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The other night, I was alone downstairs. This is a highly unusual occurrence.
Then I started watching The Magnificent Seven . This is also a highly unusual occurrence – me watching a western. But, it so happens that this is the one and only western I like.
Now, I don’t know when, but at some point I have developed a pathological disability to just sit and watch TV or a movie. I can’t help it – I feel like a useless bump on a log. And I can’t live with that. So instead of sit there and wallow in my abject uselessness, I wrote the following post.
Please keep in mind, it was…9:30 pm. And…I’d had a long day. And…I was in desperate need of a chocolate fix. And…I was experiencing resurfacing childhood angst over a Sesame Street episode I watched when I was 8.
Or something.
Just don’t judge me, please. Don’t sue me for excessive chatter. I yam what I yam…
I’m going to take a minute to tell you about a little something I like to call “Rhubarbarian”.
Any Veggie Tales aficionados out there? I hope so. I don’t want to feel desolate and alone here. Please – someone – tell me you know what I’m referring to when I say Rhubarbarian. If you can’t…well, you should watch Duke and the Great Pie War at the next opportunity. And then get back to me, so I will no longer feel desolate and alone.
**Break in stream-of-consciousness rambling to question the historical accuracy of Yul Brynner’s trademark shaved head in the Old West.**
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Rhubarbarian.
It’s rightful name is Strawberry Rhubarb Dessert. But I made it, and along with culinary creating comes, I believe, certain prerogatives. One of which is calling your creation whatever the heck you want. So, even though it’s entirely without logic or intelligent base, I called this stuff Rhubarbarian, and the whole family played along.
I just love it when the whole family plays along. Like when I made these.
For starters, here’s what this very simple and highly delicious recipe calls for:
Rhubarb.
I know – you weren’t expecting that, were you? What can I say? I like to shake things up.
You’ll need about 1 quart, which will be 2-3 stalks. I used 2 because that’s all I had, because that’s all we bought when we were in the store because we’d never had rhubarb before because…well, just because!
You’ll also need:
1 boxed yellow cake mix, 1 cup of sugar, 1 stick of butter, and 1 3-oz. box of strawberry Jello.
There are too many “1’s” in there. It makes this recipe seem insultingly simple. How ‘bout if we say “8 tablespoons of butter”. Yes, I like that. It complicates things.
And I’m all about complicating things.
Oh yeah, and 2 cups of water.
Now, to begin, chop of the rhubarb in small slices. What I did was cut a slit down the middle, then turned the stalk and cut it cross-ways.
Can we take a minute to talk about the smell vs. the taste of rhubarb? Good. Because I’ve never before in my life had rhubarb, and I really need to wax eloquent on this for a few minutes. The smell…well, the smell is unlike anything I’ve ever smelled. (Smelt?) At first, it actually smelled like a pound cake. I kid you not – a pound cake. But as the chopping wore on, it started to smell less than pleasant. It actually started to make me nauseous. Now, I’m not saying this to scare you away from rhubarb if you’ve never had it. I think I’m just sharing it because I’m a freak-spaz-nerd-weirdo and I have overly-developed olfactory senses. And I needed to get that off my chest.
**Break in the middle of waxing eloquent to wish Steve McQueen’s style of man still walked the earth.**
Now, since this rhubarb was smelling like a nauseating pound cake, the taste totally caught me off guard. Threw me out of whack. Knocked me off the Christmas tree. The taste was so tart I couldn’t swallow it. Which shouldn’t have been so entirely unexpected because I’d read about it in this book, which I would probably perish without. When I move out, I’m going to smuggle this book with me. Maybe my mom won’t notice. Yeah. Right.
Anyway, I’d read about rhubarb in there, and did say it was extremely tart.
But I was still knocked off the Christmas tree.
Now, I think I’m rambled for long enough – arguably too long. (But that’s absurd!) Let’s just get down to cookin’.
First, spread your chopped/sliced/diced rhubarb into a 13×9 inch pan. Evenly. Sorta.
