Showing posts with label Salad recipe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Salad recipe. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

What You Really Need To Take To College. (Plus Spicy Summer Noodle Salad)



Darling Daughter is about to leave for college. Don’t ask me when, because for once in my life, I’m not keeping a daily countdown. I don’t want to know. Instead, I’m spending our dwindling days together like 52-year-old doe in headlights, immobilized by an onslaught of “What To Pack For College” lists.

I. Hate. Those. Lists. Hate ‘em. Not just because they signify Darling Daughter’s imminent departure, but because most manage to be both tedious and absurd.

If you have a college-bound student, you surely know what I mean. And if you don’t have a college-bound student, then you may be even more irritated than I am, because at this time of year, “what to take to college” (and its equally irritating cousin, “what not to take to college”) is the topic du jour for morning talk show hosts and mid-day journalists and Facebook bloggers and, let’s not forget -- total strangers in the aisles of Target.

One such list urges coeds not to leave behind their phone chargers and tampons. Phone chargers and tampons? I’d like to meet the girl who is ever farther than 10 feet from one of her (many) phone chargers. And tampons? The only time a typical teenaged girl is without one is when she’s heading to CVS to buy more.

Another list suggests that a college freshman shouldn’t fail to pack costume clothing and a step ladder. Say what? In 18 years, I’ve never once seen Darling Daughter atop a step ladder. Whatever would she do with one in a dorm room that’s only slightly larger than her shower stall?

Nonetheless, we’re neck-deep into buying “stuff” to ease the transition from home to school – extra long sheets, rugs, mattress pads, and really, sheet straps? But I worry that I’m losing sight of the most important things she needs to take. For example:

Self-respect. Darling Daughter, you’re a smart girl, but a lively (both academically and socially) campus environment can leave even the smartest girl questioning what she stands for, hopes for, and lives for. I’m trusting you – my darling, precious, daughter – to take care of you -- mind, body and spirit. Make the decisions that are right for you. You’re the only one who can.

Self-confidence. You’re about to tackle some gargantuan life changes – moving away from home, leaving friends you’ve known since preschool, demanding college classes, seemingly limitless freedoms. And while, pretty much everyone you know will be facing the same changes, that doesn’t make them easy. There will be days when classes are tough, professors are unreasonable, and some people won’t like you. There will be days when you question your abilities and your worth. But Sugar, that’s how it is here in the real world. So remember, I didn’t raise you to please other people. I raised you to be you. So go ahead, be you.

An open mind. Darling Daughter, despite and because of my best efforts, you have lived a sheltered life. And for the most part, that’s been a good thing. Even though you’ve had opportunities to roam the globe, you’ve been raised and educated in a pretty snug little community, where you’ve been protected and nurtured and kept safe. These next four years, you’ll be exposed to things and people and events you (and I) can’t even begin to imagine. And while some may be shocking and appalling, others will be eye-opening and, if you allow them to be, life-shaping. Please remember that “different” isn’t the same as “bad” or “wrong.” Keep an open mind; your life will be forever enhanced.

Perspective. People love to say that college represents the best four years of your life. To me, that’s a heck of burden. You can’t look at things that way. You’ve got to just take one day at a time. When you’ve had a great day, build on that. When you’ve had a rotten day – and you will – remember that it’s just that one day. The next day, you get a fresh start. So go ahead – start fresh.

Common sense. One of the things I love about you is how very, very practical you are. You think ahead. You plan. So if you’re ever tempted to pull an all-nighter, rather than preparing along the way, or trying to convince yourself that you can start studying at midnight, or that you don’t need to return my calls or texts, consider what advice you’d give to a friend who was making the same unwise decisions. You know what to do. And when you do the right thing, you won’t have regrets.

So that’s it. That’s my own “what to take to college list.” Or, at least, it’s the beginnings of one. Oh -- and a cooler. Take a cooler. Because although I can’t help you pack self-confidence or self-respect or an open mind or perspective or common sense, I can pack a cooler. And when you come home for a visit – I’ll want to fill yours up with favorite foods, like this cold veggie noodle salad.

