Fat Tuesday: 3 Ingredient Slow Cooker Pulled Pork with Maple Glazed Carrots

Okay, I promised this pulled pork recipe about two months ago at this point. This is my ultimate easy recipe. I found it on Pinterest, naturally. Remind me again, what did we do before Pinterest? I’m at a loss. It’s like trying to remember a time before remote controls. And On-Demand. Cell phones. Yoga Pants. Or kids. Once you have them, you can’t imagine a time when you didn’t. Anyway, this recipe is easy peasy, cheap and sleazy. Well, it’s cheap and easy anyway.

For a side, I chose to pair it with some carrots. The reason being, in my health kick, I bought a 2 pound bag of baby carrots. Only to discover, I really don’t love baby carrots unless they’ve been buried in veggie dip. Mah bad. I needed to get rid of them. STAT. Sadly, if I am going to eat carrots, they will need to be cooked and doused in something yummy.  I remember my dad made some cooked carrots growing up. I stumbled upon this recipe for maple glazed carrots and decided they would pair well with the pork. When I’m right, people, boy am I right. I’m not altogether healthy, but I’m right. So let’s do this.

Three Ingredient Slow Cooker Pulled Pork

Ingredientses:

1- 2lb. Pork Tenderloin (I got mine at Trader Joes)

1 8 oz. Can Diet Cola

1 Bottle of Barbecue Sauce (I use Sweet Baby Ray’s Honey Barbecue)

Directions:

Place pork tenderloin into slow cooker, fatty side up. Pour in cola and top the pork with 1/2 of the bottle of barbecue sauce. Cook on low for 4- 5 hours. Remove pork tenderloin, allow to cool and rest. Once cooled, pull apart pieces of the pork and replace into slow cooker. (Note: if liquid has not cooked down enough, you can remove some liquid from the slow cooker, leaving just a little to coat the bottom. You don’t want too much liquid). Coat pulled pork with remaining barbecue sauce to taste and allow to warm for 30 minutes.

Maple Glazed Baby Carrots:

Ingredientses:

1 pound bag baby carrots

3/4 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/4 cup water

1/4 cup maple syrup

2 tablespoons orange juice

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon salt

Directions:

Place all the ingredients in a medium, heavy saucepan.

Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, until the carrots are tender and the sauce becomes a shiny glaze, about 15 minutes.

We served this meal with delicious Flaky Layers Grands biscuits. And I would like the official record to reflect I ONLY ATE ONE. This was strange, and I wasn’t altogether happy with that fact. So I did what anyone would do: I put about a half a stick of butter on it. But I ONLY HAD ONE, so there. See? I can totally diet.

Resolutions.

I don’t make resolutions. I think this year’s theme on resolutions was to be irresolute. I read that a lot on Facebook anyway, which is where I get most of my news these days. So it must be true.

My blogging has become a little scattered lately. And the truth is, I am a different person than I was one year ago when I started this blog. Sure, I still like checking out Better Homes and Gardens and scoping out the latest in fashion, but here’s the deal. I’m a mom. Last year this time, I had a three month old. And like most new moms, I thought I had it all down. “Self, you are a mom now. Things are different.” But they weren’t. I was still able to keep my house clean. He slept like 19 hours a day. I was able to cook healthy meals for my family. I didn’t have to worry about little people taste buds. I was able to go grocery shopping without the clerk covering her old lady ears and telling my child “Ouch, you are hurting my ears!” And the saddest part?  I still had the hope of fitting back into size 26 jeans. Oh, self. You are ludicrous.

What a difference a year makes.

Cuz all that? Out the window. I’ve got a toddler. Who talks. He talks gibberish, but he thinks he has something to say, so who am I to judge? And he moves. He runs, he falls into things, he climbs, he falls onto things. He has opinions of his own that he communicates through screaming and hitting things. Kinda like British Parliament. And he does stuff like this:

That there is the dry cleaning that was waiting by the door, just minding its business until I could run it to the car. Which is approximately 5 steps from the door. It was by the door for approximately 5 minutes. But Colin was awake. End of story.

