July 23, 2009

  • ADVENTURES IN SLOW COOKER-ING

    There were two experiments going on in my slow cooker yesterday.

    One, I was taking the Reynolds Slow Cooker Liners for a spin. The last time I used to cooker (to make spaghetti sauce) the crock sat for nearly a week before my live-in dishwasher got around to washing it. And I stumbled upon the liners on my visit to Arky-mart looking for steamer bags (of which they had none). I thought the liners were a genius idea and only set me back about 3 bucks for 4 liners, so why not?!

    Two, I was looking for a “basic” method of cooking up pork tenderloin. It’s such a lean cut of meat that I was paranoid to cook it alone, but I didn’t want it to be all saucy. Most of the recipes I stumbled upon cooked the meat in barbeque sauce or dried onion soup & a can of cream of mushroom soup. I like my pork both of these ways, but I was seeking something more versatile, so that we’re not eating the same thing in the way of leftovers.

    One suggestion I got was a recipe to cooker it in ZIN. Yum! But it’s torture enough to be a wino working in the wine industry whilst pregnant, let alone open a whole bottle of wine in my own wino home whilst pregnant.  I’m not opposed to a glass here or a glass there, but I save those opportunities for the weekends. And having an open bottle just sitting there…might push me over the edge right now!

    So I made a little compromise and popped open a bottle of Winterfest Dark Double Bock Lager from the depths of the fridge and dumped it over my loins.  Here are the details:

    Two pork tenderloin roasts (not sure the total weight)
    McCormick® Grill Mates® Montreal Chicken® Seasoning
    Freshly ground pepper
    2 tsp Best Foods® Dijonnaise™ mustard
    1 bottle (12 oz.) JosephsBrau Brewing Co. Winterfest Dark Double Bock Lager

    Season the meat with grill seasoning and pepper. Slather on the mustard. Pour in the beer. I was short on time, so I cooked on High for 3 hours; many recipes suggested Low for 6 hours. Pick your poison.

    Next Time I Would:

    Season the meat more and perhaps let the seasoning sit for 15-30 minutes.
    Use a stronger mustard. My fave being Colman’s.
    And more of it. I only slathered the tops, I’d totally go 360 next time.
    With my machine–All Clad–I think it could have cooked a little less. I’d reduce by 30 minutes.

     

    As for the former experiment, the jury’s still out on the liners.  My impressions thus far are as follows:

    Even though it says it fits round and oval crocks, it didn’t so much fit my oval crock well & I had to improvise a little. But I worked it, no big whoop.
    It didn’t keep things completely clean, but it’s MUCH cleaner than it would have been without.
    I’m definitely curious to see how it’ll withstand a pot of spaghetti sauce or chili.

    There you have it. Happy crocking!

June 8, 2009

  • I’m venturing to become the embodiment of the foregoing concepts:

    Insantiy: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” ~Albert Einstein

    OK, so I’m not trying to embody insanity, I’m endeavoring the opposity. Sanity, of course!

    Forget about likes and dislikes. They are of no consequence. Just do what mast be done. This may not be happiness, but it is greatness.” ~George Bernard Shaw

May 24, 2009

  • A Short Day After

    We had our regular monthly doctor’s appointment Thursday. Everything checked out well: weight gain-okay, blood pressure-good, baby’s heartbeat-strong. Then the ever important question: “Have you felt anything yet?”

    Wah-waaaaah. I sheepishly answer: “No, not yet.”

    The doctor assured us that at our “big” ultrasound next week, I should be able to make the association between what I’m feeling by seeing the baby’s movement on the screen. Sweet!

    But lo and behold, the very next day I began to feel things…things that weren’t shortly followed by gaseous releases. Things that I’m confident to say are definitely feelings of Baby Z flitting his/her way around in thar!!!

    HOORAY!!!

    Next stop: Genderville! ETA 7:15am, Friday, May 29, 2009.

