An Open Letter to Office Food Pushers

Dear free-food-loving co-workers,

I am not a dog and do not need to be rewarded with food, constantly. Although from time to time it is nice to stumble upon cupcakes in the break room, it is my decision whether to engage in gorging myself of said free cupcakes. Thank you for having a bowl of candy on your desk and in the hallway, that's so kind of you. But why do you insist on grabbing a handful and walking around the office handing it out like it's your own personal Halloween every single day? Why do you bake cookies and then hand them out like you're in first grade and it's your birthday? Picking and choosing who is worthy?

Last week there was ice cream cake. Do you know how I knew there was ice cream cake? Because not one, not two, but three people passed my desk just to let me know. One brought me a piece without asking. Someone emailed the entire office, why? NO IDEA. And alas, one more CALLED me on my work phone to let me know, just in case I had not heard. Hi, yes I know there is ice cream cake in the break room.

We work with over 200 people. Almost every day is someone's birthday, someone's promotion party, someone's farewell. There will always be cake. Repeat after me: THERE WILL ALWAYS BE CAKE. Today is not special, just like yesterday, when you shoved two pieces of free carrot cake onto one tiny plate, was not special. Why are we all eating as if one day the birthday-cake-coffers will mysteriously stop flowing endless amounts of cash into cakes, cookies, and candy?

Why do you look slightly disappointed and/or sad when I kindly say no thank you? Is it because you're realizing this is the fourth straight day you yourself have enjoyed a giant slice of cake? It is because no one says no to the crazy candy lady who pushes her sweets with the fortitude of a friendly neighborhood drug dealer? There has to be a better way to socialize in the office.

Don't even get me started on bagels.

Yours sincerely,
The lady trying NOT to get 365-days-of-free-cake thighs

Serenity

Serenity. For two weeks anyway. This is the amount of time I'm told I must wait further. Another two weeks of this holding pattern. Another two weeks without a full breath, time wasted, uncertainty.

I know I sound dire. I also know this outlet for my frustrations has become just that, no longer talking about the joys in my life, for which there are many, but instead focusing on this gnawing, this constant itch to be settled and the journey I've been on in my attempts to do so, mainly through acquiring a full time job. It's all coming to a boiling point for a number of reasons, reasons that make it all so much more dire. First, I no longer have health care and have been denied when trying to apply for individual health care due to a pre-existing condition. Apparently all the health reforms we've fought so hard to achieve do not go into effect for a few more years, during which time it seems, unless I am employed full time, I will not be able to get health coverage.

Additionally my student loans are due. On top of that The Professor seems to be having an even worse time than me in our eternal waiting. I was told, by the same people I've been interviewing with since March, that I would know their decision Friday of last week. Friday before Good Friday. I heard nothing until Wednesday and was on edge with each passing day. I then learned that I was a finalist, something I had already figured on my own. I continued to wait throughout Easter weekend during which time I was told that I would be interviewed again, for the 7th time, through video conferencing. I figured surely this was the meeting where we'd discuss salary, start dates, and any final questions. But it was another interview. The same questions. Similar answers. And I was told they would decide in two weeks. Two. Friggin'. Weeks.

I used to get sick a lot as a child (let's just say I'm not the most 'robust' of humans) and my mom would tell me the serenity prayer, because I could not control that I was sick, but I could control how I dealt with being sick. Since then I have had this outlook on almost anything, always attempting to react best to bad situations. This resourcefulness has protected me and gotten me through some bad times. But now, in the 11th hour, I'm just not sure I can handle this any more. I've gone through worse things, it's true, but never for 12 straight months. An entire year of being told no. It's hard not to take it personal. It's hard to remember my serenity prayer.

God, Grant to me the serenity of mind to accept that which cannot be changed; courage to change that which can be changed, and wisdom to know the one from the other, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Last night I told The Professor that I no longer have any hope. That each time I get my hopes up I am told no, or to wait longer. Thus I think my hope has dried up and now I am jaded, constantly expecting the next no, and accepting the idea that I will never be back in my field and we may waste away depending on others to get by financially.

I know this is all depressing, and not what you might want to read on this Tuesday morning. But it's overcome my thoughts. It's become my entire world. I have so many other blogs in my mind that I'd like to share. About our trips. About Easter weekend. About the snakes and other critters which have come out of the woodwork at the cottage, terrifying this city girl. About cooking a whole chicken. About my first ham dinner and how well it went. But all these stories would seem fake to me if I didn't first express my current state of mind and being. At least for today anyway. Hopefully tomorrow I will have a more cheerful story for you. For now, I repeat:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference.