I love you,

Mom

Spicy Summer Noodle Salad

Salad
8 ounces spaghetti or rice noodles, broken into 3” – 4” lengths, cooked al dente, rinsed in cool water and tossed in 1 tablespoon canola oil

2 carrots, grated
1 English cucumber, halved lengthwise, sliced into very thin moons
1 cup raw sugar snap peas, stacked and sliced, crosswise, thinly
2 scallions sliced thinly
½ red bell pepper, halved lengthwise and sliced very thinly
¼ head purple cabbage, sliced thinly or grated coarsely

1 handful of fresh mint leaves, chopped coarsely

Dressing
¼ cup crunchy peanut butter
¼ cup rice vinegar
¼ cup canola oil
¼ cup ponzu sauce
juice of one lime
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger
generous squeeze of sriracha sauce
1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil
1 teaspoon coarse salt

In a large bowl, toss noodles and fresh vegetables. In a small bowl, whisk together dressing ingredients. Toss dressing and salad in large bowl. Adjust seasonings and serve salad chilled or at room temperature. Pack leftovers in small containers, seal well, pack in a cooler, and send back to college with your precious daughter.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

The Beginning Of The End.

Sigh. 

A few days ago, Julia ran her last high school cross country meet here in Charlotte. And hoo boy, she sure wrapped things up in style. Far and away her best race of the season, Julia's time cemented her spot on the team going to States. In fact, it put her on the school's all-time top 25. As a team captain, she's worked hard -- insanely disciplined with her training, nutrition, sleep, and leadership. The results speak for themselves. I stand in awe.

Friday, she'll run her last race in Hendersonville, NC. And as she crosses that finish line, I'll check one more thing off my "last ever" list.

For better or worse, it's habit. I don't think of myself as particularly sentimental or sappy, but for 17 years, I've mentally noted and lamented the "last" time she rode in an infant car seat, her last day in preschool, the last time she let me to read to her before bed, the last I held her hiked up on my hip, the last time I drove her home from a meet, because she wasn't yet old enough to drive herself.

Now, though, during her senior year, the "lasts" are relentless. I've snapped my last "first day of school" picture. She's pinned on her last homecoming boutonniere. I've attended my last "meet the teachers" evening. She's about to submit her last college application.

I should be happy, but as one "last" after the other slaps me upside the head, I often find myself blinking back tears.

She's my "last" baby. The last one I felt kicking and hiccuping inside of me. The last one I potty-trained (she made it easy). The last one I taught to ride a bike, and then, in a blink, the last one to get a driver's license.

Together, we'll mark a lot of "lasts" as she navigates her final year of high school, not the least of which will be 212 days, 23 hours, and 52 minutes from now, when she'll don a cap and gown, and walk confidently across a stage and into her future.

I want to make it last.

Quinoa Kale Salad
One delightful consequence of cross country training is that we're eating healthier than ever Chez Wiles. This salad is a current favorite.

1 cup quinoa
2 cups chicken or vegetable broth
3-4 cups raw kale, chopped fine
1/2 red bell pepper, chopped
1/2 yellow bell pepper, chopped
1 cup pinenuts
1 clove garlic, grated
1 teaspoon grated ginger
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons light-tasting vinegar (rice or champagne, for example)
1 teaspoon dark sesame oil
kosher salt
fresh ground pepper

In a small lidded saucepan, bring quinoa and broth to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer, covered, until done. (About 15 minutes.) Toss quinoa with kale, and allow to cool to room temperature. Stir in chopped bell pepper and pine nuts. In a separate small bowl, whisk together remaining ingredients to make a dressing, and stir into quinoa mixture. Serve at room temperature or chilled.








Thursday, October 4, 2012

An Adventure At Age 50.
An Adventure At Any Age.


I choose to refer to it as an "adventure."

True, I turned 50 two weeks ago.  I turned 50, sold my house and put a contract on a house on the Lake.  And yes, it is Carter's senior year of high school, which means we're pretty busy here with the whole college and graduating "business" (and it is a "business," but that's a topic for another post), and yes, it will be just me and Julia at home next year, and yes, I fully intend to make DB live up to his promise to marry me when Julia graduates.  Which means, yes, I'll  be moving to Charleston in three years.

Still, moving to the Lake in the interim doesn't necessarily signal a mid-life crisis.  Nor is it "insanity," or "impetuous" or "rash."

"Adventure," remember?  "Adventure" is the word I'm looking for.  Or, in a pinch, "carpe diem."

Julia and I are keenly aware of the gaping hole we'll face when Carter heads to college next fall, so listmakers that we are, we maintain a "When Carter's Gone" list.  For example, "When Carter's gone, we'll eat more salad."  "When Carter's gone, we'll take yoga."  "When Carter's gone, we'll get an exchange student," which sounds just like getting a kitten, in that we'll be dealing with language neither of us speaks, but better, because there's no litter box.

A few months back, Julia tacked something new on the list, "When Carter's gone, we'll live at the Lake."

