A Christmas Present for You!

I am a bad blogger. A very bad blogger. I have told you nothing that’s been going on in the last six months.

And I’m not going to start today. Nope, today I’m going to give you a Christmas present. Something you NEED.

Brownies. So good. Candy Cane Brownies with Peppermint Frosting. So, so much better.

Or not. I know I may destroy my sweet cred here…but I don’t like frosting on my brownies. Or my cookies. I just don’t.

And I love frosting. Bring me a bowl of frosting and a spoon and we’ll be best friends. Put it on my brownie and…eh…take it or leave it.

Are you alright? I know it’s a bit of a shock that there is something sweet out there that I won’t shove in my face until I make myself sick. Trust me…this is one of the very few sweet things that I’m not a fan of.

But…I made these brownies and have it from very reliable sources that they are ah-maze-ing. If you like peppermint. If not..perhaps this is not the recipe for you. Don’t worry…I have one for you tomorrow.

And I can personally attest to the frosting being by-the-spoonful-delicious. Because I ate it that way. Taste testing, you know.

So…make these. They are festive. And delicious. Probably.

Candy Cane Brownies with Peppermint Frosting

Ingredients:

1 box brownie mix (Betty Crocker Fudge Brownies Family Size is my box of choice)

4-6 crushed full-size candy canes

1 cup of Ghirardelli Bittersweet Chocolate chips

Directions:

Make brownie batter according to directions on box. Add crushed candy canes and chocolate chips. Spread in baking dish and bake until done. Again…see box if you are confused.

For Peppermint Frosting:

Ingredients:

1 package of cream cheese

1 stick of butter (room temp…if cold, warm in microwave in VERY small increments until slightly softened)

3 cups of powdered sugar

Peppermint extract to taste

Directions:

Beat cream cheese, butter and powdered sugar in a bowl. Add peppermint extract a little at a time until your desired pepperminty-ness has been reached. Try not to eat the whole bowl. Spread whatever you can manage to keep yourself from eating with a spoon on brownies. Top with crushed candy canes because it’s pretty.

Take to party and impress all of your friends. Or eat alone. Your choice. No judgement.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas yum!

Bourbon+Cake=Awesome

I made cake last weekend. With booze.

And then added more booze on top. And ice cream. It was awesome.

I made a Bourbon Peach Pound Cake with Drunk Peaches and ice cream.

You should make this. Now. Like, right now. Or come to my house and I will make it and you can eat it because if you don’t I will eat every bite.

I wish I had a picture for you but I am impatient and could not wait for the cake to cook before I put it in my cake-hole and so I had to shove it back in the pan and back in the oven and it was not very camera ready. But it was very delicious.

It tastes like…awesome. And drunk. Tastes like drunk.

Bourbon Peach Pound Cake with Drunk Peaches

Bourbon Peach Pound Cake

4 cups of all purpose flour

3 cups of sugar (I used 1 cup dark brown, 1 cup light brown, 1 cup regular)

4 sticks of butter softened

1/4 cup of buttermilk

1/4 cup heavy cream

1/2 cup (+) bourbon

6 large eggs

vanilla

cinnamon

2 1/2 cups of diced fresh peaches (took about 4)

Layer all ingredients except peaches in a bowl in order and mix thoroughly. Add peaches. Mix some more. Bake at 325 until done. All the way done. Not halfway done like mine. A knife should come out clean when inserted in the middle.

Drunk Peaches

1 cup bourbon

1 cup  brown sugar

3 ripe peaches sliced

Boil bourbon, sugar and peaches in a saucepan until thickened and liquid reduces. Syrupy deliciousness results. Store in a jar in the refrigerator.

I like these over cake with ice cream on top or just over ice cream. Husband likes them in bowl with a spoon.

Please invite me over when you make this. Thank you.

The Easter Bunny Lives in My Backyard

He showed up at Easter, thus he is the Easter Bunny.

Barnaby the Easter Bunny

I have named him Barnaby and asked him to stay.