My resolution this year is to accept change. In the past three days I have blogged more than I had in the past month. And sure, we had a lot going on. But I couldn’t blame it all on schedules and holidays. The truth is, if I have changed, then this blog’s gotta change too. I feel like my blog is still trying to fit into size 26 bootcut Sevens when the truth is I am rocking cobalt blue Mossimo skinnies from Target.  Not because they look good, mind you, but because they feel as close to Yoga pants without looking like I’ve completely given up.

I am no longer going to post as often about home decor and pretty things because quite frankly, these days I need 48 hours notice before I let anyone who isn’t married to me or birthed from me walk in the door. That counts relatives. You’re on notice. Pretty things, pretty rooms, luxurious fabric?  Size 0 models wearing frilly clothes and high heels? They don’t interest me nearly as much these days. Because I am jealous. And slightly dubious of the disposable income they require and the childless-ness they mandate.

I still like a bargain. I still love Etsy. I love finding good deals and sharing my ideas and recipes. But my focus has shifted just ever so slightly.

This is my life now. My little family is my focus. Does that make me a throwback? Maybe. But I’m happy to focus on it. And I want to blog more about it and the things it entails. Like ER visits. Fun, right?! Let the good times roll!

Just as I enjoy reading about your families and their shenanigans, I hope you get a chuckle out of mine.

We’ll be here all week. Try the veal.

It’s Friday and it’s raining.

 

I am not an amputee. Thanks, Mom!

So, my mom called the other day. *Someone* wasn’t thrilled at being mentioned in relation to my amputation incident. Apparently, the day conjures bad memories for her. Go figure. Just in case you are one of the few readers of this blog who don’t also attend Thanksgiving every year with my family and therefore don’t already know this story, I will clarify.

When I was a wee two year old, I was quite, how to say this gently? Spirited. Strong Willed. Hyperactive. Spazzy. Annoying. Most doctors in this day and age would have a child like me on a cocktail of ADHD drugs I am sure. And if my son is even half as spirited as I was as a toddler then my heart goes out to my mom.

So anyway, as most spastic toddlers are wont to do as they wait for their brother to finish up school for the day, I was probably performing my rendition of “Memory” from Cats. That day I was definitely inspecting doors. They aren’t going to inspect themselves. Doors are very cool. They open and shut, you know. And fire exits? All that responsibility for one door? Intrigue!  It’s important to find those emergency exits. Especially when you become the emergency. Safety first and all that.

I could not resist the door jamb. Nor could I resist sticking my tiny little fingers in it.

Now without going into all the gory details, I will just say that my middle finger tip and I were briefly separated. I was an amputee. For about two hours.

Now had this happened to Colin, I’ll tell you what I would have done. Me? I probably would have slapped a Curious George Band Aid on that and cried over my son, the amputee. I probably wouldn’t have even looked for the missing part. Five second rule and all that, right? I crack under pressure. And swear. Excessively. In short, I am what you would call “useless.”

However, there is a happy ending to my story. I am not am amputee today. I have a fully functioning middle finger. I use it often and I use it well. Just ask that nice lady at the Target who stole my parking space the other day. The fact is, I am not an amputee thanks to my mother. She brought me to the Emergency Room where she insisted on seeing a plastic surgeon. This was back in the 80’s, y’all. Before elective plastic surgery procedures were gifted to girls on their Sweet 16s. Before Tiger Moms and Lawnmower moms and all that jazz. She demanded to see a plastic surgeon. For a two year old’s fingertip. There was a skin graft people. And nerve related stuff. That’s heavy.  My mom was the insurance company’s worst nightmare. And my best advocate.

Which is all to say that today I am not an amputee. Also, I blame my mother for not being able to park in handicap spots. I totally could have used that the other day at Target. 😉 But at least I can type over 70 words a minute. I guess it all evens out.

Downton Baby

Okay, so I told you about my obsession with Downton Abbey. And last weekend, after my parents drove 4 hours in the snow to come and visit us,  I may or may not have sat them down and forced them to watch every single episode of the first season on Netflix. There wasn’t a whole lot of visiting, per se, but hey, I think they enjoyed themselves. Who wouldn’t?

