sister

Boredom Chowder

Posted on by bangscrafts

“Worries go down better with soup than without.”

-Jewish Proverb

So few people appreciate the power of a good bowl of soup.  You are sitting there, chilled and sad, and then you have a deep spoonful full of a broth that will stick to your ribs and warm you heart.

When I feel the worst or if I feel bored, I tend to lean towards soup-making. Once upon a time I had no idea how to cook, and then I learned speedily, and now I never look back.  I remember as a child thinking that soup was exactly one thing; a can full of something.  Once I realized I could make my own, I’ve never looked back.

I have the specific skill both my mother and sister have (that probably dates back further than that even) to not follow recipes.  I was afraid of the oven for years (as previously posted) and then I came quick to cooking.  After a few easy recipes, I was on top of the earth.

Cutting to the point, bouillon cubes are the freaking bomb.  You can buy a pack of 8 and have so many soups-worth of cooking from them!  I never buy stock anymore.

I have some chowder a’ stewing right now in my crockpot.  I don’t even anticipate eating this until Monday, but that is how ahead I plan.

My house smells awesome!

Eggplant stew

“Oh there’s not too much in here,” and other dishwasher stories.

Posted on by bangscrafts

The kitchen was an oft used room in my childhood, for so much more than cooking.  My first dance parties were in that checkerboard titled room.

Our main chore was emptying the dishwasher.  Molly and I would take forever to load the 5-carousel CD player, that we knew full well only 4 CDs played from, we just never knew which CD wasn’t going to play…big mystery it was.  We’d each hold our huge CD booklet and select 2 each, and the fifth one had to be equally agreed upon.  And of course the whole lottery aspect of the player ruined our time consuming logic.

Every single time, or at least 95% of them, Molly would open the dishwasher and as she was easing the door down to the floor, she would explain (not merely say, no, exclaim!) “Oh!  There’s not too much in here!”  Because, of course, we never wanted to empty the damn thing, and when you’re a child, menial tasks take forever.  For about three years I believed she was actually stacking up memories of what the last load enumerated to be.  And then I became the wiser and realized that there was always not too much in there.

I have to say though, Molly did really try to make chores fun.  (I’ll have to go in pitchforking the woodchip pile at a later date.)  In retrospect, some of her tactics baffle me in the fact that they worked.  Such as the day she decided, “wouldn’t it be fun if we put item away at a time?!”  And then we continued to parade a fork, a bowl, the strainer, to their respective spots.

I have my own dishwasher now.  There’s a couple things I’m appreciating.  First of all, having my best friend be my sibling.  But also having literally the best sister you could ask for constantly there to make awful things awesome.  I can only hope for my future children to have a Molly.  But even then they probably won’t win as much as I have.

In case you ever wanted to have a Carroll dance party, I’ll make it easy for you:

Carroll Dance Party Playlist:

  1. The Go-Gos
  2. Backstreet Boys
  3. Shania Twain
  4. The Bangles
  5. Scorpions
  6. The Coors
  7. Pocahontas soundtrack
  8. Phantom of the Opera soundtrack
  9. Nightwish/The Ramus
  10. Bonus Track: “We didn’t start the fire” by Billy Joel (or Jimmy Bowl [another post])

You need to wear some solid-bottomed shoes, be able to pick up at least one family member, and dance like no one is watching.  Like any good Irish-person does.  Good luck, and tell me about it!

 

Be still my heart, Home Depot

Posted on by bangscrafts

Growing up, my father would always tease my sister and I about going to Builders Square conferences that would last for hours and hours.  We would chime in union with our little voices saying “no daddy, no!!” and he would giggle.  Both Molly and I really detested hardware stores.  Molly was fearful of the fork lift, the floors were so gross, there was nothing to play with because, heck, it’s all pretty dangerous to 7 and 9 year old little girls.  The only fun was found in the kitchen furnishings department, where we could play in the model kitchenettes that we were in a house…and not in a hardware store.

Builder Square ceased to exist starting in 1999, and the Home Depot replaced the location we would always frequent.  I remember us all going and my dad was pretty bummed and leery, but it turned out to be the exact same thing, just with more orange.  Molly and I were still displeased.

I remember going to a movie once and afterwards my dad said we would just make a quick stop at the Lowe’s around the corner.  Lowe’s was pretty new (at least to our area) at the time, and upon walking in Molly exclaimed “ugh this is just Builders Square in disguise!”  My mom nearly busted up from laughter.

One day, something happened.  I cannot even specify what, but I needed something “home maintenancey” and I went to Home Depot, all on my own.

Since then, I have been smitten.  I walk through those aisles, and I see all the different Dremel bits, I peruse the coarseness of sandpaper blocks, I get particle board cut into appropriate sized pieces, I ask when the next shipment of joint compound will come in, I buy a whole brick of cellulose fiber insulation.

My favorite saying of mine is probably, “I am the perfect amalgamation of my parents.  I have my mother’s beautification skills and my father’s power tools.”

There is no culmination to a story pertaining to the Home Depot and me, because we are a love story that will endure.  And not that it matters, but my favorite color is orange.

I knew the oven was something to fear.

Posted on by bangscrafts

I have been cooking for three plus years now.  In my mind, on a professional level.  Ask my sister, she might agree.

Ask my ex-boyfriend how difficult it was to make a darn cucumber and cream cheese sandwich.  He used to insist on making them for me, based on how easily I would slice skin when trying to slice cucurbitaceae.

What you need to know is that when I was a non-descript young age, my wonderful father told me about how when he was stove-height, that the hot electric coils looked cozy, and he put his chin on them.  I’ve never seen my father without a beard, but that’s a scarring situation..

Ergo, I inherited a stove and oven fear.

Then I was destined to be in a relationship where I was forced to make food.  Up to being 22, I avoided the oven like the plague.  But how do you just sit idly by when the person you want to be with is only heating up circular bread with pasta sauce?  Especially when that’s one of your least favorites?!

My first meal cooked was something out of an easy cookbook Molly gave me.  My third recipe, I swear to god, were these veggie pesto eggrolls that my entire family hold me accountable for now.

I just want to remind you that I was initiated in the land of food by a horror story from my young father.

My mother can tell you much better about my fear; she would ask me to get things out of the oven in attempts to save me from what my fate at that time was sealing.

I suppose it takes dating a baby to realize how much of an adult you are.  Ex-boyfriend guy wanted to make a frozen pizza every night.

This post isn’t about him actually.  You know who it’s about?  It’s about me, and this great new person in my life named Otto.

Jims words

It’s actually mostly about the fact that I didn’t realize that my “warming drawer” is essentially just a drawer to being 400 degrees.

But I would also like to mention that I am clumsy as fuuuurrrk.

This amazing person I literally just met nearly took care of my finger better than I ever could.  First of all, how cool is it to meet a person who wants to do that?

Second is, how cool is it that you do not need help to live?  You just thrive on loving those who want to help you, and you wonder how you got so lucky to meet them.

Don’t place your chin on a stove.  Don’t finger hot hot pans.  Do be careful when you’re cutting gourds.  I am a great chef.  Please ask me advice on how to cook and not how to be hurt.