May 15, 2009

  • So I will just come out and say it: I am getting ready to start studying to take the bar exam again at the end of July. With that said, let me set some ground rules, applicable to everyone in my life, no matter how close or distant we may be to one another.

     

    1. Do not, under any circumstances, ask me how it’s going. The answer will always be the same: it’s shitty and it sucks. Feel free to have the conversation in your head, if it will help you, because actually asking me, while well intentioned, is not helpful to me.

     

    2. Similarly, don’t ask me how I’m feeling about it this time. This answer will also never change: I’m stressed (not to mention hugely PG) and tired, I don’t know why I ever wanted to do this in the first place, let alone again, and I feel like I’m going to fail. For obvious reasons, I want to keep these thoughts and feelings stifled, buried and locked down as deeply in the vault as possible. Despite the pleasantry I may spout back at you, that is the reality of what’s going through my head.

     

    3. Despite your best of intentions, please do not try to be a cheerleader. No cheerleader, no matter what the extent of her super powers may be, can save this wretched world into which I have misguidedly chosen to lead my life.

     

    4. Please try not to make me feel guilty for being anti-social between May 26 and July 31. I’m Catholic for You-Know-Who’s sake.  No added guilt necessary. Just know it’s nothing personal, strictly business.

     

    5. Likewise, if I don’t answer your calls, don’t take it personally. If there’s something you need to tell or ask me, please e-mail or text it. Trust me, I won’t be a good gabber anyway. Besides, as Fella learned earlier, you may end up with a blubbering mess on the other end. Nobody likes a blubbering mess, most of all yours truly!

     

    6. On top of sums I’ve previously spent on this endeavor, we’re investing further in the “$10k Exam” and as a result apparently now have to forego any vacation or babymoon after the exam. This does not make for a happy Zesty. Please, I beseech you, as best you can refrain from talking about your fabulous vacation plans when in the presence of her company. She’s got no light at the end of the bar exam tunnel, only childbirth and motherhood. While a miracle and a blessing, it is not my idea of a vacation.

     

    7. The exam is at the END OF JULY. Kindly commit that tidbit to memory.

     

    8. Do not, under any circumstances, tell me about the long-lost relative of yours who had to take the exam umpteen times before passing. While I appreciate the attempt to empathize, trust me–it is not as reassuring to hear as one may think.

     

    9. Because I will essentially be eating, sleeping, and breathing bar exam, when I do get a rare moment to get my head above water, consider the topic strictly off limits. And don’t make an end-run around this rule by asking Fella about any of it. Not only is he also subject to these rules, rendering a virtual gag order upon him, but he has to deal with the wreck formerly known as his wife on a daily basis and may not want to relive the emotional rollercoaster that has been forced upon him during this time. Just listen to Nancy and say no to the temptation.

     

    10. I love you, which is why I write this.  I hope you can appreciate both the humor as well as the solemnity in these words. And, like Bartles and James before me, I thank you for your support (and strict adherence to these rules, which may be subject to change without notice).

May 13, 2009

  • Maybe Now IS The Right Time To Take Up Yoga?

    Last week found me hitting a couple of emotional rough patches and I realized: I’ve got no familiar coping mechanisms left. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Before getting preggo, I at least had…options when I need a blow off steam.

    I need a smoke.
    It used to be easy to make a quick getaway from the daily stresses of work. Did someone say “Smoke break?!”  When I first hit the scene among the world of the working, I regularly took my two-15′s to catch a cig with my fellow smoker peers.

    Having long since quit smoking now, I now claim to essentially take my breaks at my desk, what with one form of social networking or another I find myself engaging in throughout the day.  But in looking ahead at my schedule, it seems that I will be spending the greater part of 16 hours per day sitting on my badonk.  Which, at that rate and left to its own devices, will balloon to a full-fledged badonkadonk. And I’m not talking the “oooh, you could soooo be in rap videos” hot kind of booty. Uh-uh.