Which naturally leads me to my next question. What’s the point of having a kid if you can’t dress him up like your favorite character from your favorite show (no, not Mob Wives!)? And what is the point of a blog if you can’t go ahead and post a little mood board of sorts to illustrate just how amazing your son would look dressed as Matthew Crawley, as seen below left:

Ha-cha-cha! I mean, just check out that Garden Party. If you watch, you know that Matthew is dreamy. Lord Grantham up there center isn’t so bad either. So noble. But Matthew is where it’s at for us younger set. And Colin’s where it’s at for me. So why shouldn’t they dress alike, I ask you?

All images via CrewCuts

Forgive me, I couldn’t find an ascot. You hear that, CrewCuts? WE DEMAND BABY ASCOTS!  If this isn’t a sign that Colin’s next party theme should be an English garden party set on the brink of war, then really, I don’t know what is. Think of the cute props- telegrams and sun parasols  and cucumber sandwiches and a gay conniving servants! An added plus? We know Colin will tolerate a bow tie for a good party. And I think I’d look great in a large sun hat.

Chekhov’s Milk Glass

If you were an English major like myself (ha, dad, see what I did there?), then you may be familiar with the literary term “Chekhov’s gun”.  It refers to a literary technique “whereby a seemingly irrelevant element is introduced early in the story whose significance becomes clear later in the narrative” (ps- I can use Wikipedia. Jealous?!).

In the narrative of our lives, it will be known as “Chekhov’s  Colin’s milk glass.”

I present to you in three acts, “Colin’s Milk Glass”:

Act I:

[Colin takes his mother’s drinking glass and pretends to drink from it.]

Kate: Good job! You are so good at drinking from the glass!

Colin: (giggles. Pretends to keep drinking)

Act II:

[Colin drops glass. Shards everywhere. Kate scoops up Colin and places him in highchair and proceeds to clean all glass up. She moves furniture to ensure she has every last piece cleaned up. She places glass pieces in garbage bag hanging from a drawer pull since they do not own a garbage can. She looks warily at the bag and questions whether she should move it. She decides to do so after Colin has gone to bed]

Act III:

Kate: Time for bed! Do you want some milk?

Colin: MUHHHHHHHHHHHH!

[Colin runs to kitchen and slips and falls. He clutches his head. Kate turns around to find her son bleeding at the temple.]

AND SCENE.  

Well, there was more. There was some frantic walking around the house clutching Colin and a little tiny bit of whispered swearing. There was an upended first aid kit I somehow managed to locate and throw into the sink. There were paper towels and Curious George band aids and neosporin.There was a short drive to the hospital and some very nice nurses and some not nice nurses. There was a $60 cab ride home for Kase to meet us at the hospital. There was foaming at the mouth when the doctor tried to treat him. And after a $75 co-pay, we left one less Curious George Band aid and one crisis later.

His little face is no longer absolutely perfect (What?! It was!), and perhaps his modeling career might be on hold (What? He is!) but I can take comfort in knowing one day, some girl (or boy) will ask him, “How’d you get that scar?” and he will make up some awesome story of how it came to be. Much more awesome than “My mom was too cheap to buy a garbage can and I nearly died because of it!” And as the tall tales begin, so does the mom guilt.

Which reminds me. Did I ever tell you about the time my finger tip was amputated when my mom held me too close to a closing door? (What?! It was! And she did! I can show you!)

Maybe I need to relax…..

My husband thinks I like to clean too much. And the truth is, I don’t like to clean. I like to straighten up, sure. But I actually hate cleaning itself. Which means I am a dirty neat freak. Which sounds dirty. But I digress.

Colin has a playroom. I call it his baby jail. He’s a lucky little dude. I mean, check this place out (in all it’s un-staged glory):

And that’s just one half of it. He has no fewer than three ride on toys. Which he rides on while facing backwards, naturally. There are the little cubby baskets which hold 1,435 cars, trains, and random other pieces of plastic, all less than 2 square inches big. He has three wooden piece puzzles and each is missing one piece.  And then there is the train table with no fewer than 100 accompanying pieces. Which are scattered throughout the house but mostly under heating registers and furniture. They are not on the table itself. That would be silly.

My darling child loves to take things out, scatter them throughout the house (and under heating registers) and then promptly return to his play room and remove another toy and repeat this process. So the toy room is essentially one large toyBOX, where one simply does not play. That would be silly.

