Completely missed posting yesterday. Probably due to writing a novella to a friend about the weird, wacky tale of hubris gone awry. Life is an interesting mistress for some people. Someday I may write a book. Not that anyone would publish it, but hey, a guy can dream. I’m frankly still amazed people take the time to read this blog. I guess the fact that not many do is no surprise. But still I post on….
The last couple of days have been relatively good, food wise. Both days have been below 3000 calories (2480 and 2452, respectively). Not great, by any means, but better than the past. I don’t know if I mentioned that I had gone back to some of my first posts where I actually listed the foods I’d eaten, and figured out the calorie counts. I nearly passed out from lack of nutrition. And since signing up on caloriecount.about.com, I have been searching all my favorites with devastating results. I knew that the chicken club sandwich at Wendy’s was a calorie nightmare, but I didn’t realize the pale death horse she rode in on was the large fries! The sandwich has 540 calories all on its own. But the large fries add another whopping 590 calories! [*faint!*] That’s 1130 calories in one sitting! And I used to eat these things all the time. And with almost 2000mg of sodium, I can hear the valves slamming shut in my heart as I think about it. No wonder I get winded jumping to conclusions.
So last night, we got ready to send a care package to our daughter, Kathryn, at Oakcrest girl’s camp. We were going to run it to someone who was going up to give to her and her girls. They are celebrating Christmas at camp this week, so we decided to send up some stuff. My wife wanted to make some cookies. She’s been meaning to send up molasses bars for several weeks, and with work and business trips, and what all, just hasn’t been able to do it. Now for the next part of this story, a little history needs to be discussed. My wife, one of the sweetest, kindest people on the planet, is always wanting to do good for other people. She is always saying, “Let’s take them over a plate of cookies to thank them for thus-and-such.” She has apparently been like this for years. I mean yee-ee-aars! So much so that John B. (her longtime friend, my not so long time friend) crowned her Cookie Queen. John B. can attest to this strange predilection of hers. When Kris and I were dating and I was working out at the International Center on graveyard security duty, I would often see someone sneaking around the shadows outside my building, ready to call the cops, only to realize that it was John B. try to surreptitiously deposit a plate of the aforementioned royal offerings at the door step. Now you might think this was an easy task, or at least not too difficult. Well, dear reader, you don’t know John B.! He was a very large boy of German heritage. I often thought of him as my stature-deficient twin brother (aside from the fact that I am not of German heritage, and we look nothing alike). We are both part of the Big Pant Parade. One of these days I will post the harrowing tale of John B. and I on the log flume ride at MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Now that was a tale of legend.
Anyway, I digress…. Kris was then, is now, and shall every her Her Royal Highness, Queen of Cookies, By the Grace of God, Defender of the Realm, Sovereign of the Most Honorable Order of Butter, Sovereign of the Most Honorable Order of the Shortening, Baroness of Sugar, Duchess of Egg, Flour and Spices, Countess of the Realm of Cutters and Presses, Sovereign of Baking and of Dropping, of Chilling and of Freezing. God Save the Queen! (I am gonna pay sooooo dearly for this one!) So we set out, at about 7:45 pm., to make molasses bars, upon which she said she wanted to make cookie press cookies and cake mix cookies. I was skeptical. After the first batch of molasses bars was in the oven and Kris was confounding the children and their science/art/film projects, wondering what had happened to the food coloring, I kindly suggested that maybe, just maybe, as it was now 9 pm., and she was ready to tear small patches of hair/skin from our boys and from me for just being who I am, that two batches of cookies was probably enough. She, of course, being Majesty of all Cookiedom, felt that was somehow beneath her, but that one has to break eggs if one wants to bake confectionaries. She was finally inclined to acquiesce to my request. So by about 11 pm., the baking finally done, we got the package off to the doorstep of the sainted lady appointed to delivery the parcel to its destination. And we collapsed into a modicum of repose. [Now, I’m really going to pay dearly. A night out to Cafe Zupa’s might just do the trick.]
Quote of the day:
“This is every cook's opinion -
no savory dish without an onion,
but lest your kissing should be spoiled
your onions must be fully boiled.
~Jonathan Swift
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