Harley thinks we should name him Dinner and eat him. Now.

Jacob thinks we should call him Dinner and Harley should eat him before Barnaby eats all the grass.

They were overruled. His name is Barnaby and he’s staying. And maybe bringing chocolate eggs.

Does anyone know where the whole Easter Bunny thing came from? WTF does an anthropomorphized rabbit have to do with Jesus? And why does he bring eggs? Rabbits don’t even lay eggs!

Notice that I am curious enough to wonder about it here and yet not curious enough to Google “origins of the Easter Bunny”…

Working on a food post. It will be much more interesting than random musings about the Easter Bunny, as it will be about food. Points to you for reading this post though!

Thunderstorms Suck

I hid in a bathroom this weekend. But I think my phobia is getting better.

I should probably explain.

I am terrified of storms. Scared to death. Hands-shaking-palms-sweating-stomach-in-knots-hide-in-a-closet-refuse-to-leave-the-house scared.

I don’t know why; it’s always been that way.

My parents say that even as little kid I would come running the minute the warning beep beep beep came across the television. I could hear that sound from anywhere, no matter what I was doing.

I would come running into the room and ask them to tell me what it said. To which they would reply, “It says it’s looking for little girls named Kate.” Nice.

When I was a little older and could read it myself I would ask, “Where is Hoke County? Where is Duplin County? Where is that to us? Is it coming here?”

To which they would reply, “Yes, it’s specifically looking for Kate and is coming to get her.”

They think my fear is funny. And probably a little ridiculous. And somewhat irrational. So does my husband.

Maybe it is a little ridiculous.  And it is completely irrational.

In the past, I have refused to leave the house if it looks like it might thunder. Make plans for Saturday? Umm…no, sorry, can’t. Forecast calls for thunderstorms.

You think I’m exaggerating.

So anyway back to this weekend. We were under a tornado warning so I hid in the bathroom with my blanket, cell phone and bottle of water. My husband laughed.

The upside to dating for 7+ years before getting married is that he is well aware of my particular brand of crazy. He is not surprised when I start pacing the minute the sky clouds up. He is not surprised when he wakes up in the middle of a storm and I am sitting in the closet.

So this weekend, when I gathered my supplies and went to hide in the guest bathroom (the most interior room of our house) he just laughed and started the dishwasher.

You’re probably wondering how this could possibly mean that my fear of storms is getting better. Fair enough.

See, despite what the rest of you may think, I think hiding from a an actual tornado warning (meaning one is active in the area) is perfectly reasonable. Have you seen the Wizard of Oz?

(Side note: I HATE that movie. Who decided that was appropriate for children? Tornadoes that tear your house away, evil witches, creepy wizards, flying monkeys…lions and tigers and bears, oh my. Not cool. The only good part of that movie is the color-changing horse…and the Emerald City is still creepy as hell.)

But the rest of the weekend…I did not hide. Nope nope. I went out and did things. Even outside things.

All week I  wanted to go to the arts market. The outside arts market. So I did. Event though it was cloudy and a little rumbly.

I went out to dinner in the middle of a very loud and flashy storm. (And we made excellent drive time because the power was out and there were no stoplights. Jacob’s reasoning for not stopping was…big road wins!)

Sunday morning, even as I watched the weather channel and they told me not to leave the house, I made plans to go to brunch just as the storm would arrive. And I actually went!

At no point did I cancel my plans because it was thundery-looking. This, if you ask me, is a huge win and means I am getting much braver.

I deserve a cupcake.

Florida, You’re Doing It Wrong

Here is a screenshot from my phone in December.

It’s December. It’s 75 degrees. It’s wrong.

Here is a screenshot from my phone in January.

It’s January. It’s 78 degrees. Still wrong.

Really, Florida? It’s WINTER! You’re doing it wrong!

It’s been 80 degrees for a week now and all the outside things are confused and now my car is covered in pollen and I can’t breathe and this is supposed to be the time of year when I get to have good hair days but thanks to 80 degree, humid Florida, no.

