My arch nemesis

In my last post I said I had ice cream all weekend with minimal bad side effects. I AM A FOOL! Ice cream has done me wrong yet again. As I sit here, moaning, I've decided no more ice cream. Ever. But damn if that Moose Tracks wasn't the best darn thing I've had in weeks...

PS: By "forever" I mean a few months. Tops.

Green soup

This weekend was short. And delicious. Fajitas with friends on Friday night, a batch of mojo de ajo was made on Saturday (that's a whole other blog post in itself, and coming soon), and freshly-baked naan and a super quick Indian dal this evening. Oh, and ice cream yesterday night. I rarely eat ice cream - it can sometimes do a number on my stomach - but I indulged last night (oh, and this afternoon - after the gym, no less - and I'm guessing I will be again in about 30 minutes) with minimal side effects. I miss ice cream. Maybe I'll eat more often.

But this post is about something decidedly more nutritious but just as delicious. I've been hearing so much about dark, leafy greens recently, and I am embarrassed to admit, I've rarely cooked with kale or chard...until now.

Remember when I made fun of my Mom's hippie cookbook, The Vegetarian Epicure? Well, I've been falling in love with it and went on an Amazon binge a few weeks ago and bought Love Soup, Anna Thomas' most recent cookbook. It's all soup (well, mostly), all vegetarian, and it all looks delicious. I'm chomping at the bit to make her potato and leek soup this week, but the first soup I tried out was her classic Green Soup (she includes many variations, but this is it in it's most simple form).

At first I was a tad concerned: how was this soup pot full of greens going to become...soupy? But it did (with the help of a blender) and it was really superb. In fact, when I woke up last Sunday all I wanted was this soup and snuck downstairs thirty minutes before Matt and heated the leftovers - all for myself. The recipe suggests topping the soup with big croutons, a drizzle of fruity olive oil, or a white cheese (queso fresco, feta, and so on). We have a deep adoration for feta and chose that. We also ate it with a baguette - what can I say, we are forever eating cheese and bread, so it's a good thing this soup is sublimely healthy.

Green Soup

• 1 bunch chard or spinach
• 1 bunch kale
• 5 scallions, sliced, white and green parts
• 1/2 cup loosely packed cilantro
• 1 tsp. sea salt, plus more to taste
• 1 medium potato
• 1 medium yellow onion
• 1 1/2 Tbs. olive oil
• Marsala or dry sherry (optional)
• 1-2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 2 1/2 - 3 cups veggie broth
• freshly ground black pepper
• cayenne pepper
• 1 Tbs. fresh lemon juice, plus more to taste
  

Serve with: fruity olive oil, crumbled fresh white cheese, or croutons.

Wash the greens, trim stems, and slice leaves. Combine with chard or spinach, kale, scallions, and cilantro in a large pot with 3 cups water and a teaspoon of salt. Peel the potato or just scrub, and cut into small pieces and add to the pot. Bring the water to a boil, turn down the flame to low, and cover. Simmer for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, chop the onion and saute with a dash of salt in olive oil until golden brown and soft. Cook slowly and then add the caramelized onion to the soup. You can also deglaze the pan at the end with a bit of Masala or sherry (optional). In the pan where you sauteed the onion, also saute the garlic just for a minute or two and add to the pot and simmer the soup for an additional 10 minutes.

Now add enough broth to the make the soup a soup - it should pour easily from the ladle - and puree it in the blender, in batches, or use an immersion blender. Return the soup to the pot, bring it back to a simmer, and taste. Season with salt and pepper. Add a pinch of cayenne and the lemon juice. Keep tasting and adjusting the spice until it's just right.

Pop quiz, hot shot: which one is the kale and which one is the chard? Oh, you think the first one, do you? The one on the left, you say? WRONG! Trick question: that's a head of romaine. Gotcha!!

The soup, before.

And after! We sprinkled feta on top.

Fertility "fun"!

Venus of Willendorf, who I pray to every night. Just kidding!