Sprinkle 1 cup of sugar over it. Evenly. Sorta.
Next, the Jello mix.
Last but not least, the yellow cake mix, which I probably should have sifted but didn’t.
Pour the water over it, slowly and not from too high up or you’ll have little pits in the powder and cake mix flying everywhere.
Not that I discovered that the hard way or anything.
Lastly, pour 1 stick of melted butter over the water.
*PLEASE PRETEND I HAVE INSERTED A PICTURE OF POURING MELTED BUTTER HERE. THANK YOU.*
Huh huh. That’s weird. I forgot to take a picture. How unusual for me to forget something. Heh heh. Snort snort.
Pop the weird, liquidy, dumpy pan of muck into the oven and please, please trust me. It will be good. It will, in fact, be delicious. Leave it in there for 30 minutes.
The flavor…the flavor is unique. Definitely nothing like the conflicting smells or tastes of before. Tart and sweet, the strawberry jello really comes through – but not too much. The top layer of crust is golden and delicious; the perfect texture.
Serve with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Smile. And give thanks that some crazy, brave person once said, “Hey, I think I’ll try eating this stuff. And I think I’ll call it rhubarb.”
Then right a poem about it. It’s that good.
Printable Recipe – Strawberry Rhubarb Dessert (Rhubarbarian)
~ Happy Cooking!
Well…she used to be blonde…when she was a little tyke.
(Please note: the massive canine flank and lower legs in the bottom right corner of the above shot. Keepin’ it real around here.)
Today, Paige and I will be making Chocolate Chip Blondies, and forcing you to come along for the ride. In fact, we’re tying you up, tossing you over our shoulders and hijacking you along for the ride.
Sounds like fun, right? Good! Let’s get baking 
First of all, the cast of characters:
Flour, brown sugar, vanilla, 2 sticks of butter, 2 eggs, and salt.
Oh, and a mixer helps.
Oh, and you absolutely must have iodized sea salt for this recipe. If you don’t, you’re life will swirl into a whirling pit of deep, dark despondency. All will be lost. You’ll never forgive yourself.
Not really. I actually don’t know why we have iodized sea salt.
OH! And chocolate chips. They’re the star of the show. So they get their own shot.
It’s not because I forgot about them. Nope. Definitely not.
For starters, order your obliging assistant to chop up the butter so it will melt fast.
Nuke it for about a minute, or until it’s completely melted.
Now, you’ll need 2 cups of firmly packed brown sugar.
Dump that melted butter into a mixing bowl, and then dump in the sugar.
Dump. That’s just about the most appetizing word to use when referring to food preparation, I think.
Wait a minute. My handy-dandy trusty assistant needs to show us something:
Very nice, Paige. Now get back to work!
Blend the butter and brown sugar, then add the eggs. And blend them in too.
Now, a pinch of salt…
And 2 cups of flour.
And, oh yeah, I almost forgot; vanilla.
Mix it all up and finally…add the chocolate chips.
I always have to mix chocolate chips in by hand. I don’t know why. But it’s just somehow sacrilegious to beat them in with a mixer.
However, I won’t judge. Beat ‘em to smithereens with your mixer if you have no conscience whatsoever. Like I say. I won’t judge.
- No, those are most definitely not my hands.
- No, I most definitely did not snatch the spatula and bowl from Paige and say “Here, let me.”
- And no, I am most definitely not a control freak.
Having your hastily-PAM-sprayed 13×9 inch pan ready, pour in the batter…
…and smooth it around.
Now comes the tricky part. At least, for me. I tried to get Paige to slide the pan into the oven.
Nothing doing.
This girlie is a little on the fretful side when it comes to hot ovens, hot foods, hot things in general. So even though I bribed and begged…
And barked and commanded…
And threw a pair of oven mitts at her head and yelled “Do it!”…
Our girl stood strong. She was not going to risk burning herself.
Besides, we were using the upper oven, rather than the more punk-friendly lower oven, so that factored largely into her reluctance.
