What Was She Thinking?

Even though I don't write as much as I once did, I'm still reading. Reading all kinds of things and I'm starting to wonder if that isn't one of the cycles that's been set up in my life. Like fluctuating 10 pounds over the course of a few years or preferring citrus to chocolate (although, I still think both if that's an option...hence the 10 pounds). I try to absorb so much information throughout the day that it can be downright intimidating to try regurgitating a fraction of it. There's also the matter of my attention span but let's step off the couch for a bit, right?

Not sure why my thoughts for this post started that way but what I meant was- I'm still reading. I'm reading a lot of blogs in some kind of mass effort to get as many first-hand accounts of lives I won't have a chance to live as I can. That is my favorite thing about blogs although what a ridiculous word for someone to use as many times a day as I do. Blog. Sounds like a Star Wars creature. I'd rather write a wookie, if we're going to whine.

GoodNIGHT I cannot seem to stay on topic. I read. I read blogs. I read mom-blogs. There it is. Two paragraphs to get there, alas, there it is. Part of this is work-related as many of my projects benefit from a mom's perspective and most people don't count HC. Part of it is fascination. I have myself convinced on several levels that the more I know about being a mom now, the unexpected pitfalls, humiliations and hilarities, the better prepared I'll be when it's my turn. Although the more I read, the further away that date seems to get. Plus it's a total farce as any of these moms would tell you. No amount of reading is going to prepare me for it but I try just the same and I get to look a ridiculously cute kids doing funny things in the process. My favorite Nashville blogger is preggo and will attest to the fact that I am enthralled. So can one of my favorite Chicago bloggers, actually. I'm with a lot of them this weekend actually- in Nashville for BlissDom.

I often think to myself how lucky these kids are that they will know who their mother was as she was raising them. Her feelings on things as they grew up. The genuine hurt and anger and EXHAUSTION that is inflicted or inspired by children. More so, the total joy and belly-aching laughter as little personalities begin to develop. Or big personalities for that matter.

I can't help but wonder what my own Mom would have said. What tales of they day she would have recounted- many things that I probably wouldn't remember. Or would remember very differently. Particularly in the tween years. Like when I decided to change the spelling of my name. Or decided to go ahead with my first real date even though I had a demonic black eye from a softball accident (bet you didn't know TKTC was a Varsity letter-holder. It's okay to be surprised, pretty sure it was pure pity).

We went to Paris for my first time when I was 13. Apart from maybe a 2 hour window when I was able to successfully buy flowers and a bag of cherries at a market in French (life dream at 13, not bad), I was a resplendent bitch the entire time. I know that's harsh but it's true. I remember knowing it at the time and not having a clue as to how I could snap out of it. I have some fantastic memories of the trip but wow. Really lil TKTC? You really could not handle one more museum so you sat outside the MUSEE D'ORSAY and sulked? On second thought, maybe I wouldn't want my mom's honest account of that one...

I guess that's one of the interesting points of difference between our generations. There's a certain amount of narcissism that comes with maintaining an account of your own perspectives and that's just not my mom. Recently she sent along the kind of email I remember filling out on AOL circa 1998 about favorite colors and what shoes you're wearing and what your favorite place or saddest memory is. I was shocked that she'd filled it out and even more surprised at how much I learned and how nice it was to see her voice in writing, in a way that I was accustomed to hearing from friends. Maybe this is just a new form of self-absorption- tell me about me, from your perspective. But that's not really the part that interests me-it's who she was when all I could think of was what I was becoming.

After Awhile Crocodile

Kids, I'm tired. We're all tired. It's like there is absolutely no point in even complaining because every single one of us is working our asses off because that's what we do. And if you're lucky (*I am very lucky) at least you get to do something you love on those 10-11 hour days.

And the thing is, I won't compromise. Yes, we're busy. And thank God for that. I have interesting projects (some of which I've more than hinted at) and I still laugh at work (cannot be undervalued). But I need my friends and I need nourishment and I need sleep. So tonight was one of those nights. A night when I could have gotten home at 8 and just sat there listening to NPR or watching Hulu but I didn't.

Instead, one of my college roommates and current neighbors came over for a meal that took all of 15 minutes to prepare and didn't require a trip to the store. She brought salad and wine and it tasted better for the company. Because you need that.

Sugar Shack Penne with Vodka Sauce

1/2 box penne pasta
1/2 jar of vodka sauce (I like Classico or Newman's Own)
2 diced tomatoes or 1 can tomatoes if you don't have fresh
1 package frozen spinach
1/2 cup cremini mushrooms
1/3 cup vodka
2 TB olive oil
1/4 tsp white truffle oil (2-3 drops...it's powerful stuff!)

1. Defrost spinach according to package instructions and start boiling your pasta.
2. Sautee mushrooms in olive oil and season with S&P in separate sautee pan
3. Heat sauce in saucepan, adding tomatoes. Once warmed through, add extra vodka. Stir regularly.
   
4. Drain spinach and add to sauce, keep on low to warm through without burning.
5. Drain pasta, add sauce mixture to the pot and toss the coat evenly.
6. Add your droplets of truffle oil to the mushrooms and stir through.
   
7. Serve pasta with shaved parm and truffled mushrooms on top.

Served with Salad a la Mag- arugula, toasted "pignoles", toasted pancetta, shaved parm and lemon vinaigrette. YUM.
I can't have anyone over for dinner without dessert but I was too tired to make anything and too stubborn to forgo= good night for Bananas Foster. This was one of the first things I remember being taught to cook. Standing in my Cajun neighbor's kitchen on New Year's Day and being allowed to light it on fire from the time I was 7 or 8. I think I picked up a little bit of my passion for food or entertaining from every kitchen on my block growing up!

Bananas Foster is fantastically easy- I bought two bananas at a Starbucks on my way home for $1.86, then a pint of Hagen Daz Dulce de Leche at 7/11. Seriously, melt a 1/4 stick of butter with 1/4 cup of brown sugar in a wide sautee pan. Once mixed together, add 1/3 cup of brandy and add the banana, cut lengthwise and then in half.

Stir over med- low heat turning every minuted or so to let the bananas caramelize (5 min). If you have it on hand, Add 2TB of 151 at this point and light the mixture with a long match. I had no 151 and am confident that I would have lit my house on fire so I skipped it, sorry Mag. Serve over ice cream with extra sauce drizzled over the top. Easy, elegant and completely heavenly.

After dinner we headed to a new Wicker Park spot, Crocodile, for a beer with B&C. And Jon who tells me he reads my blog, which still surprises me. But thanks Jon, kinda narcissistic to say but it made my night a bit!

I like Crocodile and I liked the company. Even on these long days, I do need company. Jaimeson is in Greece this week and I didn't expect to feel his absence like I do. But I leave for Nashville on Friday (0ne of my favorite cities). He comes home Saturday and when I get back Sunday, he'll still likely be in bed with HoneyCat. It's a nice thought.

In closing, I've been posting in depth infrequently but I do post short and sweet more frequently at tktc.tumblr.com. You might have known that already but just in case you didn't... Cheers to thoughts of Spring.