Oh, I almost forgot to regale you all with my medical odyssey! I know, I know…you’ve been chomping at the bit, staring wide-eyed at your monitor fretting about my next update. Or you’ve been living your life and I this blog has not come into your consciousness for weeks. You know, either/or.

Again, and I feel like I need to reiterate this because I feel like a bit of a schmuck talking about my tubes, but I’m discussing this due to scar tissue left behind due to my Crohn’s. Oh, and the fact that I love to air all my dirty laundry. (In truth, I actually do not spill every detail and possess a tad bit of decorum – there’s no point in embarrassing me or Matt any further, and the poor lad puts up with enough.)

So here we go: I will be going on Clomid for three months. If that doesn’t work, I am turned over to a fertility specialist and they bring out the big guns (read: artificial insemination, IVF, ugh). Clomid is the first go-to for women dealing with possible infertility. It’s cheap, non-invasive, and has few side effects (deteriorates your uterine lining, can make cervical mucus a hostile environment for sperm, or you can form cysts, but hey, who’s counting?!). Clomid stimulates ovulation and will regulate my longer-than-long cycle. Women I know who were on Clomid said it made them extremely emotional, which I’m intrigued with, considering I already cry 4.5 times a week (I have not told Matt about this possible side effect as I think he’d be scared).

You take Clomid – which is in pill form – days five through nine of your cycle, then have sexy time days 10 through 18 (every other day). And when I say “sexy time” I mean, “Matt, get up here NOW! This is gonna be all wham bam thank you ma’am, and don’t try any funny stuff.” (There is nothing sexy about anxiously trying to procreate, peeing on sticks every day, and monitoring your ovulation. It’s very calculated and I just want to go to bed.)

Look, you gotta say it like it is. I don’t mince words, and “miracle of life” has been replaced with cold, hard science. People say, “Make it romantic. You’re creating a new life.” Well, been there, done that – eight months ago. Now, excuse me, I have to go urinate on a stick.

PS: So no one feels sorry for Matt and thinks I embarrass the lad, please know that before publishing this (okay, right after) I asked Matt to read this to see if it would be okay to post. His response? "Nah, I'm not embarrassed. But you misspelled schmuck: it's "schmuck" and not "smuck"."

Like a rock

I’m very good at mini-freak-outs. These five-minute-panic-attacks usually consist of me Googling something, then crying, then calling Matt over (who tries hard not to roll his eyes), to my declaring I’d only feel better if there were just some cookies in the house. The last one occurred on Monday, where I realized the cost of my medication (now on a high deductible plan, these costs are much more pronounced). I emailed Matt and said Pentasa – the maintenance med I take several times a day – will run us over $500 a month. I told him we’re doomed, what if we lost insurance coverage, and I’m surely going to die a destitute old woman because of the lack of Medicare and Social Security 50 years from now. He replied with this: “Well, there’s an argument for us both to always continue working. And relax, do you know how strong the AARP lobby is? We’ll be fine.” TYPICAL MATT.

Matt is the most rational and un-excitable person I know. He doesn’t emote. I think it’s a nerd/programmer thing. I’ve only known Matt to cry twice: early in our relationship when he was falling in love with me and realizing how awesome I was (I would pause here and tell Matt I’m sorry for embarrassing him, but this is nothing new, so we’ll move on), and during my first hospitalization when I was told I was having surgery (I was sobbing, he only shed a few tears). I semi-recently asked, “Why don’t you cry over me like you did when we met!?” To this, he arched his eyebrow, laughed (devilishly), and chided me with, “Kathryn…that was a long time ago! It’s different now.” He then excused himself to get some almonds to munch on. So much for romance.

Matt and I are very different: namely, he is very nice, and I can be very temperamental. He calls it emotional. If we have a run-in with a rude individual I might go to him afterwards, “God, what an ASSHOLE!”. He will listen to me, and then I always end with, “Well, DON’T YOU AGREE??!” to which he’ll usually respond, “Yes; he could have been nicer.” Sometimes he disagrees but tries to be diplomatic, but it always comes out very condescending like: “I see your point, but maybe you’re looking into it too much. Maybe so-and-so didn’t realize how they came off.” This is when I usually explode and tell him, “No, Matt, you just don’t get it!”

