How fortunate to have been witness to a great mind.
How amazing to have been able to experience exceptional innovation.
How unbelievable it is to think about how we communicated before.
Thank you, Mr. Jobs.
When I picked up Mo-Dizzle from school yesterday, I asked her how her day went.
“Oh, it was good,” she said, buckling herself into her seat. “I left you a note in my lunchbox about my sandwich, though.”
“Huh?” I asked, wheeling us out of the carpool lane and into traffic. “What happened to your sandwich?”
“Nothing, I just didn’t eat it. I left you a note about it.” she repeated and then promptly severed communication by sticking her nose in a Magic Tree House Book.
Fast forward to the great unload from the car: backpacks, library books, assorted jackets, sweaters, and stray papers. As girls hung up their stuff, I opened up the lunchboxes. In Morgan’s lunchbox, I found the aforementioned note:
“I do not like crasty sandwichs.”
What the devil? What happened to her sandwich between last night when I made it and this afternoon when she was supposed to have eaten it? I popped the top of the sandwich keeper to find this:
Unblemished (uneaten) PBJ
“Morgan!” I called, holding the “offending” sandwich out in front of me. “What’s the matter with this? Why didn’t you eat it?”
(insert exasperated six-year old eye roll) “I don’t like crasty sandwiches! Next time, will you please cut off the crast?”
Crast? Crust! Cut off the crust! Oh, good lord.
Request for crast-less sandwiches duly noted. And far be it from me to waste a perfectly good PBJ, so
guess who had a “crast-less” PBJ for dinner?
Here’s a hint: she’s six years old and has a wicked eye roll.
I’m embarassed to admit how often I have a Chicken Fajita Bowl for lunch. Let’s just say, I think I need a Chipotle-vention. . .
. . .right after I finish this last bowl.
I may be a day late (I’m bordering on two days actually), but the message is still poignant.
That is all.
Avocado Fries with Cilantro Lemon Dipping Sauce
This recipe had all kinds of promise. Avocado? Fries? Dipping Sauce? That’s a triumvirate of awesome and yet, the whole thing just tasted wrong, wrong, wrong.
The recipe was simple enough. I had this flawless “Slimcado” from the Fresh Market. I’d never heard of Slimcado before. I just grabbed a ripe looking avocado, but according to the label on the skin, the Florida Slimcado has less fat and calories than the California avocado. Who knew?
I sliced it, pitted it, peeled it and made it into respectable looking fries. I dusted it with the breadcrumb and salt & pepper mixture, dredged it through some egg yolk, and threw it back into the crumbs before tossing it into the oil. They came out a nice crisp-ity, crunch-ity golden brown. Seriously, I could have taken the picture above, that’s how true to form it looked.
So we sat down to lunch, Craig, the girls and I. Coever took one look and said, “Uh. . .no.” Morgan was more adventurous, but after one bite declared, “I kind of like it and I kind of don’t. More like don’t.”
Well, at least she tried it. Craig and I ate a few pieces, which were quite nice, but it seemed like every second or third piece had a weird, bitter aftertaste. At first, I thought it was just the pieces that I had been eating. Maybe my palate had been compromised after having lunched on peppery chicken wings and overly dressed salad. Too many flavor combinations had sullied my ability to detect the freshness of the Slimcado.
Nope, not really . When lunch was over, Craig and I were cleaning up. My hand hovered over the “fries” and we exchanged a glance. “Did some of yours taste. . .”
“Bitter,” he finished for me. Okay, then. I may have to follow-up with blogger who posted this to get to the bottom of the bitter. Maybe my cooking temp was too high? Maybe my Slimcado was overripe? Maybe my breadcrumbs weren’t seasoned well enough? Maybe it doesn’t really matter. I doubt I’ll be trying it again any time soon.
It’s too bad, really. I mean, you can fry an Oreo/Twinkie/pickle and they all taste good. Oh, Slimcado, perhaps that’s your way of telling us to leave you in your natural, green creamy goodness. . .
with a side of chips and some margaritas, of course.
Why, yes, that is my big brother. Season after season, still going strong. I’m thinking his PR people opted to use this photo because in the midst of the action, he’s just too freakin’ fast.
I hate it when this happens.
I got a really sweet coupon from the Loft in the mail several weeks ago and I’ve dying to use it. Fall is here; it’s time to upgrade some sweaters, maybe throw in some new cords or something. The weather is cooperating, making any purchase justifiable. Throw in the coupon and it’s practically a crime not to do some wardrobe maintenance. Seriously, it’s burning a hole in my pocket. Or at least, it would be if I kept it in my pocket.
Alas, the coupon has been sitting in the bottom of my purse. The expiration date creeps steadily closer as the temperatures fall a little lower. What’s the problem you ask? Here’s the problem.
I don’t like any of the new stuff they’ve got out!
I can’t find any of things that Tim Gunn/Lloyd Boston/Stacy London say I need to round out my closet!
I haven’t found any of the new fall color schemes in the latest Loft collection!
Seemingly, whenever I’m out with nary a cent or coupon to my name, that’s of course, when I find exactly what I need in my size, cut, color, and style. Black all purpose blazer? Perfect! Debit card status? Not so much. When I’m feeling more Mr. Moneybags than Scrooge McDuck, I can’t find a plain white tee-shirt to save my life.
C’mon, Ann Taylor Loft! Our relationship is too longstanding for you to turn your camel cape wearing shoulder on me now. It is a nice cape, but more your style than mine.
Bring out something I can work with. Preferably before September 30th.