It’s winter. It’s supposed to be cold. Florida, you’re doing it wrong.

(I’m a little complain-y this week, aren’t I? Sorry….next post, no complaining…got it!)

(Also…third post this week….you know what that means! Cupcakes for me!)

T.G.I.O. (Thank God It’s Over!)

So today was a bad day. Just one of those days where you just can’t win. The universe hates you. A screw-the-glass-gimme-the-bottle kinda day.

(Don’t worry, family, everything is fine…keep reading!)

I dropped my car off for some repairs this morning and picked up a rental. Normally, I don’t need a rental because we have three cars but since the Camaro just got a fancy new engine, it’s going back to the shop for some tweaks.

So, I got a rental. There was supposed to be a pretty shiny Jetta waiting for me when I came in at 8am. There was not.

It was 10:00am before they found a car for me (a giant Silverado, by the way….yeah, that’s me driving around in the ginormous truck).

I spent part of the two hours I waited, sort of patiently, putting out work-related fires. On my phone. Because they have no wi-fi.

And it was one fire after another. Deadline looming here, wrong ad submitted there, where is this, why is that…..

On top of this, I was supposed to be setting up and hosting an event at work that was scheduled to begin at 11am. I was 40 miles from my office. Yeah, I was a little panicked.

So I got my truck and (very safely and carefully and obeying all traffic laws) hauled ass to work.

I walked in full of apologies, frustration and just a touch of panic. And kinda feeling like I wanted to cry.

My boss just smiled and said, “No big deal. Don’t worry about it. I heard you had a little trouble this morning.”

Well, that was all the encouragement I needed to launch into a short but dramatic retelling of exactly what led to me being more than an hour and half late for work.

And then one of my favorite clients walked over and gave me a hug.

And then a few more favorites arrived for our event and gave out more hugs and compliments and general happiness.

And then my day was better. Not good, not fine, but better.

It did not stop the printer from deciding that I am evil and jamming on every single document I sent. Every. Single. One. It did not stop the grumpy old lady from complaining about WHERE OUR BUILDING IS LOCATED (because I obviously put it there specifically to piss her off….that’s how I get my kicks…hiding buildings from little old ladies.)

But it made my day oh so much better than it would have been otherwise.

So this is a long way of saying….today I love my job. And the people I work for. And the people I work with. And all of our awesome clients.

Tomorrow I may feel differently. But today? Today I love my job.

Gym Rant

You read that right, this is a gym rant. I have not become a gym RAT. Never gonna happen.

I hate the gym in January. Hate it more than usual, I mean. So here is my rant.

January at the gym sucks. A lot. Seriously.

I mean, good for all you normally lazy people who make the NewYear’s resolution to go to the gym. Credit for trying. But let’s face it…90% of you are going to give up by March.

So…can we just hurry up and get to the giving up part?

Seriously….you are in my way and getting on my nerves. You are loud. You take up all the equipment. And many of you are literally a safety hazard to yourself and others, including me. Mainly me.

Go away. I appreciate that you’re trying. Really I do. But do you have the commitment to stick with it? No, you don’t.

I’m not knocking you…I don’t blame you. I’m not committed either…my regular attendance at the gym is simply an unfortunate side effect of my commitment to cupcakes.

What I am saying is…since you’re going to give up anyway…make all our lives more pleasant and do it now. Or come when I’m not there. (Monday-Friday 6pm-well…let’s say 9:00pm to be safe and you should just avoid weekends altogether.)

Also, new people? Please stop talking to me! I do not want to talk to you at the gym. See the book in front of me? And the way I avoid eye contact? And give one word answers to everything you say? Leave me alone. Please.

Normally, I think of myself as a people person. But at the gym? Nope. I hate you. All of you. Yep, you too.

The rant in my head was longer when I was at the gym. But I’m done…for now.

The First Thanksgiving (not the one with pilgrims)

Yay Thanksgiving! I fully support any holiday during which you eat until you cannot possibly shove another bite in your pie hole. (And really any holiday with pie to shove in said pie hole.)