Matt once tried to teach me how to drive stick. Actually, it was more like five times, and they all ended horribly. The first time was in his rickety old truck only a few months into our relationship. I liked him, so I didn’t want to scare him off, so I decided NO MATTER WHAT I was going to keep my emotions in check. I think I only cried once that day.

The next few times were nothing short of disastrous. Matt had gotten a new car – which was of course manual – and decided we would try again. This time things when smoothly until I stalled. And then stalled again. And again and again and again. Then I yanked off his Spongebob air freshener and threw it out the window. And then I cried. We have since decided that his next car will be an automatic.

Before I got more seriously sick with Crohn’s, I decided I was going to get my MBA. I cannot articulate why except for “everyone is doing it” and “it can’t hurt”. Because I have absolutely no business background and my GMAT scores were just okay, I was admitted on a provisional basis: I had to receive a B in my first class – statistics – to be admitted into Penn State’s program. This would be no big deal if the class wasn’t STATISTICS. Because I have no business background, and my last class solid math class was pre-calc in 11^th grade, and this class was said to be the equivalent of "two undergrad classes in half the time" I decided I obviously had to find a way to cheat. Unfortunately, I was not clever enough to think of exactly how, so I solicited Matt's help. Matt is good at math and uses it for his job. He says things like "it's the only universal language" and it's "beautiful and absolute" and it "exists outside of its application" (I don't get the last one, either).

It didn't go well. First of all, the class was abstract and I'm not sure how we were to use it in the business world. Or any world. Every Tuesday and Thursday I'd come home from class close to tears because I did not understand it...at all. And every Tuesday and Thursday night Matt would look over the chapter and walk me through it. He found most of it easy, but I was very pleased when he was tripped up a few times, and took the opportunity to shout, "YOU don't even understand it! That's how AWFUL it is!" or, when I was feeling particularly frustrated and mad, I'd snidely and very flippantly say, "Well, well, well, I guess you're just as dumb as I am." Look, I was mad.

I think it's impossible to learn something from someone whom you love. Like a child, I'd cry, throw my books down, and walk about the room when I didn't understand something...which was often. I'm not someone who enjoys a hearty challenge; I enjoy things I'm good at. Like watching t.v. Or choosing what jewelry to wear for the day. Not statistics. I put my MBA on hold when I got sick, and have yet to pick it back up.

But you know what? Thanks to my better half, I got the necessary B in that class.

Let's do the twist!

Chubby Checker and, well, ....not me, doing the twist.

I go to a gym on the Main Line. For those not in the Philadelphia region, the Main Line is (according to Wikipedia) “an unofficial region of suburban Philadelphia comprising a collection of affluent towns built along the old Main Line of the Pennsylvania Railroad…which in the 19th century became home to many sprawling country estates built by Philadelphia’s wealthiest families.”

I am not one of them.

But I work in the area and the gym is between my home and work. It’s convenient and all the cardio machines have televisions: that’s enough for me! They bill it as a “sophisticated club for sophisticated members”. I bring the status of their clientele down considerably when I roll in sporting some bumper stickers on my Corolla (“Adopt a homeless Lab!” and a couple touting the Democratic Party, which brings me particular delight because I think I’m amidst a lot of Republicans at that club). Occasionally, my car is the only non-luxury car in the parking lot, and we’re not talking mid-luxury like an Audi or an Acura, we’re talking full-on Mercedes Benz and BMWs out the wazoo. And that’s fine by me (I also feel a sort of pride considering Matt recently repaired my cracked front bumper with packaging tape…cheap but obviously very tasteful because, come on, it’s clear…not like that lewd silver duct tape).