    So I turned over a new leaf Monday.  I brought my sneakers to work and at 10:00 a.m., I put them on and went out for a smoke, er…walk.  And I went again today.  The only thing that might get in my way are these pesky allergies of mine.

    I need a drink.
    This used to always be my go-to coping mechanism. Shitty day? Let’s grab a beer after work! Shitty week? Let’s go get plowed on Friday! And no matter how many times someone tries to tell me that a club soda and lime is just as good as a Red Bull and Raspberry Stoli, it will never, ever be true.

    So I started trying to let loose on the dance floor with my club soda and lime. But that option is becoming much less of an option.  You know, seeing as how no one really wants to see a big ol’ preggo lady dancing at their local neighborhood bar.  I mean, really.  I might still have a few short weeks left to take this route. That is, if I can even muster the energy to make it out to the bar weekends.

    I so need a triple bypass burger and a chocolate whatever.
    Ah, food. My oldest and dearest of companions. Why do you now betray me in my emotionally fragile state? No longer can I turn to you for solace, without the reflux of consequence burning soon after. Damn thee disgestive changes and damn thee GERD.

    These coping mechanisms sound more like self-destructive escape mechanisms.
    Touch

    é.  But after nearly 32 years, I can only posit that these unconventional methods have done a decent job at helping me cope.

    So…why now suddenly?
    I can’t say that I have actually ever tried yoga. In fact, it has always sorta repulsed me. I had a Pilates instructor who integrated some aspects into her training. And I’ve read Idiot’s Guide to Yoga, but that’s the extent of it. Oh, unless you count the 30 seconds that I once watched it on FitTv.

    The reason why it has always “repulsed me” is all in my head.  You see, I have this mind. And it’s pretty…active.  You could say that this mind has, well, a mind of its own. Metaphorically speaking.  My beautiful mind doesn’t like to shut down on command. So it won’t. And at times, this caused me trouble in that Pilates class. And it drove me crazy.

    But it’s clear to me now that i’ve come to a crossroads. I have to learn anew what to do to take care of my emotional needs.  So maybe it’s the best time to take on my mind in head-to-head battle. A yoga-off, if you will.  Besides, who’s in control here?!

    Um, right.

May 8, 2009

  • Fickle Fella: A Rant

    He sleeps so peacefully on the couch now, but earlier today…his attitude was much less docile.

    I’m going to be tied up through July and won’t have a lot of time for my second job of dutiful wife. Fella will be on his own every week night and I am doing what I can to make sure that he will not be left to his own devices. Which means I’m trying to make sure he’ll be eating homemade dinners while I’m not home at night to make it. Quite dutiful and wifely of me, I’d say.  But this means a lot of forethought and preparation–a lot of work!–on my part before things start picking up next week.

    All this work and he repays the favor by telling me he’s not going to be able to work on any home improvement projects while I’m tied up. Why wouldn’t it be the BEST time to work on things around the house? Zesty and her ever-expanding midsection out of your hair every night and a good part of the weekends working her ass off, what more could you ask for?! Norm Abram and his New Yankee Workshop served up on a silver platter?

    Yeah, I guess he could, and quite possibly would, but let’s be realistic here. That’s like me asking for Chris Kimball and the America’s Test Kitchen to take care of Fella’s dinner for him. Not gonna happen.

    So I feel gypped. It’s not like I made an express request for quid pro quo at home i n exchange for my professional pursuits outside of home. But really. Really??

    Maybe he’ll surprise me.

    I’m not holding my breath.

    And after all the attitude Fella gave me on the phone this afternoon over the subject, then for awhile after he got home from work (while I was making dinner, I might add) he thinks he can flip a switch and be lovey and cuddly and I’ll be OK with it.

    Sorry fella, I’ve still got some of that attitude stuck in my craw. But you go on ahead and sleep on the couch and leave me be for awhile.

April 26, 2009

  • Home Improvements

    Fella and I have been trying to get our tiny place habitable for two since the nuptials in October.  We’ve tried to kick it into high-gear now with our third on its way.  This means turning the second-bedroom-office into a nursery/office.  Well, we’re still working on getting the office portion together. But the first step was completed a few weeks ago: installing some bookshelves.