The only kind of holiday I like better than a food holiday is a present holiday. I like presents. Presents are better than food. Sometimes. Depends on who’s giving.

Anyway…back to Thanksgiving. I hope your’s was good because mine was awesome. I shot guns, ate delicious food, hung out with the family, ate more good food, saw my first Bond movie (yes, I know my cinematic education is lacking) and shopped with one of my besties. But not on Black Friday. Never on Black Friday.

But before actual Thanksgiving, we hosted Florida Family Thanksgiving, aka My First Thanksgiving, aka My First dinner for More than Four People, aka My First Turkey.

I don’t like raw chicken…it’s gross…so I don’t cook chickens (well…I cook chicken only when I can slide it out of a package and not have to touch it) and everyone kept telling me it was just like roasting a chicken so then I had to explain why I don’t roast chickens and basically it wasn’t helpful at all.

But…I decided to be brave. I went to the store and bought a bowling ball that they claimed was a turkey but no bird could weigh that damn much. Unless it’s a dinosaur. Pterodactyls could probably weigh that much. So we maybe we had a Thanksgiving pterodactyl.

I brought it home and looked up lots of turkey roasting recipes but they were long and I didn’t feel like reading them so I just covered it with a thick layer of butter and salt and pepper and herbs and shoved a bunch of herbs in the giant hole where his guts are supposed to be. (I figured if it was inedible at least it would smell good!) (And yes I remembered to remove the leftover guts first.)

So anyway…I cooked the turkey…and surprisingly it was not only edible but pretty good. And I’m not really a big turkey person. (I prefer my turkey processed and deli sliced, thanks.) So…yay me!

I also made a sweet potato soufflé (so delicious it should have been dessert…I am totally ok with vegetables that taste like dessert), an apple/pecan/bacon/sage risotto (grains, fruit, protein vegetable and dairy in one dish…this is a superfood) (yes, I’m counting sage as a vegetable..it’s green), a spinach salad (it was salad….how good could it be?), a chess pie (which, if you’ve never had/heard of this your life is not complete and you need to call me…also, this makes a wonderful balanced breakfast when topped with ice cream), a chocolate chess pie (ditto) and cheesecake brownies.

Some how…I guess I forgot that other people were bringing food and that this was just Thanksgiving and not the Last Supper.

The husband kept wandering through the kitchen while I was cooking reminding me that there were only going to be 7 of us. He apparently forgot how much he usually eats. Most of the recipes I make say they serve six but we get maybe three servings so I cooked for an army.

Nothing wrong with leftovers. It’s not Thanksgiving if there are no leftovers. Then it’s just dinner with stretchy pants.

We had big plans for the night. A dance party was anticipated, someone brought tools for beer pong.

No one factored in 7 people consuming 70lbs of food and a pterodactyl. After dinner we all collapsed in a food induced stupor and put in that classic holiday movie…Zach and Miri Make a Porno. 

Yep, classy after dinner entertainment. Didn’t matter…everyone was gone and we were in bed by 11. Apparently pterodactyls have way more tryptophan than turkeys.

All in all…success! Looking forward to the next Florida Family holiday…we’re thinking New Year’s. Without so much pterodactyl so maybe we’ll make it to midnight…

Miss Me Yet?

It’s been awhile…I know. I’m sorry. Like I said, I have a job now and I get paid to play on the computer so playing on the computer when I’m not getting paid has lost some of it’s appeal.

And we’ve been busy. Really busy. But I’m not busy right this minute so I thought… “Hey, I bet they miss me. I should visit.” But then I decided I didn’t have enough time to drive to see everyone of you so…you get a post instead!

News first…the husband got a Big Time Major Promotion (capital letters ’cause it’s important and stuff). Yay husband!

He is officially the Rolling Mill Superintendent which means absolutely nothing to you unless you work in a steel mill or are married to someone who does. But trust me…this is a big deal. No really, it is. True story.