To which, Carter, who was entirely in favoring of dodging salad and yoga and exchange students, responded, in essence, "What the aitch? I wanna live at the Lake."

The way I see it, I only have a couple more years -- or in the case of Carter, months -- of full-time, hands-on parenting.  I'll always be their mom, of course, but God willing, they won't always be under my roof.  They won't always be my funny, thoughtful, insightful dinner companions.  They're already slipping away, moving on, spending less and less time with me.  It's not that I want to cling to this time.   I want to cherish it.

So yes, we're moving to the Lake.  Yes, I understand the transaction costs.  Yes, I understand the longer commute.  Yes, I understand that I'll no longer be able to walk to Starbucks.  And yes, moving is a colossal, miserable, unremitting pain.

But it's also an adventure.  I'm 50 years old, and I'm heading out on an adventure.  With my kids.

Carpe diem.

Three-Way Caesar Dinner
I don't have any regrets about relocating to the Lake, but I do need to watch my budget to make everything work.  Using a single ingredient as a marinade/sauce/dressing is tasty and budget-friendly, to boot!

Caesar Dressing/Marinade/Sauce
1 clove garlic
2 teaspoons anchovy paste
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 teaspoon hot sauce
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper

3 boneless chicken breasts

12 oz medium chicken noodles

1 bag romaine "salad"

Make dressing/marinade/sauce but combining garlic, anchovy paste, oil, lemon juice, hot sauce salt and pepper in a blender.  (Or, even easier, combine using an immersion blender until smooth.)

Place raw chicken breasts in a zippered plastic bag with one third of the caesar dressing.  Allow to marinate at room temperature for about 30 minutes.

Grill chicken until done.

As chicken grills, boil noodles in a large pot of very well salted water until done.  Drain and toss with one third of the caesar dressing.

When chicken is done, allow to rest for 10 minutes, before slicing on the diagonal and tossing with hot noodles.  Toss salad with remaining dressing, and serve alongside chicken and noodles.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Soap -- It's Not
Just For Washing Any More


I sleep with a bar of soap.

It's not what you think.  Unless you think that a white cake of Dial or Irish Spring (but not Ivory or Dove) has magical, medicinal powers, fending off muscle cramps, back spasms, migraine headaches, and perhaps, even the common cold, in which case, it is exactly what you think.

This past August, in the wake of my questionable decision to sign up for the Cooper River Bridge Run, I threw out my back.  It was a kind of routine injury for me, but this time, I really did it good -- teary-eyed and crumpled on the floor, before being driven to the doctor by my teenaged son.

Few things bring on unsolicited advice -- both medical and not -- like a doctor's visit.  Well-meaning friends and family suggested all kinds of cures -- heating pads and ice  packs, exercise and bedrest, hot tea and Scotch, massages and chiropractic treatment all made the list.  As did soap.

No kidding.  A close family member suggested that I tuck a bar between my mattress and box spring.  She even went so far as to suggest that I get some of those little hotel soaps and keep them in my pocket.  And since the "advisor" was my mom -- with 20 years actual medical experience -- I did.

And wouldn't you know it?  About eight weeks later, my back issue was resolved.  Of course, it could've been the months of physical therapy.  Or, it could've been the prescription drugs, which, at the very least, altered my thinking sufficiently so I found it entirely reasonable to order $300 worth of "Steals and Deals" from The Today Show website one Thursday morning.  While I was at home.  Not at work.  In other words, squandering money while not making money.

Or, it could've been that little white cake of Dial.

In any event, I got back on my feet, and in January, got back into training.  Now, tomorrow morning, I aim to complete a 10K run across the Cooper River Bridge.

And, yes, tonight I'll be sleeping with a bar of soap.  Just in case. 

Sadly I haven't lost a single pound (what the aitch?) while preparing for the run, even though I've been eating pretty healthily.  One of our current favorites is this simple Caesar Salad with Parmesan Crisps.  I'll post the recipe soon -- but for now, I've got to run!

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Mom On The (Bridge) Run

What was I thinking?

Or really, when I signed up for the 35th Cooper River Bridge Run, was I thinking at all?

Apparently not, because my registration packet has now arrived via USPS and even though I haven’t yet “been there and done that,” I do have the t-shirt, along with a race bib with “Cheryl” imprinted on it and a computer timing chip built-in.