     
    We had a little mishap when we purchased the shelves. Fella got them from one of the Home Depot closeout-all-sales-final-sales and just grabbed the first (and last) six in stock. Well, two of them turned out not to be white.  It took quite a bit of searching, but I found and ordered them online. Phew.

    But there were still those two black sheep shelves sitting around with nothing to do, nowhere to go.  My cookbooks seemed to be having the same problem, what with the bookshelves full-up with every other book (and some of Fella’s model cars) already in the house.

    [Insert light bulb over Zesty's head here]

    Black shelves + Cookbooks + Wall space in kitchen = GENIUS!  At least in Zesty’s mind.  Fella had other ideas, though.  Well, not so much ideas as strong opinions against his wife’s genius.  Tsk, tsk, Fella.  But after much debate (and a little dose of shame from his mother) Fella and I put them up, where he could appreciate my genius in all its glory.

    Fella post-installation quotable: “I don’t know what you were so worried about.”  Quite the comedian.

    What was he so worried about to make him doubt Zesty’s genius?  That the shelves wouldn’t align with the counter.  Which, as you can see, they don’t.  But our plans are to retile the kitchen counter and extend it out by several inches.  And voila: Perfect alignment!  Not that it really matters anyway, but that’s my anal-retentive Fella for ya.  A chip of his old Pal (his architect grandfather).

    In addition to the new tiled countertop in the kitchen, we’re going to improve upon the cheap-ass cabinets the place came with (another genius idea compliments of Zesty, although one that was accepted with much less resistance than the kitchen shelf idea).  Here’s a shot of our kitche cabinets:

    We also have a bathroom vanity made of the same materials as our kitchen cabinets (and in desperate need of a little rehab) which we decided to use as our guinea pig for the rehab idea before diving into the kitchen cabinets.  So we are currently elbow-deep in a bathroom remodel.

    So far, we’ve painted the vanity base, which we agreed was in and of itself a VAST improvement:

    But that’s not the last of it.  Fella is working on refacing the drawers and doors, adding trim before painting:


    Shiny from the primer!

    That’s the handyman’s er, hand there on the counter!
    Then all we’ll need is the new sink from our friends at Ordaz in Concord and we’ll be in business!

    Once we know for certain that the vanity was a success, we’ll start in on the kitchen cabinets.  We’re not entirely sure when the countertop project will be, but when it does the  kitchen will be a dream!  At least as far as condo-living is concerned.

    We have one other home improvement project up our sleeves, but I’ll leave that one for another blog, as it gets closer to fruition.  Until next time, I’m Bob Villa, thanks for reading This Old Condo from Martinez, CA.

April 17, 2009

  • Letting The Cat Out Of The Bag

    First, comes love…check.

    Then, comes marriage…check.

    Then, comes Zesty in a baby carriage…CHECK!!!

    Baby Zesty (or should I say Baby Fella? Baby Zesty-Fella?)  is due October 13, 2009!

April 14, 2009

  • Thoughts From My Monday

    Last Night

    In a desperate attempt to send me a message, my subconscious had me dreaming about shoes last night. Message received, Brain, loud and clear. I need new shoes for my big dogs, preferably of the ballet flat/skimmer varieties.

     

    If anyone knows of any comfortable and fashionable flats, please let me know. I’ve been dying for a pair a Tory Burch, but I don’t have an extra $195 to burn these days. So, also preferably under $100.

     

    This Morning

    Even with a bedtime of 9:30 p.m., I spent the greater part of my shower with my eyes unopened. And for the big finish, once my eyes were fully opened, I nearly tried to squeegee the entire shower with my razor.