In the end, I slid the pan in the oven (at 350° for 25 minutes), and we lived happily ever after.
Especially because these blondies are absolutely, positively fantastic. In a plain, old-fashioned, basic kind of way.
Please, take Paige’s and my advice and make these blondies pronto. You’ll be your new best friend.
~ Happy Cooking!
He’s pesky.
He’s a chatterbox.
He’s Tony and he’s my baking assistant today.
Today we’ll be making Chocolate Chip Butter Cookies, and revisiting the importance of following directions exactly.
For starters, you’ll need just 5 ingredients:
Confectioner’s Sugar, flour, chocolate chips, vanilla and 2 sticks of butter.
Hey – what’s this? Get your head out of the shot, Mister! You’re covering up five very important letters on the sugar canister, and half a stick of butter!
But you’re kinda cute. So I guess I’ll let it slide this time. But only this time. And you’re washing the dishes.
Melt the 2 sticks of butter in the microwave. It helps to cut them in little pieces first.
Now add 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla to the melted butter.
Stir it around…
Now LET IT COOL COMPLETELY. This is imperative. Wish I’d known that.
Actually… I did know that. Kinda. Because it said it in the directions and all. But I’m a lazy rebel loser, so I used the butter when it was still warm. I should be flogged.
Meanwhile, in another bowl, you had already combined the flour and confectioner’s sugar. Yup. You don’t know it, but that’s exactly what you did.
The directions say to add the butter to the flour/sugar mixture, but we did it backwards for no apparent reason.
Next, mix in the chocolate chips…
Form into little 1-inch balls…
Flatten slightly with a spoon… (it helps if the flattener has grimy little fingers. Really, it does.)
And bake at 375° for 12 minutes.
Voila!
Now you see why it’s important to let that butter cool? The warm butter made the dough really soft, which made it spread more in the oven. So instead of looking like this:
They looked more like this:
Buuuuuut……….they still tasted amazing.
Right Tony?
Tony can’t really speak right now. Well, he can…and he did. But the words were unintelligibly garbled by a mouthful of cookie.
However, I think he said, “Abbie, you’re the best cook ever. And you’re my favorite sister. And you’re really pretty.”
Or maybe he just said…“These cookies are really good. We gotta make ‘em again sometime!”
Who can be sure? Like I said, his words were pretty garbled…
Click here for the Printable Recipe.
~ Happy Cooking!
Steak and shrimp were on the Mother’s Day menu. Which- by the way – I was supposed to be cooking. Which is why I was glad Faith’s pesky boyfriend decided to make an appearance.
He’s pretty much Lord of the Grill, and I weaseled him into grilling for me. He also whipped up a batch of rice – which he peppered heavily, I might add. The man likes his pepper.
I decided to take up one of my favorite hobbies and stand uselessly taking pictures while everyone else was working. It’s great fun. And Faith and Luke are perfect victims subjects because, while I often accuse them of being a boring old couple, they’re very facially animated in their communication at times.
Especially while cooking.
“You’re gonna want to turn the heat down, honey.”
“Don’t tell me how to cook, woman!”
“I’m sorry, honey. If you want to burn the rice, that’s your problem.”
“Did you hear that, Abagnale?”
Oh, yes Luke. I heard. And I’m behind the camera, cackling wildly.
*Note: Please excuse the horrid and dramatic lighting differences in these pictures, as the complexions and attire of Faith and Luke go from deathly white to sickly yellow. That’s what happens when I nab Paige’s camera and re-figure all the settings, pretending I know what I’m doing.*
“Here, try this.”
“I don’t wanna try it. It looks gross.”
“Shut up and try it anyway, boy. And while you’re at it, stir that rice.”
Faith may seem mild-mannered and submissive when it comes to her significant other. But the girl can dish it out when necessary.
“Hm. I’m not too sure about this stuff. It’s decent, I guess.”
“Oh my gosh, Luke, you just put the spoon you licked RIGHT back into the pot! Gross!”