Let me be clear:  I am not a runner.  I'm a 49-year-old mom who would never be confused for a runner.  A single glance tells all:  I am not built for speed.  If anything, I’m built for sauvignon blanc.  Or, in the right company, single-malt scotch.   I didn’t run track in high school.  I’ve never run away.  I’d never consider running for office.  I’ve never even run out of gas.

OK.  I have had my share of runs, but that was back in the days of pantyhose, and I can assure you that a silver "egg" of Suntan Sheer Energy L’Eggs did nothing to prepare me to run 10 kilometers in a pack of 43,999 athletes from Mt. Pleasant over the (new) Cooper River Bridge and into downtown Charleston.

I am, however, making an effort.  I have a training schedule.  An eye-popping neon yellow top so Cougar Bait can rescue me after race.  And new shoes.  I know.  In most situations, "new shoes" would cure all ills.  But when it comes to running shoes, maybe not so much.  My 17-year-old son's response to my recent "mile-time" stat was, “Gawd, Mom.  Were you even trying?”

Was I trying?  Did my hunched-over hobble to the sofa not give it away?  Where are crutches when you need them?

With the run now two weeks away, I am verging on panic.  Yesterday, I pushed to prove that I can go the distance.  The good news is that it turns out that I can.  The bad news is that the weather must be perfect, that I’m on a course I know like the back of my hand, and that 43,999 other people aren’t running with me.

Maybe I just need to eat better.  Something like this Seared Ginger-Lime Salmon with Slaw.

Nah.  What am I thinking?  It can’t be that easy.  It can however, be pretty darn tasty!

Seared Ginger-Lime Salmon with Slaw
I use the same, super-flavorful mix for both the marinade and the dressing.  This amount will work with up to four salmon fillets.  

Pieces of salmon fillet
Napa cabbage, sliced in ribbons (1 heaping cup per serving)
Red bell pepper, sliced in thin ribbons (1 quarter pepper per serving)
Feta cheese, crumbled (2 tablespoons per serving)
Pignoli nuts, toasted (1 tablespoon per serving) 

Marinade/Dressing
Juice of two limes
1 large clove of garlic, chopped
2 inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled and roughly chopped
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon toasted (dark) sesame oil
1/4 cup vegetable oil

Combine marinade/dressing ingredients in a blender and blend until very smooth.  Pour about half (1/4 cup) into a zipper-sealed plastic bag with salmon pieces.  Marinate, at room temperature for 15 minutes.  Drain and remove salmon pieces.  Sear in a nonstick skillet over medium heat, until done and flakes easily.  Set aside, covering loosely with aluminum foil while you assemble the slaw.

In a medium-sized bowl, combine remaining "marinade/dressing" with napa cabbage and red bell pepper (for four servings, use one small head of napa cabbage, plus, one bell pepper).  Toss well, serve with salmon, garnishing with feta cheese and pignoli nuts.  

Monday, May 30, 2011

The Power Of Studying, And Well, Power.

Yesterday morning, I sectioned three grapefruits, sliced two Fuji apples, diced a couple of pineapples, and snipped two pounds of grapes into single serving size clusters.

I stocked the pantry with Triscuits and Cheez-Its and Oreos and pretzels and vanilla frosting.  The fridge is chockfull of pickles and yogurt and baby carrots and Gatorade, but nary a caffeinated soft drink.  I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.

Yep.  It’s exam time Chez Wiles, and this ain’t my first rodeo.  The drama, the distraction, the disruptions and occasionally, the diligence, it’s all coming back to me.  My role remains unchanged:  I grease the rails -- fending off Facebook, disregarding unmade beds and feeding souls and stomachs alike – serving up snacks throughout the day, picking up dirty dishes and glasses, giving Carter and Darling Daughter absolutely, positively no reason not to hit the books.

Turns out, though, I should’ve added one more thing to my exam prep to-do list – keeping the power on.  Oopsy daisy.

That’s right.  Last night, the lights went out in Charlotte.  Or, at least, Chez Wiles.  Or, at least, some of them.

What.  The.  Aitch.  Power to the computer, our internet router, the TV, the oven and dishwasher, the washer and dryer, and the kids’ bedrooms – all gone.  Panicked, I checked the breaker boxes, and called Cougar Bait, my dad, my neighbor, and eventually, a 24-hour electrician, who gave me an estimate for over $3,000 in repairs – which would take three days to complete.  Then, he turned off the air conditioning in the house, which wasn’t safe to run, charged me $300 for the estimate itself, and told me to call him the next day with my decision.

OK.  First of all, $3,000?  That’s not the kind of cha-ching found in my sofa cushions.  And second, did I not mention that it is exam time Chez Wiles – and we now have no air conditioning, no major appliances, no internet, and no lights in half the house?