Anyway, at my weekly training session where I get yelled at for eating cookies and cake, my trainer pointed out a man in sweatpants and a hoodie, who’ve I’ve seen many times before. “Do you know who that is?” she asked. “That’s Chubby Checker!” Then she started twisting and gyrating and yelled “Hey Chubby! Let’s do the twist! Come over here!” I was on, what my trainer calls, the sex machines (your legs go in and out and work your thighs) and really saw no reason for Chubby Checker to come over witness my general unease.

First of all, Chubby Checker has a very baby-like face. Secondly, this is what he told me when he got over to the sex machine and after my trainer introduced me: “I’ve been watching you and you look good. I have my eye on you and you’re lookin’ real good.” (I think he was remarking on the fact that I no longer make a scene when I'm told it's crunch time on the mat.) He left and my trainer told me to tell Matt that Chubby Checker was hitting on me and she laughed uproariously.

And of course he wasn’t, but I couldn't let an opportunity like this pass me up. (Come on! This is pretty much the highlight of my life.) So with that, here you go: a whole entry just so I could brag that Chubby Checker gave me a compliment today.

Oatmeal Raisin Chocolate Chip Cookies

Today was a very lazy day. Embarrassingly lazy. I spent the morning catching up on favorite television shows online, and during each commercial break I was bombarding with the Payton/Eli Manning versus Donald Trump Oreo spots. Have you seen these? They are cringe-worthy, but after 2 1/2 hours of television I turned to Matt and said, "Can you get me some Oreos?" (Very good call on their part to market to pathetic women in their pajamas watching equally questionable shows like Grey's Anatomy.)

Of course he said no, and since I was still not dressed I decided to take matters in my own hands and make some cookies. I saw delicious cookies on The Bright Side's blog, but I decided it was chocolate or bust today (I still had Oreos on the brain). I had a little bit of butter, a little bit of oats, a little bit of chocolate, and a little bit of raisins on hand. No worries, because I found the perfect recipe for a little bit of everything: Oatmeal Raisin Chocolate Chip Cookies. They are wonderful: crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside, and Matt and I adore the raisin/chocolate combo. Our favorite candy bar, in fact, is Cadbury's Fruit and Nut (chocolate, raisins, and almonds = divine). Even Matt, who is a cookie snob - oh, and he knows it - devoured them with his nightly coffee.

I'd also like to add they're quite filling, which is really a plus if you're like me and usually eat no less than eight cookies at a time.

Oatmeal Raisin Chocolate Chip Cookies
(recipe courtesy of The Dragon's Kitchen)

Makes 16 large cookies.

• 1/2 cup butter
• 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
• 2 tablespoons maple syrup
• 1 large egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1 cup all purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1 1/2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
• 3/4 cup chocolate chips
• 3/4 cup golden raisins

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.

2. In a mixer bowl cream together the butter, brown sugar and maple syrup until light and fluffy. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add the egg and vanilla, beating well.

3. In a bowl sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon. Set aside.

4. With mixer on low speed, add flour mixture and mix until just incorporated.

5. Stir in the oatmeal, chocolate chips and raisins.

6. Drop 2 tablespoons of dough into mounds onto a parchment lined cookie sheets. I made my mounds bigger by using an ice cream scoop. Space mounds about 2 inches apart. Bake until lightly golden around the edges about 10-12 minutes.

My mom got Matt parchment paper (well, amongst other things) for Christmas this year. I'm not sure why. But she just wrote me an email saying she was looking at the blog and disappointed I had not used the parchment paper in any of the recipes so far. So this is for you, mom. Sit back and take it allll in.

What; you don't let your dog lick the bowl, too? (For anyone who eats at our house: all dishes are thoroughly washed and disinfected in the dishwasher. Well....most of them at least.)

Camouflage cookies!

Spicy Roasted Cauliflower and Salmon

Martha Stewart scares me. A domestic diva I am not: I "clean" by sweeping things under the bed and in the closet, and "cook" by dumping ingredients in a pot. I do not care about thread-count, I can't craft a darn thing, and all of my drawers are lazily unorganized. But the woman (well, her team) can concoct a mean dinner.