*Insert more wild cackling from behind the camera.*
And then…then Luke pulls the sucker-punch. Knowing I’m standing there armed with the photographic equipment to preserve his antics forever, and wanting to provide me with some fodder for the lens, he looks at Faith, the love of his life, his other half, the yin to his yang and says…
“You’re stupid.”
That’s right, folks. You heard ‘im. And the man’s treading on some seriously thin ice, am I right?
Just look at him, hamming it up for the camera. Toothy grin and everything.
Actually, he’s just chortling at Faith’s response to his insult.
Then he takes his antics even further, with a bone-crusher of a hug:
“Aaabbieeee, tell him to stoooop!”
Sorry, sis. No-can-do. He’s got a mind of his own. And a cruel sense of humor. Plus, I can barely stop giggling long enough to take pictures, much less ride to your rescue. But I would if I could. Because, as you know, Luke always hears me and obeys.
That’s it. Her own sister won’t even help out, too busy is she documenting the bedlam for future generations to see and guffaw. It’s time to take matters into her own hands.
Or…teeth, as it were.
“Good grief, woman, look at those teeth marks!”
“Sorry, honey. But it serves you right for trying to squeeze the life out of me.”
I told you the girl could dish it.
Today, in honor of my ambitious plans to finish out the year of chemistry on this very Friday, I’ve decided to get all those pesky computer duties of mine over and done with. You know, my duties. Like…checking my email.
Reinforcing my love-hate relationship with Facebook.
Reading a couple of my favorite blogs.
Uploading a few more pictures to the private blog I share with my cousins across the country.
You know…stuff like that. Important stuff. Pressing stuff.
Oh, and writing here. Because I think it’s been proven that I’m a pathological nut-case if I don’t utilize this outlet of my insanity.
So before I go and immerse myself in the world of stoichiometry, ΔH, products and reactants, I’m going to dig deep into my soul and revert to my cooking blog days. Because cooking is where my passion lies. Cooking is where my heart sings the Hallelujah Chorus. Cooking is where my legs tingle with excitement and anticipation.
(Was that even grammatically correct?)
(I thought not.)
I’m going to share with you a highly involved and time-consuming gourmet recipe. But please, please…I beg of you. Grit your teeth and make it. You won’t be sorry. In fact, you’ll be so glad you did that you’ll most likely call me and say you’d like to send me and my entire family on a complimentary 3-month cruise, with a stopover in Belgium. Because I’ve always wanted to go to Belgium.
Now then. This recipe is called…
Garlic Bread.
And actually, there are only 4 ingredients. Well, 5, if you include the bread.
Ready? Hungry? Good. Let’s do this thing.
First of all, take a loaf of sub-roll bread, or French bread, or baguette bread, or whatever kind of bread your heart desires. Cut it across the short way into cute little slices.
Now soften a couple tablespoons of butter.
Add a squirt or 3 of lime juice to the butter and mix it up with a spoon or fork. Or a knife, if you’re really brave.
And sprinkle in some garlic salt. And some parsley.
Now take your garlic-butter-lime-parsley blend and spread a little onto one side of each bread slice.
Keep spreadin’ till you use up all your butter mixture, or all your bread, whichever comes first. Surprisingly, they both came at the same time for me. I only had to eat 2 pieces of bread to even things out.
Now, take your cute little bread medallions…
And place them butter side-down in a hot frying pan.
You could broil them in the oven instead, but it was already hot in the house and I didn’t want to steam to death in my own sweat while trying to cook dinner. So, the frying pan it was. And I liked it better that way. Faster and easier. Plus, there’s just something about it being fried.
I mean, look at that:
You can’t say “no” to the garlic bread medallions – crispy and buttery and delicious.
I actually made the family call them “medallions.” My dad played along, saying, “Pass the garlic medallions, please.” Everyone else just snickered and said “Pass the biscuits,” or “Pass the bread.”
Biscuits. Bah. I’ll show them biscuits. If I ever get around to making them.
Now, go forth and make garlic bread the next time you have an Italian meal.
And then let’s discuss that cruise..