I’ve learned to embrace this mess. I’ve tamed my OCD enough to the point that I can tolerate this disaster for my son’s waking hours.  At the end of the day, I straighten up, sure, but mostly I chuck things back in the playroom and call it a day, only to do it all over again in 12 hours or less.

One area I have not embraced as much?  The mess of food. My child refuses to eat sitting down. He gets this from my husband, I think. And the crumblier, the messier, the stain-ier? The better. If it can be ground into carpet, that is really ideal. If it can leave a trail for me to find you in case you get lost in our oh-so-large three bedroom house? Perfect.  So I find myself following either or both of them, exasperatedly sighing or more appropriately, growling. I should call them Hansel and Gretel. And I am the mean old witch.

The other day, Kase decided to partake in some leftover corn bread. In the middle of the kitchen. While talking to me. Which was disgusting. But I digress. Anyway, he successfully ate half of it. The other half? On the floor. I groaned, and told him he was trying to kill me. KILL ME! Then, I dramatically crawled around the floor and cleaned the crumbly mess up.

The other day, Colin dropped a bowl full of Kix on the floor. Floors, really, as he spanned rooms. Even more accurately, he threw the bowl across the floor, resulting in tiny little corn puff balls scattering to every end of not one, but two separate rooms. Kix may be the devil’s food. Remarkably tiny and extremely mobile. Usually, dropping anything results in a wide eyed “Uh-Oh!” from his sweet little mouth. And I usually laugh. He’s so cute, you see. But the other day, he roared like a lion. I absent mindedly praised him for his great lion impression. He looked confused.

As if to make himself clear, he dropped his Kix on the floor again, and proceeded to growl while picking them up.  And it dawned on me. He wasn’t impersonating a lion.

He was impersonating me.

Sure, most kids his age start to repeat the less savory things their parents say, like curse words and other stuff that make us chuckle. But when my child has learned to groan and growl every time he makes a mess, I can’t laugh. I didn’t find it funny. Not even close.

It was like the worst dressing room mirror you have had to stand in front of while wearing a bathing suit. In December. With fluorescent lighting. That hurts. I’d almost rather he said a bad word. I’d almost rather he said “Mom, chill the f&ck out”.

Can’t blog. Watching PBS.

Seriously, what has happened to my life? When I am not watching the Sprout Channel, I’m supporting my local PBS.  I really should send them a check, because I hear it’s supported by viewers like me. Anyhoo, this isn’t about Curious George or The Cat in the Hat, or even Super Why. This is about my new obsession, Downton Abbey.

Its. Just. So. Good. And I’ll admit it, I hopped on that bandwagon after the Golden Globes. I like to vet things by making sure they win an award first. I haven’t got time to waste on ……oh wait. Nevermind. I watch Mob Wives. And Teen Mom. And pretty much anything they play on Bravo. At least this tips the scales to more sophisticated material. Cuz it’s British.

Fat Tuesday [Asian Beef with Mushrooms & Broccoli Slaw]

So, here’s the deal, dudes. I stepped on the scale recently and was shocked- SHOCKED- at what I saw. I mean, I know it’s the winter, and during this time, largely due to my SADs, I go a little heavier on the bread. As in, I eat bread, entire loaves for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Why? Because bread is the bomb. Especially with butter. Holy Crap.  It seriously makes me happy. Were I ever to get depressed, I’m pretty sure the doctor would whip out a prescription for King’s Hawaiian Sweet rolls with a chaser of Pillsbury Honey Butter Flaky Grands. And given my recent indulgences, I may slip into a deep depression after stepping on to the scale. Not cool, King’s Hawaiian Sweet Rolls. I thought we had a deal. And that deal? Was not to gain 5 pounds. I am pretty sure we agreed to a small portrait in the attic that would grow large and eventually morbidly obese, breathing heavily with the slightest of physical activity if I were only able to continue to indulge in your goodness and remain under that dastardly number on the scale. A number I have not seen since my pregnant ass stepped on a scale. A number which I surpassed this past month. And NO, MOM! I’m not pregnant. At least, I don’t think I am…..that would be an amazing excuse though……

So it’s time to go Caveman on my ass. What’s Caveman? It’s a silly new fad diet called the Paleo diet. Now listen up here, because this diet theory is going to blow. your. mind.