Still Waiting

No news is good news. That common expression can’t really be applied to the job search. On one hand if you have not yet been told anything, there is still hope that the answer will be yes. On the other hand, if you have not been told anything, realistically, the job was most likely offered to someone else who is now weighing their options and deciding to take it or not. You might be able to get the offer, the sloppy seconds, if they turn it down.

So in my mind, no news is definitely bad news. And I am still waiting, no news in hand, no way of knowing to head north or south. No reason to put down roots anywhere. The waiting game has been, by far, with each new opportunity the worst aspect of this holding pattern.

Back to the quest. After my horrible interview in D.C. we enjoyed a fantastic birthday dinner, where I allowed myself to eat many calories, before jumping in the car and heading north once more to the city of brotherly love. Little Miss Dirty Martini (as named by Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong) met us outside her very college-like residence (one large room, small kitchen, futon) and I loved every square inch of it. It was real life. I miss that. I would trade this entire cottage for her slice of real life any day.

We enjoyed late-night birthday spring rolls (made by her own hands!) and had our usual conversations, and by that I mean we talked about everything and deeply. I’ve missed these talks, which face to face are so much better. I realized I miss all my friends and see how isolated I’ve been, surrounded by The Professor’s family and friends, but never my own.

In the morning we head out to Reading Terminal Market, by far one of my favorite places of all time. Then it is GPS time as we needed to head into New Jersey and find the last interview, which went really well (too bad it’s not for an open position, just for networking.)

That night Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong burst through the door and we were all reunited again. These past few years I’ve felt like the silent idiot girl in all their adventures. I’ve always been out of the picture. School, fellowships, and The Professor have guided where I end up, how much free time I have, and what I do. Now, finally, when it is up to me to decide, and I want nothing more than to live close to what I call “my people” I can’t. What’s holding me back now is the job market and the utter desolation to my prospects.

Staying positive and chipper, we all go out to the best restaurant I’ve been to in ages. That’s the thing about living in the middle of nowhere and having little to no money, a huge lack of good food. Being a foodie I’ve missed that life so much. We went to Amada, Jose Garcia’s tapas place, and I fell in love. It became a mini-birthday gathering and I tried to soak up as much of the moment as possible. I was in Philadelphia. I was with my friends. I had The Professor by the side. All was well.

For Love of the Weekend: Total Win; Total Fail.

This weekend was a curious little creature. It was long, as The Professor and I both took off on Friday. It was sunny and warm, with temperatures reaching 78 sizzling degrees (for us Northern girls, them's beach temperatures.) There was also a mix of ups and downs, making this past weekend a true example of convergence.

First, my job search claimed another fatality (besides that of my soul.) My baby toe was crushed in a door as I ran to answer my interviewer's phone call, which was twenty minutes early, thus my failure at being prepared (total fail). Although I screamed obscenities and writhed in severe pain, I rallied to answer the phone with a cheerful "Good morning!" After my hour spent in preparation, my nervous twitching, and my balmy palms, the call actually informed me that due to extreme business, my interview would have to be pushed back six hours (fail.)*

Rearranging my day, I did my weekly weigh-in and discovered I had lost 5% of my body weight, an initial goal (total win!) Which was followed by me leaving the house commenting, "I'm sure I can get around the grocery store, how bad can this pinky toe thing be anyway. It's just a pinky toe!" Total fail. My sad, pathetic self wallowed around in the local grocery, limping here, throwing my body there. Apparently the pinky toe is quite important in functioning, and balancing, and, you know, standing upright. People looked worried for me, like I had escaped some sort of caretaker.

Saturday I have deemed hide-away-day due to The Professor and I lying to anyone who asked and saying we had busy, busy and important plans for Saturday and could not attend any number of social engagements. This is because we are tired. We've been gone almost every weekend. And we drive three hours on the week days. Every day. So we spent a lazy day around the house (total win!) Well, I mostly limped around and ever so slowly cleaned (total fail) while I made sad, puppy faces, whining too much which resulted in The Professor enjoying taking care of me a bit (total win!)