Last week I left a recipe on the counter and a few ingredients in the fridge and instructed Matt to do the rest. I returned home to this: spicy roasted cauliflower and salmon. It was divine. It really was, and even Matt said we're adding this to our regular rotation (so thank you Martha).

A note: The recipe - in it's original, published form - is below. However, we had a VERY large head of cauliflower (it's priced per head and not per pound, so OF COURSE I'm gonna rummage for the biggest one available!) and doubled the anchovies/garlic and thought it was superb. Also, don't be scared of the anchovies! They added a delicious complexity of flavor to the dish, and were not fishy.

One last thing: Take "spicy" with a grain of salt. I do not eat anything very spicy (as in hot) due to my IC/Crohn's - the red pepper flakes just gave it a bit of a kick.

Spicy Roasted Cauliflower and Salmon

Serves 4; courtesy of Martha Stewart

• 4 garlic cloves
• 2 to 4 anchovy fillets (optional)
• 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon red-pepper flakes
• Coarse salt and ground pepper
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 tablespoons anchovy oil (from can of anchovies) or olive oil
• 1 head cauliflower (about 2 pounds), cored and cut into large florets
• 4 skinless salmon fillets (6 to 8 ounces each)
• 4 thin lemon slices, halved, plus 4 wedges, for serving

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Gather garlic, anchovies (if using), and red-pepper flakes into a pile. Using a chefs knife, coarsely chop; season generously with salt. Using flat side of knife blade, mash mixture into a paste.
2. Place paste into a large bowl; add oils, and mix to combine. Add cauliflower, and toss to coat. Spread mixture in a single layer on a large rimmed baking sheet. Roast until starting to soften, about 15 minutes.
3. Season salmon with salt and pepper. Remove baking sheet from oven; push cauliflower to sides, and place fillets in the center. Arrange two half-slices of lemon on each fillet. Return to oven; bake until fish is opaque throughout, 10 to 15 minutes. Serve with lemon wedges.

We were both voraciously eating this, and fighting over the cauliflower. Who fights over cauliflower?!

Smashed chickpea sandwiches

Sometimes you just want a good sandwich. Fresh turkey, crisp romaine, hearty bread, and some mayo, if in the mood, is the closest thing to divinity. This week I wanted to add a vegetarian twist, and a recipe on Smitten Kitchen fit the bill. This food blog has the most gorgeous photos, and if you call if food porn, then call me addict.

These sandwiches are deliciously simple, and just plain delicious. The beans make them filling and they have a slight Medi flair. They call for olives - which I had on hand for half the mixture since Matt's a fan and I'm not - but he ate them when I wasn't looking. Go figure. He said he "didn't know they were for the recipe" but they were on the counter with all the other ingredients, so I think he's lying.

I topped my sandwich with some roasted red pepper, sliced cucumber for more crunch, and cheddar cheese (cheese makes everything better). Matt topped his with some gorgeous watercress (given to us from his parents from a hydroponic farm near their house...it still had the roots!) and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar: equally amazing, light, and just plain fresh.

Smashed Chickpea Sandwiches

• 2 15 oz. cans chickpeas, drained
• 4 Tb. sliced black olives (we didn't use)
• 4 Tb. finely chopped red onion
• 4 Tb. chopped parsley
• Zest and juice from 1 lemon
• salt and pepper
• few Tb. of olive oil (more or less dependent on your personal preference)
  

Mix everything but the oil in a bowl and lightly smash the chickpeas. Add the olive oil, and mix and adjust seasonings. Enjoy as a sandwich or atop greens.

See that plastic container in the middle? That housed the olives, which Matt "didn't know belonged to the recipe". Lies, I tell you, lies!!

Pre-mash.

Post-mash.

Check if out open-faced style!

Roasted Veggie Soup

Last week I made a soup with kale. Kale-wah?! I am a kale novice, and a bit frightened of it. First off, kale is one hardcore and tough green...it's almost....leathery. I just can't really imagine sauteing the stuff and it would surely beat chard or spinach in hand-to-hand combat any day. This soup also has butternut squash, which is a major milestone for me because years ago I made the following decree: "The most disgusting foods in the world are winter squashes, olives, and cottage cheese!" Now it looks like only two of those will be become permanent fixtures on the list.