You eat lean meats, vegetables and try and cut out sugar and grains. Because the cavemen didn’t have things like King’s Hawaiian sweet rolls. Or processed foods. And they had to like, hunt for their food and shit. So, add in a side of moderation, and you have the Paleo diet.

ISN’T THAT REVOLUTIONARY??!?!?!?!?

So I headed over to that whore known as Pinterest and searched anything with the term “Paleo”. And let me tell you something. A lot of it looked thoroughly foul. To me anyway. But I did find this recipe, so decided to try it this weekend, with a decidedly un-paleo friendly addition. Cuz I’m normal. And not a caveman. If soy sauce is going to undo all my other hard work of not eating bread, then kill me now. Actually, don’t. Just strap on a feed bag of Flaky Grands. Cuz I give up.

Asian Beef with Mushrooms and Broccoli Slaw 

(found here)

Ingredientses: 

1 lb of ground meat (I used grass fed ground beef from Whole Foods)

1 lb of thinly sliced mushrooms (I used shitake)

1 small onion, roughly chopped

2 tablespoons of lard (WHA?  I used regular oil)

3 cloves of garlic, minced

1-2 cups of broccoli slaw (with carrots)

2 scallions, thinly sliced

1-2 tablespoons of fish sauce

1-2 tablespoons of apple cider vinegar

2-3 tablespoons of soy sauce

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Directions:

1. Finely chop Onion. Cook in large frying pan until translucent.

2. Add in sliced mushroom and  cook until moisture evaporates.

3. Add in garlic and store for 30 seconds.

4 Add in ground beef and cook until browned.

5. Add fish sauce, soy sauce, vinegar and salt and pepper. Season as desired.

6. Add broccoli and carrot slaw and allow vegetables to soften slightly.

7. Line bowls with lettuce and spoon mixture into bowls. Garnish with Scallions.

*Add in some Sriracha if you like it a little spicy, too. The cavemen only wish they had that.*

Enjoy!!!

*PS* If you want to follow my Pinterest Board for Food, go to http://pinterest.com/katehannan/yum-yums/

The Look for Less [Wellie edition]

Yesterday, I headed to DSW to look for a pair of clogs I had spotted two months ago.  Clogs. I know. Please, don’t shoot me or turn me in to the authorities. I am aware it’s no longer 1999.  But you don’t understand! They were so comfortable!  I figure it’s about time I stopped wearing my Uggs everywhere, including church. I mean, really. If I can’t even bother to look cute for God, then things are pretty bad, right? But as per usual I digress, because they were no longer at DSW. But you know what was?? These beauts.

Chooka Rain Boots, $59.99

Oh goodness. They are charcoal gray with a bright pink zipper. And it was raining yesterday, so naturally I needed them. I mean, I was wearing…you guessed it. My Uggs. Decidedly NOT rain attire. And as my mother in law (my shoe shopping partner in crime) has advised me, “Life is short. Buy the shoes” So I did.

But the best part? I’ve been ogling these puppies for a while now. You see I sent my friend this email a while ago:

want these bad.

http://www.joules.com/en-GB/Women-Premium-Wellies/Saddle/L_RIBBLE/ProductDetail.raction

Do you like my flowing prose? Sidenote: when I had an actual paying job, my job reviews constantly came back positive, save for my “brusque and blunt email style. Kate should pick up the phone more, as she has a lovely personality that does not always translate through email.”  I assume it comes across on my blog? No? Oh well.

Anyway…..

Joules Rain Boots, Originally $123

Gosh darn it, those are some cute wellies. Who would have thought the Brits could make a good rain shoe? So weird.  Sadly, regardless of the fact that they are on sale, they are sold out online. So really this is the look for less, as I am saving you a roundtrip airfare to the UK in order to purchase these at a local store. And then, using Extreme Couponing Logic/Math as well as Extreme Couponing Daydreaming, you can tell the cashier, “I saved over $1,000 on these!”  And as she or he presents you with your receipt, she’ll congratulate you on your 93% savings!

Remember when we had a cat?

It's been real. Real Awful.