When one lives in the middle of nowhere, one prepares for a day of errands like a soldier might prepare for battle. You need to rev yourself up. Play loud music. Pretend the car ride is actually fun. The hour long car ride. The hour it takes to get from your personless plot of land to the oh-so-over-populated 10 mile long stretch of horrifying plazas. After church and lunch we had only two tasks at hand. Get The Professor's car washed as we had a free coupon and go to Pet Smart. But first we had to get gas. Being adorably anal, The Professor demanded I hand over any trash from under my seat of the car (where's a girl supposed to shove her granola bar wrappers?) and he threw them away.

After what seemed like an entire lifetime we made all the necessary u-turns and plaza short cuts to come to the car wash but, EPIC FAIL NUMBER 1: The Professor accidentally threw away the coupon with my garbage. The decision: to trash dive or to not trash dive? I am not proud of us for this. But this was an exterior AND interior car wash, with buff and shine! Who can pass up a free buff and shine just because in the twenty minutes it took you to cross the highway someone could have thrown God-knows-what on top of your beloved coupon? We spent another twenty minutes returning. The Professor braved the public rubbish bin and produced the slightly dampened coupon (which I refused to touch.)

After the car wash (total win!) we completed our PetSmart run, with me pushing a shopping cart just to keep up appearances and not unseemly limp around, thus scaring all the small children. The task at hand: pick out a new collar for our beloved dog. EPIC FAIL NUMBER 2: After returning home (another entire hour in the car, during which we had to stop and get iced tea because that's how long the drive was) and painstakingly removing all pup's tags and putting them on the new collar, we discover the collar is much too large for our petite pup. Oh the horror. The Professor's face goes into melt-down mode. We must return next weekend and repeat the entire experience (except, I hope, for the bin diving.) During a slight (sort of massive) hissy-fit, The Professor rolled his ankle and is at this point also limping like a pathetic broken toy.

How could I possibly rescue such a failure of a weekend? The answer: BRINNER! Apparently not wanting anything our kitchen had to offer, I produced (using all of The Professor's gram's cottage pantry) pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fortune cookies. Our spirits brightening, we limp-danced around the kitchen to some favorite music, remembering how blessed we are and how beautiful the love of the weekend can be.

*I know jinxes are not real, but I'd rather not test it out. Thus I probably won't discuss my job interview until I hear something. Better safe than unemployed.

Tea for Two

Happy Valentine’s Day, late night edition (if, like me, your late nights start at 8:00pm.) This last weekend was a whirlwind. We only recently got back to our little cottage and I’m only now catching up with you all.

And, it’s Valentine’s Day. As I said before, we’re not big Valentines people, but I do love chocolate and an excuse to have surprises. The Professor left me an adorable handmade card-like-thing on my pillow when we arrived home. I gave him his telegram, which he loved, as well as some Earl Grey and some almond syrup. Why? Because almond earl grey is our new favorite guilty pleasure without the guilt. I discovered it at a small coffee shop one trip into university city and have been sold on them ever since. I introduced The Professor to it just last week and he, also, fell in love. So now we can make them at home, there has already been a mention of almond tea becoming our “house drink” of choice.

Another V-Day surprise? The in-laws came by the cottage while we were away, always a bit terrifying for me as they technically own this place. They dropped off some wine, wine glasses, and chocolates in a pretty display, as well as a pork and apple pie in the fridge (from a recipe I gave, which I’ll surely post eventually.)

How cute. Also, a bit creepy? Just me who thinks so? (However, also strangely reminiscent of the honeymoon basket they gave us, read: lotion, bath oils, candles, wine, subtext: have.sex.with.our.son.)

Well, instead of the wine we opted for two cups of the almond tea tonight, mainly because I’m still nursing a wicked cold that, shocker, a 10 hour car trip twice in four days did not cure.

The chocolates were the Dove hearts, which I love because not only were they dark (the only way to enjoy coco) but also when you open them there are little expressions inside, and with them, my sage wisdom for you. So far we’ve opened:

“Trust with your heart, not your head.”

This is very wise, oh Dove chocolates. Dive in every once in a while. You have a gut instinct, trust it. This goes both ways, meaning kiss that cute guy you just met even though social graces may be shocked, but don’t climb into cars with strange boys.

“Linger over chocolate longer.”

I could not have said it better myself, tiny delicious chocolate I shall now eat. Enjoy things more. And, enjoy things slower. Too often we want a quick fix, something for right now, that we forget that snack we just popped in our greedy, little mouth was actually delicious.

“Be a little mysterious.”

Don’t give it all away. I love being a bit mysterious, with something unknown just under the surface. It’s difficult to turn this tid-bit into advice, because it already states it perfectly, be a little mysterious.

