That’s A Lot of Pocky!

 

 

Mister has been snacking on Pocky for the last month or so. The sole box, residing in the pantry, is a mere 2.47 ounces. There’s no back-up and once these Pocky’s are done, they’re done.

 

 

Anyhoo – the other night he pointed out how many are remaining, and how he’s been snacking on them for a while (as stated above). Then he showed me the printed nutritional information’s serving size:

 

 

We both had a good chuckle and then he wrapped up the remainder and put the box back in the pantry. And then we wondered aloud. Seriously – how many Pocky sticks can a person eat in one sitting? That is not a rhetorical question, friends. I really want to know!

The Weak-end

 

 

Yesterday I had a moment of weakness. I was driving by the Krispy Kreme and thought I spotted the “Hot Doughnuts Now” sign. Even though I was headed away from doughnut mecca, it occurred to me that I could jump the curb and take out a small tree and still land in the Krispy Kreme parking lot. And just as I was about to put the pedal to the medal, I realized the sign wasn’t lit. There were no hot doughnuts now. There were only ordinary, room-temperature, fabulous doughnuts at that time.

 

It’s a good thing, too, as I would surely have lost a tire or two. Besides – I’ve got a birthday doughnut coming in only a couple of months…

Bonin’

 

 

I don’t know what I was thinking. Yesterday I headed out to do my grocery shopping for the week, and so did everyone else in Los Angeles. It never occurred to me that the Monday before Christmas would lead to a run on goat cheese, but clearly I did not think that through. And for the record, I’ve never wanted goat cheese so much as when it’s unavailable. (For the record, part deux – I don’t have a goat cheese deficiency or anything. I just wanted it for a roasted beet salad.)

 

Anyhoo – after battling traffic and actually giving up on a couple of stores where parking trauma was probably going to lead to fist-fights, I found myself standing at a meat counter, trying to acquire Christmas morning’s steak. And I was quite specific in my order for the butcher, as that’s how I do. After a moment, he came back to let me know he was all out of the bone-in ribeye I had requested, and that he could cut me some nice thick boneless steaks instead. Before I was able to delve into a discussion about that, the guy next to me said, “You want that bone.” That dude’s name was Eustace (I get to know people faster than you can possibly imagine), and the rest of our conversation went something like this:

 

Me: I do want that bone. And I just heard myself say that – out loud.

Eustace: Gotta have a good bone.

Me: I love a good bone.

 

At about that point, the rest of Eustace’s family arrived, including his aged mother, his mostly-grown daughter and her boyfriend, and his sister. They joined the conversation.

 

Eustace’s Sister: I could use a good bone myself. Right now.

Me: Who couldn’t?

Eustace: Ever’body love a good bone.

Me: I cannot believe I am standing here talking about bonin’ with an entire family. This has got to be the oddest conversation I’ve ever had at the grocery store,            and believe me – there have been a few.

 

After a good giggle, we all said goodbye to one another and went about our business. But I’ll tell you something – that Eustace was alright.

 

And he was dead-on with his wisdom: Ever’body love a good bone.

 

Word.

Dumplings For My Dumpling

 

 

Last night Mister and I had chicken and dumplings for Sunday Supper, and it sure was yummy.

 

Not only that, but I finally got a clue and figured out how to halve the recipe so that we wouldn’t be up to our ear-balls in dumplings. For the record, I froze half the broth and chicken, and made only a half portion of dumplings for the fresh batch. Now I’ll be mostly there the next time I want to make dumplings for my dumpling.

 

It is at this point that I am inclined to insert some sort of smiley face. But you’re just gonna have to imagine me smiling. With a belly full of chicken and dumpling goodness.

Yum.

 

 

It’s definitely that time of year again. Time for Barb’s Boozy Eggnog. I would say more, but I’m too busy sipping. Yum.

Up to My Elbows…

 

 

I’m up to my elbows in the cookie factory. It’s going well and I’m having a lot of fun. I listen to Christmas music as I bake, and here and there I take a moment for a holiday jig. Sure – it’s dorky, but it also keeps me smiling.

 

I would share new photos of the cookie line, but there’s no need. You see I make the same cookies year after year. And I’m still loving it. So the old photos will do just fine.

 

 

One new addition to my delivery list for this year is a halfway house for women and children. Putting together their tray of goodies filled me with such joy, I can hardly explain. And I think that’s what this season is supposed to be about. I don’t have to be there when the folks receive their cookies. I don’t have to get any props, either. The giving is enough. Ain’t that grand? If you know that feeling, you’re with me on this. And you understand just how fabulous it is to give, period.

 

Anyhoo – back to the factory. Those cookies aren’t gonna bake themselves.

The Morning After

 

 

I’m still working on photos from The Great L.A. Walk, so that post will have to wait. But I did want to let you know what yesterday morning looked like for me.

 

Mister and I drove to breakfast and I feasted on the above Hangover Hoe-cake. I wasn’t hungover, but I was hungry. The hoe-cake with chili, cheese and egg was so baby-bear it was ridiculous. Just right!

 

I think I’m back on schedule now and ready for regular meals. Hallelujah.

Thursday Memories

 

 

As we gear up for next week’s Thanksgiving holiday, I’m choosing to share the photo shown above. Taken in 2002, it represents a gathering at the house of friends, near the sea. Big Mama was there, and I made a pretty punkin pie. I remember a lot about that holiday. Like the gorgeous weather. And the food. And how Big Mama’s daughter explained a rather explicit Robin Williams joke at the end of the evening. And how Big Mama didn’t blush.

 

Big Mama is gone now. Those friends have divorced and are living completely different lives. The house by the sea was sold a long time ago.

 

But I can still make pretty pies and enjoy life. I think that counts. I think Big Mama would agree.

Itty-Bitty Treat

 

 

Years ago I found myself in South Beach, Miami. While there, I was introduced to delicious Cuban coffee – cortadito. It’s sort of like an Italian espresso. I suppose some would say it’s exactly like espresso, but that’s beside the point. And not really true. So there.

 

Here in Los Angeles, I occasionally find myself in the vicinity of a Cuban bakery. When that happens, I mosey in and order myself an itty-bitty treat. With sugar. And that cortadito comes in the cutest little to-go cup ever. It even has handles! As I walk down the street, sipping my Cuban coffee, I feel content and sated. And – I won’t lie here – I always lick the foam from inside the cup. Right there on the street. Here’s another truth – it isn’t as good as I remember the South Beach version being, but it’s pretty danged good for L.A.

 

And seriously – that cup! It’s darling!

Wrong, Wrong, Wrong

 

 

Betro and Aniela told me about it, but I barely believed them. It just didn’t sound right. Or real. Or something. All I knew was I wasn’t buying it. So they stopped at a liquor store and showed me what’s what.

 

 

Oy vey. What is the world coming to, people? Are we so desperate to get our drank on while getting cavities that we’ll resort to this? If you’re planning to imbibe this Halloween weekend, please do so responsibly. With a beverage that doesn’t need a “Z” to make it cool. And with a modicum of decorum. I mean really…