The steel mill is split into two sections: the Rolling Mill and the Melt Shop. He is now the boss of the whole Rolling Mill (and one of the youngest superintendents the company has ever had). So again…yay husband! (It’s completely ok for me to brag about my husband…I’m not saying how awesome I am so it’s not rude…although…I am. Totally awesome, I mean. Not bragging…just stating the facts.)

So what does this mean for us? Well, it means we will probably be in Jacksonville a little longer than we would have been otherwise. Yay!!

Not that I’m suddenly all “Yay Florida!” I’d still rather be in NC. But given that the alternatives could be BFE, Kentucky (Sorry Kentuckians…not interested in your blizzard-y, tornado-y state) or Polar Bear Country, Canada (I don’t do cold…well, not polar bear cold, anyway)…Yay Florida!!

Along the lines of Yay Florida…we went to the International Food and Wine Festival at Epcot with some friends. Day drinking and binge eating at the Happiest Place on Earth? Yay Florida!

There was, obviously, much wine/beer/liquor drinking (oh yes….they call it the Food and WINE Festival but they serve beer and mixed drinks too) and lots of junk eating and lots of making fun of people who had obviously had too much Disney (and probably too much Festival) and a good time was had by all.

We are going back next year if anyone else wants to join. We will have matching t-shirts so we fit in next time.

Doomed

I have new potential victims for the Black Thumb of Death.

My in-laws visited this weekend and my mother-in-law loves plants so she helped pick some new ones for the yard. Yes, she knows about my plant-killing tendencies…she is in denial. And we bought cheap-ish plants.

Ever since we moved to Florida I have wanted fruit trees and this weekend I found some. I now have a key lime tree and a meyer lemon tree in my back yard. (In the spot where my yellow rose recently bit the dust.)

Key lime tree…see the limes? Time for mojitos!

Because I am impatient (Yes Lauren, I know patience is a virtue, but again, it is not one I possess), we bought trees that already have fruit on them. Of course we did…otherwise it’s just another stick with leaves on it…I have those already. So, hopefully…in a week or so… if they’re not dead… I’ll have lemons and limes in my yard. Yay!

I also got some herbs. My guess is these will be the first to die. If they last the week…I’ll be happy! I tried herbs once…it didn’t go well. I fried them in their pots on my balcolny. Apparently they don’t like 100+ temps with no water. Who knew?

I’m growing (or killing is probably a better word) basil, cilantro, mint and rosemary.

Rosemary…looks good…for now.

The thing with herbs is that I like to touch them….obviously right? That’s the best way to smell them…crush up the leaves in your hand. But I’m kind of allergic to everything so after playing with herbs all afternoon I had to come home and take a Benadryl because my hands were swollen. Awesome. The husband will be on herb-cutting duty from now on.

(Side note: Did I tell you about burning the heck out of my hands chopping jalapenos for salsa this summer? No? Well, I did. Apparently you need gloves when chopping spicy things. Did everyone know that but me? FYI…you can wash them, pour olive oil on them, soak them in milk, soak them in cold water, run them under hot water, take Benadryl, take Advil and try anything else you can think of but the only thing that makes the burning stop is waiting it out. For 48 hours. Of pain. Just use the gloves. Trust me.)

We also planted a rose (I know, I know…I’ve already proven that this was a bad idea) and a bougainvillea at the mail box and a giant iris out back.

New roses. Doomed from the start.

For my birthday my mother-in-law gave a plumeria tree since I decided while we were in St. Kitts that I had to have one in my yard right now please and thank you. I have high hopes for this tree but the fact is, it’s chances aren’t good. It’s a tropical tree and Jacksonville is hot as hell but not technically tropical. So….yeah…we’ll see.

Plumeria…I kinda forgot it takes awhile for a tree to flower. I really like the pretty-smelly-good flowers.

So, who’s taking bets on how long it’ll take me to kill this stuff? I’ve got a hundred bucks on everything being dead by Christmas. (I know…I’m trying to be optimistic.)