“Exercise your heart today.”

Love hard. Love today. There is someone in your life you can turn to right now and say, I love you, do it. It’ll make you feel good.

The Professor’s Birthday

Today is The Professor’s birthday. I am excited. I never really enjoyed celebrating birthdays before. I’m not entirely a “birthday person.” But I could tell The Professor needed a little extra love on this day each year, and so I became his birthday person.

Tonight the in-laws, including the in-law grandparents, are coming to the cottage for a birthday feast, made by yours truly. How weird is it going from last year, when we went on a pub crawl for The Professor’s birthday which resulted in me double fisting and us both stumbling home, and this year, which is basically a throw back to being ten.

It’s always a little stressful cooking for in-laws, in a home provided to you by said in-laws, while they slowly judge how you’re managing the place. But today I’m tackling three dishes and a cake. Oy.

Menu:

Meatball Soup

Mexican Chorizo with Potatoes

Chicken and Black Bean Enchiladas

Banana Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting

I’m excited but there is lots to do. I’ve already made the three cake layers and now I’m desperately trying to clean the cottage. I need to wrap gifts as well. As we are bibliophiles to the tenth degree, I got The Professor two books. First, Harmony, by the Prince of Wales, which touches on one of our favorite shared subjects, the earth and how we can live in balance. And, to keep within the British theme, Icons of England, which we’ve both been wanting to read since leaving England.

Additionally I got the flu yesterday and was so sickly and sad that The Professor had to carry me from the jeep to the cottage, put me in bed, and dose me with thera-flu. Needless to say I am constantly washing my hands today and breathing away from my lovely dishes.

Wish me luck!

In-Flight Menu: Lemon Ricotta Muffins

On Sunday I was craving a baked good, a muffin, a perfect muffin. I’ve been baking a lot less lately in my attempt to lose some weight. However my cravings got the best of me and I did not even attempt to slim down this Giada recipe.

I did alter it a bit due to lack of ingredients and the fact that The Professor is not a big lemon fan. We have very different tastes and it’s been a struggle over the past few years when I cook meals. While he has gotten better and eaten a lot more vegetables, I’ve gotten fatter, which I blame on his desire for “hot food” which usually means a big bowl of pasta.

I love lemony things. And peanut butter. And mint. All things The Professor does not wholly appreciate. Thus I omitted the lemon juice in this recipe and just added the lemon zest. I also didn’t have any almond extract so I substituted for vanilla. Additionally I wanted less muffins, so I halved everything.

They.were.awesome. And even though I’ve only had one so far, I made it extra decedent by the addition of melty, delicious butter. Sometimes you just have to relax and have a muffin that is fattening enough to be a cupcake.

Enough with the Breading

Last night I had a familiar experience, well two familiar experiences. First I had an entire meal, three items, all cooked casserole style and all topped with cheese and breading of some sort. I have been reassured time and time again that this is Southern cooking. Truthfully I have had Southern cooking like this, but I’ve also had modern, fresh, and delicious Southern cooking. Second, I spent an entire evening with The Professor’s younger friends, the ones looking to buy an RV and travel the world, or whatever.

A little after noon we got a call from Miss RV asking if they could come over for dinner, and she would cook. Apparently they have a deadbeat sleeping on their couch and they needed a break. We agreed and set a time of 7pm, she called back and said it would be more like 5:30. The menu consisted of chicken casserole, (made with chicken in a can) which had crumbled Ritz crackers as its breading, broccoli casserole which reminded me that even broccoli when prepared a certain way could actually stop your heart, and green bean casserole (although I never remembered seeing an actual green bean). There was also chicken gravy in a can which was heated over my stove while still in the can.

I don’t want to sound snooty, or critical, or judgey, but I guess am a bit judgey. Once everything was cooked and served up, it all looked the same. Everything had breading on the top. Everything had a cream-of-blank filling, mixed with cheese and mayo.
To top it off Miss RV got drunk on our booze. We had said we’d have the drinks, because we already had some alcohol in the house and with the little notice we got there was little time to go to the store (because we live in the middle of nowhere). In total we had some nice bottles of wine given to us at our wedding, some whiskey, some scotch, some vodka, and some mixers.