I shamelessly stole this recipe from Simply Recipes - one of my food blog favorites. I've never had a knack at following recipes to their exact specifications, and I threw in some portabellos, which I know think are quite necessary in the dish: they add a certain earthy heartiness to the soup. I'm also a lifelong fan of all things mushroom. (And has anyone else noticed that the fancy shiitakes and creminis in the bulk bins are often just as cheap as the pre-wrapped button mushrooms?!) I also added some peppers to the roasting pan because I had them (a soup is the perfect excuse to clean out your produce bin, am I right?).

We ate this soup for two days straight and each night Matt brought home a fresh loaf of bread to accompany the meal. We're heathens!

Roasted Veggie Soup

• 3 medium carrots, peeled and quartered lengthwise (I used 5.)
  
• 2 large tomatoes, quartered (I used a can of peeled whole tomatoes.)
  
• 1 large onion, cut into 8 wedges or 4 or 5 slices
• 1/2 small butternut squash, peeled, seeded, cut lengthwise into 1/2 inch thick wedges (I used a whole squash, small in size.)
  
• 6 garlic cloves
• 1 Tbsp olive oil
• 6 cups or more of vegetable broth
• 4 cups of finely chopped kale (Used one bunch.)
  
• 3 large fresh thyme sprigs
• 1 bay leaf (Used a few.)
  
• 1 15 oz can of Great Northern white beans, drained
• I added a couple of large portobella mushroom caps, sliced, and a large handful of baby bell peppers.
  

1 Preheat oven to 400°F. Brush rimmed baking sheet with a thin coat of olive oil. Arrange carrots, squash, tomatoes, onion, and garlic (and any other veggies you're using) on sheet. Drizzle with more olive oil. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Toss to coat. Roast vegetables until they are brown and tender, stirring occasionally, about 45 minutes.

2 Cut squash and carrots into 1/2 inch pieces; set aside. (I simply scooped the insides of the squash out and added to the soup as spoonfuls.) Place garlic cloves in food processor. Add tomatoes and onion; puree until almost smooth. Pour 1/2 cup broth onto the baking sheet; scrape up any browned bits. Transfer broth and vegetable puree to large pot. Add 5 1/2 cups broth, kale, thyme and bay leaf(s) to pot. Bring to boil. Reduce heat. Simmer uncovered until kale is tender, about 30 minutes.

3 Add carrots, beans, and squash to soup. Simmer 8 minutes to blend flavors, adding more broth to thin soup if necessary. Season with salt and pepper. Discard thyme sprigs and bay leaf.

What a bountiful kitchen. What a cornucopia. What a...okay, I'll stop.

Roast those suckers!

I only know how to use one blade on my food processor, and this is it.

Because of my sub-par camera skills, the soup is glistening!

Now how do I get to this wedding?

If you know me, you know I’m not a fan of weddings. No, scratch that: I’m not a fan of what weddings have become (read: the cost of your 20% home down payment). I was raised by really cheap parents: my mom washed Ziplock baggies!!! I had like two Barbies tops, and one of them was headless. I got socks and slippers when other kids got Nintendo for Christmas. I know, I know: it was a tough childhood, cry me a river.

But back to weddings. What in the world is going on here? And why, even with my distaste for the whole industry, do I get sucked into watching episodes of “Say Yes to the Dress” at the gym?! With all my ranting aside, I want to post this superbly cute video. It kind of sickens me on how GOOD it is, but if you’re going to make a “Save the Date” video, then darnit, this is how to do it. And being 5’10” (my coworkers measured me and said I was 5’11” but I WILL NOT ACCEPT THAT), I’m swooning over how this couple embraces their height difference. I mean, Matt and I are the same height but only recently have I been secure enough to wear 1 ½ inch heels. I know – pathetic. Now watch the video and marvel at how much more creative Jeff and Erin are than you and me.