So remember when we had a cat? Well, we don’t anymore. Sorry about not telling you earlier, but I’ve been busy. Celebrating not having a cat anymore. Here’s the deal. Cats?  They stink. Literally. Whoever said they are clean never owned a dog. Cuz dogs? They do their business outside. They don’t do it indoors, in a bunch of litter, which they then track around your whole house so you can’t walk around without slippers on because you don’t vacuum enough. And why are they nocturnal? Seriously? They sleep all damn day and then as soon as you hit your REM cycle, they are all up in your grill, mewing, mewing, non-stop mewing, FOR FOOD. Cuz he only ate like a 1/2 pound of food already. Stupid dumb cats.

When I was very little, we owned a cat. It’s a well known fact my mother hated said cat. One of her peeves was that the cat was always tripping her on the stairs. When she tells this story, oh we laugh and laugh and laugh. That mom! So silly.

And then? I tripped over my cat while carrying my son downstairs. Twice. MotherFingBastardcat.

Bye Bye, Kitty Cat! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Kase’s lovely cousin took in the delinquent. And so far, so good. At least in my opinion.

I have what I think is the equivalent of PTSD [Cat Edition]. Because the other day I saw an ad for something cat related. And I began screaming at the TV, “Don’t make me go back there! I don’t want to go back! I can’t go back there!” That’s probably not normal behavior, screaming at the TV. I mean it is if you are watching a marathon, of say, Mob Wives or Teen Mom 2, but a cat product informercial? Save the talking to the TV for the important stuff, Kate.

Here’s another example. Remember when I shared this ingenious way of hiding your cat’s poop spot? Well, I was perusing the Target online home sale, and saw that the trunk I used was on sale. And I got all sweaty and started shaking a little. But then I realized. The trunk’s intended purpose isn’t necessarily for hiding cat shit. You don’t have to jigsaw a big hole in the side for your cat to climb in and out of.  It can be used to store things. Things that don’t smell. Like blankets or pillows. Things that don’t clump and need to be removed every day while you scream at your toddler, “NO! STAY AWAY! NO TOUCHING!”. So there you have it. Did I mention it’s on sale? If you are so inclined, you should buy it. For yourself,  your pillows, or for your cat. Haha, sucker.

Fat Tuesday [No Guilt, No Bake Key Lime Pie]

So wanna hear something fun?  When we were in Costa Rica, we took a tropical cooking course one day. This in itself is pretty fun. But wait, there’s more!

It started with an email exchange between our surf instructor Benny and me. Benny is amazing. Seriously, there are no words. I had a good feeling about her through our emails, but then I met her.  Picture this: Gorgeous blond from Texas running her own surf instruction company with her Aussie husband in one of the most picturesque places you could imagine. And yes, I was more than happy to have my husband paddle out after her and spend two hours with her a day. She’s that great. And she gets to surf everyday. And she makes money doing it. Now ask yourself, “What Am I Doing Wrong?” . You’ll sound just like Kase and me, since that was basically our refrain every morning when Benny would come and pick us up at our hotel. Anyway, Benny is just as sweet as she is cool, and I may want her to be my new best friend. That’s just between us though, okay? Keep it on the DL.

Anyway, back to the email exchange. On the Costa Rica Surf & SUP webpage, you can take a survey and check off all the types of activities you would like to do. So I clicked on “Cooking Lessons”, cuz really, why the hell not? I like to cook. I’m decent at it. Let’s do this thing.  So on our last day in Santa Teresa, Benny hooked us up with a friend of hers who offers private cooking lessons in her home. Benny knows just about everyone in Santa Teresa, so we weren’t surprised she personally knew someone who offered classes. And hey, we had been surfing all morning, so we was HOONGRAYYY!

We showed up at a small house to meet our instructor and walked into this beautiful open air, modern home.  Then we met Jo. She’s amazing. Wanna meet Jo? Say hello:

Hi, Jo!

The backstory is Jo is from Canada. So, yeah. The polar opposite of Costa Rica. In Canada, she ran her own catering company. However, after years of visiting Costa Rica, each time staying longer and longer, she and her hubs finally bit the bullet and moved down to Santa Teresa and built their home. Jo started her own company, “The Healing Cuisine” and offers services such as cleanses, raw food cooking demonstrations, and tropical cooking classes for the rest of us. All while living in Costa Rica. Repitame por favor: “What the F am I doing wrong?!”