Before I got a chance to offer, she asked for some wine. Then during a conversation she found out I had Bailys and asked me to make her a drink. “But you still have some wine, do you want me to wait?” was my reply. She responded, “Oh, I’ll just chug this down.” Which she then proceeded to do. After the Bailys drink, she made a vodka drink, then another. Then finished the bottle of wine as we sat down to eat. None of this bothered me, she is young, she is having a good time. C’est la vie. But then she got up from the table, fumbled around in our wine area, and came back with an opened bottle of our wedding wine, with the card still taped to it, and proceeded to water it down with ice cubes and drink it down. Appalled.

Oh, and at one point she asked how much older than her I was, when I responded she said surprised, “wow, I thought you were much older than that.” Awesome.

In-Flight Menu: Kalamata Hummus, Fried Leeks, and Lemon Butter Shrimp

One way I pass time here at the cottage is to cook and bake. This has become a bit of a problem since our return for two reasons. First, American food is really expensive. Second, American food is full of chemicals, and thus takes forever to pick through at the store. Luckily all I have is time.

Since returning home I generally make at least one baked good a week, something to have for breakfast. We are huge scone fanatics, so expect some recipes eventually. This last week I made donuts. I know, gluttonous. It was quite a fatty day (but hey, I sent The Professor to work with at least a dozen to share). I also glazed them with chocolate, hello calories. However this was sort of a last-meal type week as next week I’ve pledged to start eating healthier. I used to be quite a health nut but the return to America has sort of put that on hold as I wanted to eat everything I missed (and apparently, I’ve missed a lot. Hello turkey pepperoni!)

Hummus is my best friend, for serious. We go way back. Before moving to England I used to make a big batch each week which would serve as snacks and lunch. Then, sadly, without a food processor or the money to invest in a British one, I bought hummus from our local English grocer. Luckily, English store-bought hummus is pretty fresh, really cheap, and without yucky chemicals.

Last week I made kalamata hummus, or hummus with a bunch of kalamata olives thrown in. The great thing about hummus is you can stick to the original recipe and then just throw in whatever you fancy that week; roasted red peppers, extra garlic, artichokes, whatever. A lot of recipes call for tamari, but this can be hard to find in the middle of nowhere. My recipe basically looks like this:

• 2 cans garbanzo beans (15 ounce cans), rinsed and drained
• Spoonful of minced garlic
• Juice of 1 lemon (should be about 1/4 cup or a little more)
• Seasme oil added a little at a time until desired consistency (a lot of recipes call for about a tablespoon, but without tamari, start with two tablespoons)
• Then add in whatever extra you’d like. Here I added about three tablespoons of cut up kalamatas and a bit of their juice
• Season with salt, pepper, and cayenne and blend, blend, blend!

With the kalamatas thrown in, you shouldn’t need as much salt because they’re already drenched with delicious, natural saltiness.

I love leeks. I love to just sauté them with butter and sea salt. Delicious. The Professor, however, was raised in an atmosphere without vegetables, literally. Dinner with his family to this day is a carbophobe’s biggest nightmare. He is familiar with what I call soccer-mom veggis: corn, peas, broccoli, ect. However I love all veggis equally: bok choy, radishes, parsnips, hmmmmm turnips (don’t even get me started on bean sprouts.) So I introduce him to such things slowly, and sometimes deep fried. Enter fried leeks. I’m shameless, I know. I came across this recipe for them on FoodNetwork.com. By the by, I love FoodNetwork.com. They came out pretty good too, although it was a pretty big challenge to keep the flour batter from becoming cakey.

The Professor promises that he has become much better with food since knowing me. And if you knew how he was before you’d know of this great accomplishment. He doesn’t eat any seafood, for example. I’m quite picky with seafood as well, so this works out, but I LOVE shrimp. Those little bottom feeders have found a place in my heart. I’m turning his head towards them as well. Usually I have them as a side dish but this week I snuck them in as a main course, starting out as shrimp scampi. I learned how to make scampi while working in a restaurant during my college days. It’s really simple, but unfortunately I’ve never had a recipe for it, so you’ll have to bear with me. Also on this day I had no onions or sweet vermouth, huge fail. So I started by sautéing fresh garlic, smashed and minced, with olive oil. Then I mixed in the shrimp, lemon slices, a bit of lemon juice, and added dry white wine. I used a wine I was unfamiliar with, and it was a big acidic and strong. Thus I changed my mind of doing a straight up scampi. I just started adding in whatever I felt like, which included roasted red peppers, butter, and ricotta cheese. This created more of a creamy butter sauce. We did not complain, it was delicious. I served it with cous cous. Amazing.