     

    I also spent the greater part of my commute thinking that I may be the only person in the state without a conveniently located Starbucks (or comparable coffee joint) along her commute. There’s not one close to my house or on the way to the freeway.  There are none along the stretch of freeway that I travel along, only a Carl’s Jr. (a.k.a. Hardee’s, for my loyal Midwestern readers) a Jack in the Box, a Shell, and a couple of Arco’s with am/pm mini-marts. 

     

    So I decided to be daring in search of something slightly more convenient to my drive than the ‘Bucks closest to my office (which is neither close, nor convenient–discuss).

     

    SUCCESS! It’s not exactly on the beaten path to my office, but it’s close enough for days like today when the crappy office coffee was not going to cut it (or even a non-crappy cup of drip would do for that matter–it was a fru-fru espresso drink kinda morning, for sure!) There, in the distance was the Green Valley Starbucks. I never thought I would ever say this, but thank goodness for Fairfield!!! Er–unincorporated Solano County (a.k.a. Green Valley).

     

    Radio Killed the Music Star

    So Greenday has a new album coming out. So Greenday is playing a lot “secret” shows in the greater S.F./Bay Area. So the radio is playing Greenday. A lot. As if they weren’t played enough as it was.

     

    Now, I don’t begrudge the success of Greenday. I was never one of those music snobs who cried “SELLOUT!” upon a band’s mainstream success (I am, after all, a fan of capitalism). My target here is the ever declining media format of radio.

     

    Do radio listeners really want to hear Sublime once every 90 minutes? They’ve had no new radio-worthy music since their singer OD’ed to his eternal reward circa 1996.  Ditto for Nirvana.  And Red Hot Chili Peppers? I’m not sure where the critical acclaim has come from for their more recent efforts, but it all sounds the same.  Not to mention the aforementioned Greenday. You’re killing me, Radio. You’re killing the music, too.

     

    In the late 90’s, I had a co-worker and friend who was a fellow music aficionado.  He oft praised the pop stylings of Everclear. My oft response was to vomit.  Just the other day, an Everclear song came on the radio. And I sang along and I loved it.  For my earlier disdain, I blame you, Radio. You killed Everclear with too much airplay. Among other undeserving artists (and perhaps some deserving, too).

     

    Please stop trying to engineer my musical likes and dislikes. It’s not becoming, Radio. And I just change the channel anyway.


    Weekend Baking
    All that I got to over the weekend was gnocci and two flavors of bran muffins. I’m OK with that.

April 10, 2009

  • Lofty Intentions

    I am one of the few lucky folks out there who has a bona fide three-day-weekend coming up. And all she wants to do–, all she wants to do is…BAKE!  And stuff.

     

    And Stuff

    I decided yesterday, that a friend’s mom had inspired me to make gnocci for dinner Friday. I’ve only attempted homemade gnocci once before, in Fella’s bachelor pad kitchen. I had to mash potatoes with a very thin-tined fork. I vowed to never again attempt without at the very least a masher, if not a ricer.

     

    So I need to get a ricer.  The one I put on one of our wedding registries based on online window-shopping, turned out to be very flimsy plastic number when I met it in person. I don’t remember seeing a ricer at the other kitchen emporium at which we registered.  I may resort to visiting (and purchasing at) the Evil Empire. Or perhaps I’ll just borrow my mom’s.

     

    BAKE!

    I want to bake cupcakes and muffins and cheesecake and doughnut holes…oh my!

     

    My MIL has not responded to my requests (via Fella) as to what I may bring to Easter Brunch/Lunch/Linner on Sunday. So I decided I would bake goodie baskets for all to have and take home. But when I sit and actually list out all the above referenced things I would like to attempt to bake, I realize that I may be a little bit insane.

    So scratch the cupcakes. Those are too messy to pack up and deliver all cute like. And the doughnut holes have been on the back burner for some time now, they may as well wait, too. (Besides, I’m not sure that I want to mess around with a yeast-dough right now).

    But First

    I’m going for a massage. And then, a visit with my esthetician. Followed by a Grey’s catch-up session with my friend. And then…it’s gnocci time. And, well, you know the rest.