So we met Jo, took our seats at the amazing concrete/stone island in the middle of the room and Jo whipped up some smoothies, which we slurped down Bart Simpson style. They were yummy deliciousness. And we got to talking to Jo and her husband, Kevin. She asked how our  surfing lessons were going, and I, being the name dropper I am was all, “Oh we surfed in front of Giselle Bundchen’s house” because simply surfing in front of someone’s property is almost like knowing them personally, right? And Jo’s husband Kevin was all, “Oh yeah. Giselle built that property after she was surfing on the beach one day- she said she could just see it and so she had to build it”. And I was all, “Oh did you read that in Us Weekly?” and he was all, “Umm, no. Jo is her and Tom’s personal chef”.  You know, Tom. As in Tom Brady.

Ummm, riiiiiight. There is nothing this gossip monger loves more than association with celebrities!  It’s like I was eating with Giselle! Except for Giselle was a man, and bore a striking resemblance to my husband. Damn. Anyway, if you are ever playing 7 degrees of Giselle Bundchen, you can use me. I don’t mind.

What I will tell you is that I ate more like Tom Brady than Giselle that day. Let’s see, we started with smoothies, then had a delicious salad with hearts of palm, then moved on to a yummy yummy red snapper ceviche, after which we were treated to macadamia nut crusted Mahi Mahi on top of Coconut Rice. And I ATE IT ALL. Didn’t want to offend, you know? Plus, I’m a proud member of the clean plate club since forever.  However, I was worried I hadn’t saved enough room for dessert. My fave dessert that doesn’t involve chocolate: Key Lime Pie.  Oh wait, what am I saying? It’s precisely situations like this that my dessert stomach is for.

So in honor of my lunch (by association) with Giselle and Tom, I would like to share with you their favorite* No Guilt, No Bake Vegan Key Lime Pie Recipe. I would like to mention here that I am a self proclaimed Key Lime Pie aficianado as I spent one week eating my way through Key West so I was a leeeetle skeptical when I saw Jo break out the ingredients.  But trust peeps. It’s good. And Jo said it’s guilt free. So there ya go. Eat like Giselle. No Guilt. 😉

No Guilt, No Bake Key Lime Pie

Ingredientses

Filling:

4  ripe avocados

1/2 cup maple syrup

2/3 cup freshly squeezed lime juice

zest of 2 organic limes

large pinch of salt

healthy dash of vanilla

Crust:

1 cup Macadamia nuts

pinch of salt

Optional:

Coconut shavings

Directions: 

In a food processor, finally chop nuts until they are the same consistency of a graham cracker crust. The oils in the nuts will bind the crust together.

Separately in food processor, combine avocados, key lime juice, vanilla, maple syrup and salt until well incorporated to a smooth consistency.

Line pie plate with nut mixture, pressing firmly to create a nice even crust. Fill with avocado key lime mixture. Place into refrigerator for 30 minutes to an hour to allow to set.

Garnish with lime slice and optional coconut shavings.

*This statement has not been fact checked and may be completely false. But I doubt it.

The Look for Less [I hate shopping for lighting edition]

Blahhhhh.  You know how everyone out there is all invigorated for the new year?  Not me. No way, man. I feel like I got a late start, and now am struggling to catch up. It’s only the 10th! What is that all about?  Ah well, when you are a B student your whole life, it goes without saying you won’t be following through on any new year resolution. At least beyond the first two weeks. Or first week. Or first day. Which is why I no longer make them. Don’t set yourself up for failure is what I say.

So it’s 2012, and we still have boxes to unpack, closets to organize, things to find that have mysteriously gone missing (I’m looking at you, Puke Green Caridgan). I’m feeling a little, well, blah. And getting the house set up is also bringing me down. You see, it all started with lamps. Yes, you read that right. Dumb dumb dumb lamps. Apparently, when you move into a 60 year old home, you learn things like, oh, I don’t know. Like recessed lighting came into fashion a bit later than 1946. Which means we live in virtual darkness after 4:30pm.  Well, I do anyway. The couple of lamps we had on hand went to Colin’s playroom naturally. I would rather sit in a pitch black room than have a toddler running around all frustrated because he can’t dismantle his 100-piece train table and hide key pieces under furniture and rugs. After which he does his best impression of the old lady from “The Devil Inside” commercial when he can’t play trains. Side note: How do you get a toddler who has recently discovered screaming at the top of his lungs to stop? Bueller? Bueller?

