jealous of his creativity and follow through. It's not the prettiest, but it's darn good. 

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{ the fruit strike endeth }

Turtle is an excellent eater. Excellent.


He loves spinach. Lima beans, peas, broccoli. The kid asks for and devours lettuce.


But fruit... Fruit has been a different story. 


He does like watermelon. He went through a banana phase. He will eat blueberries if the mood strikes. And avocados are usually good. He will suck on lemons at restaurants all day long. But that's about it.


The reaction is always the same. He touches a piece of fruit to his tongue, wrinkles his nose, says no, and puts it back on his plate. And asks for applesauce.


Color me stymied.


It didn't stop me from trying. I would present him with sliced berries, wedges of pineapple, sections of ruby red grapefruit, brightly colored pieces of juicy goodness. 


But it all ended the same.


Until yesterday.


While at Publix, I bought a container of pre-sliced green apples and red grapes. I figured I could give it a shot, and if the response was negative, I could eat the fruit, myself. Easy enough.


I cut everything into small pieces, set it in front of him, and waited for the lift-touch-no-replace. 


Imagine my shock and glee when he started double-fisting the grapes and saying "More!"


Of course, lightning couldn't strike twice. Or could it?


I served him up some more of both with lunch today. Check out that grape face.

And also check out the enthusiasm!

Victory is mine!

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{ eat: easy peasy shrimp scampi }

This could not be easier. Nor could it be more delicious.

First, bring a pot of water to a boil to cook your pasta. Any kind will do. We're using mini bowties tonight.

Saute some minced garlic in hot olive oil. I used about 3 cloves.

When the garlic is nice and cooked, add a little pepper and kosher salt to taste and then pour in about half a container of chicken broth.

 

As the chicken broth and garlic begin to heat, add about a tablespoon of butter to melt into the mixture.

 

I sprinkle in about 1/2 cup of grated parmesan cheese. 

(There is a reason that I very rarely show you fresh grated parm in my recipes. Clearly, it makes everything taste better. However, it does not last but 5 minutes in this house. I swear. I will devour it. You know how you go to those good Italian restaurants, and the guy comes around with the brick of parm and the grater? Yeah I have no shame about telling him to just leave the brick and the implement and walk away. It's a problem.)

Me: And now...

You: OH DEAR GOD, SHE'S GOT THE WINE AGAIN!!!

Me: Wine. Mmmm. 

 

The wine gives it a very nice, light, finished taste. You can leave it out but I can't vouch for flavor if you do.

Also, at about this point, your water should be boiling and you can cook your pasta. Al dente, please.

Now, get your shrimp.

 
 

I went ahead and got the precooked kind from the seafood department. I pulled the tails off before I tossed them into the cooking broth.

 
 

Also, toss in some more pepper to taste, and some basil. You can do some more grated parmesan, too. Whatever. It's your scampi.

Now. If you happen to not like shrimp, for whatever reason, you can do the same exact thing with chicken. Just saute/grill/broil/bake it before you toss it in the sauce and voila: easy peasy chicken scampi.

Bring the sauce to a simmer and drain your pasta. You can toss the pasta and sauce together or you can plate the pasta and spoon the sauce and shrimp over it.

Kind of like this.

 

I added some chopped scallions to the top for color and some ciabatta on the side.

The money shot.

 

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{ the hunt begins }

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

The Shamrock Shake is available again!

For a limited time.

At a participating McDonalds near you. 

Maybe.

If they haven't run out.

Or the shake machine hasn't broken.

Or they've decided they're not participating after all. 

Shamrock Shakes reappeared in the marketplace early this month. And according to the Official Shamrock Shake Website, aptly named ShamrockShake.com, there are 23 days, 3 hours and 36 minutes (as of the typing of this sentence) to go, before they disappear again.



Which makes me a little panicky that I'm not going to get one.


In case you haven't yet sampled this delightful treat (for shame), Shamrock Shakes are a delightful concoction of vanilla milkshake, flavored lightly with mint and tinted the palest shade of green. Yum. Double yum, really. They swoop into stores leading up to St. Patrick's Day, and just as quickly, swoop back out, leaving fans to wait til next time.

But the trick is finding one. Despite the hype, the Shamrock Shake is both elusive and mysterious.


MacGyver, of course, thinks I'm full of it. Obviously, if the Shake is advertised, it should be available.

You see where this is going, don't you?

On Friday, before he left town, he was supposed to provide me with one Shamrock Shake, I insisted he use the Shake locator to ensure that he would be able to get one. He called a store near us and was told that yes, they had them.


And then, well, he left town. And I had no Shake.


Tonight, on our way home from dinner, he made the executive decision to wing it and swing by McDonalds to get me one. I was skeptical. We hadn't called ahead. We didn't know.


MacGyver, pulled into the drive thru. I saw the Shamrock Shake graphic on the menu board. I was hopeful.


Disembodied Drive-Thru Voice: I'll take your order when you're ready.
MacGyver: Can I get one small Shamrock Shake, please?
Disembodied Drive-Thru Voice: One small Shamrock Shake. Will that be all?
MacGyver: Yes.
Disembodied Drive-Thru Voice: Ok. One small Shamrock Shake. That will be... Oh. We don't have any Shamrock Shakes. Would you like anything else?
Me: You bastards!


Ok. I really didn't say that. Turtle was in the car. I have control.


But, really McDonalds? Really? What kind of farce was *that*?!!


So close, and yet so far.


And yes, I know that if you blend 2 cups of vanilla ice cream, 1 1/4 cups 2% milk, 1/4 tsp mint extract and 8 drops of green food coloring, you can make a passable Shamrock Shake in the comfort of your very own home. But I don't want to make mine. I want it made in a shake machine, at my local McDonalds, served in a paper cup with an extra wide, striped McDonalds straw.


Is it really asking too much?


Happy hunting!

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