So anyway, every time I step into a store, I’m on the hunt. And you know what? Either lamps are nice and expensive, or fug fug fug and inexpensive. But here’s the deal. I refuse to spend anything above $60 for a lamp. Call me cheap. If I could rig up a utility light and make it look good, I would. But sadly, I couldn’t find anything on Pinterest.

So in that vein, I thought I would share a look for less, lamp edition. Here we go.

C&B, you know I love you baby. But only when people have provided me with gift cards to purchase things from you, you expensive harlot.

Crate and Barrel Glow Lamp $69

I’d rather save the 30 bones on this taste specific lamp, and try this out instead:

Ikea Textur Lamp, $39

For floor lamps, I am into Tripod lamps these days, and found a cool one over at CB2, but the price got me down:

CB2 Twine Lamp, $199

 A little digging through the Target website, and you can save $150 (it’s on sale right now!)

Target Tripod Lamp, $43

So there ya go. Maybe my new year resolution should be to not buy $200 lamps. That I can totally do.

You know it’s a new year when…..

You know it’s a new year when you are online shopping for not cute clothes or jewelry or shoes or something fun, but for this:

Sexy, right?  But seriously. The whole “gosh, I feel so fat today” and “Gee, why don’t any of my clothes fit?” schtick is getting old. I need to put up or shut up. I’ve got my Couch to 5k App all ready to go. Now just need this puppy to arrive. In the meantime, I’ll be pretending I never saw those photos from vacation…..sigh.

 

Another year over, a new one begun…..

Happy New Year!  Dudes, December went by in a blur. You know that song?  The one that goes, “So this is Christmas. And what have you done?”, well, I’ll just go ahead and show you what we’ve been up to the past two weeks. I still can’t believe it’s only been two weeks…..as Colin would say, “Woahhhh”.

[Gettin’ the job done.]

Since Colin has moved four times in his short little life, he knows when to jump in and get the job done. That rug wasn’t moving itself, people.

[Gettin’ settled.]

We moved on the 17th of December, and upon arrival, set up Colin’s new baby jail play room. He absolutely loves it. Especially after Santa came to visit.

[Puttin’ up the tree]

Before we moved, I gave Kase fair warning: We would be purchasing a Christmas tree on Sunday the 18th. Yes, I understood we may not be unpacked, but I required a tree. Luckily, he just shrugged and said, “ok”.  So we went downtown to the local nursery and bought this puppy. Then we headed over to the hardware store in town, where we gave them our list of Christmas paraphernalia and walked out with lights, tree stands, fireplace grills, you name it. Insta-Christmas.

[Playing Santa]

This is my version of a sleigh. Upon return trip to the town hardware store, I noticed this little lawnmower. Had to be done, people.

[Wrapping Presents]

I decided to go with a theme this year of wrapping my presents with kraft paper and tying it all up with string. I love how they turned out. Simple and so pretty.

[Just your average trip to Ikea]

Yeah, we had three dining room chairs. We needed a fourth. Luckily, the As-Is section came through, FOR ONCE.

[Woahhhhhh!]

Nuff said.

[Getting Away]

Our flight to Costa Rica left Bradley Airport at 5:50am, which means we had to check in at 3:50am.  So being the responsible parents we are, we decided to leave Colin with Grammie and hit up a double header at the movies, starting at 11pm on Christmas. Bad idea. Also a bad idea? Seeing Mission Impossible or Young Adult. Don’t say I never warned you.

Upon our arrival to Miami for our connecting flight, we were told they oversold it. Not cool. Long story short, Thanks American Airlines for paying for our vacation!  We especially enjoyed our couples massages on our deck overlooking the ocean. 😉 Costa Rica was even more beautiful than we remember. I’ve got lots of recommendations coming, and even a Fat Tuesday recipe for you from our trip.

So that’s what we’ve done. Happy New Year!