To his credit, Carter continued studying – lighting enough candles to set the stage for a cheesy romantic comedy.  I half expected Monica and Chandler (Friends) to walk in.  Not to my credit, and lacking sangria, I poured an extra large glass of sauvignon blanc, called Cougar Bait ... and cried.

As Cougar Bait predicted, things looked better in the morning -- although I wasn't one of those things.  Tear-streaked cheeks, swollen eyes and mascara-stained jowls do me no favors.  Nevertheless, I packed up my MacBook, headed to Starbucks for a no-foam, Skinny Vanilla and to take advantage of free internet.  Within a few clicks, I found not one, but two emergency electricians to come by and give me another quote.  (Big shout-out to White Electric and Hill Electric here in Charlotte!)

Both agreed on the repairs needed.  And both agreed that repairs wouldn't require days and thousands of dollars, but instead, hours and hundreds of dollars.  Not that I have a few hundred dollars laying around, but yes, I can manage.

So now, with air conditioning and internet and a functioning dishwasher, I can get back to the important things in life – like this terrific Strawberry Spinach Salad with Orange Dressing – which the kids won’t touch, but at this point, with fruit and crackers and Gatorade and air conditioning, I've done my job.  Studying is up to them.

Strawberry Spinach Salad

Salad
One, six-ounce bag raw baby spinach
1 quart strawberries, washed and sliced
1 four-ounce log black pepper goat cheese, crumbled
¼ cup sliced almonds

Dressing
3 tablespoons canola oil
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
1 tablespoons raspberry vinegar
1 tablespoon orange marmalade
½ teaspoon kosher salt
freshly ground pepper – a lot

Whisk dressing ingredients together in a small mixing bowl.  In a large salad bowl, toss with chilled salad ingredients and serve.



Friday, May 13, 2011

Naming Kids. And Boats. And Strippers.

Nearly 17 years ago, as soon-to-be-parents, and before settling on "Carter," we considered a number of names for our son, including Cooper, Conner and Fisher.  (OK.  That last one was just me.)  Two years later, for Darling Daughter, we considered Cecelia, Eliza, Lila and Larissa.  (Again, that last one was all me.)

To make the cut, a name had to meet certain criteria.  Given our single-syllable last name, the first name had to be polysyllabic.  I wasn’t looking to raise a Jane Doe or Don Ho.  Furthermore, the name had to be easily spelled.  Think about it.  I’m “Cheri.”  With a “C.”  No, a “C.”  One “r.”  No “y.”  “I,” not “i-e.”  “S-H-E-R-R-I-E”?  Whatever.  Close enough.

So far as I can tell, though, when it comes to naming a boat, no rules apply.  According to FirstBoat.com, the top 10 most popular boat names in the United States are:

1. Serenity
2. Happy Ours
3. Feelin' Nauti
4. Family Time
5. Liberty
6. Black Pearl
7. Andiamo
8. Knot On Call
9. High Maintenance
10. Just Chillin'

For my own boat, which is now a year old, friends have also suggested, “Cheri’s Jubilee,” “MeanWhiles,” “Worth Wiles,” “Always Write,” “Cougar Bait,” and, more than once, “Wiles Ride.”

What to do?  Well, when I first began writing Feminine Wiles, it was to let friends and family know that I was all right.  When it comes to schoolwork, I always tell the kids that, if they are able to write, their grades in every class – with the possible exception of math – will go up.  And when I landed a job – after spending a decade as a stay-at-home mom – it was as a copywriter

Yep.  “All Write” it is.

But then, as I was in the midst of writing this post, I heard from Super Sis .  She’s an elementary school principal, and her work ethics and behavior are beyond compare.  So imagine my surprise when she texted the following message:

“This morning, a parent shared with me that, if she were a stripper, her name would be Tess Tickles.”

Tess Tickles?  Tess Tickles?  TESS TICKLES?

Nah.  Just kidding.  I'm still "All Write"!

Shrimp Tacos with Apple Slaw
This recipe has absolutely no bearing on kid names, boat names or stripper names.  It's just really, really good.  Really, really unexpected.   And really, really, easy.  Or should I say, it's "all right"?

Slaw
1 large granny smith apple, cored and cut in quarters, and then, cut in matchsticks
2 cups of shredded Napa cabbage
1/4 cup canola oil
Juice of one lime (1-2 tablespoons)
1 pinch cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

In a medium sized mixing bowl, toss together apple and cabbage.  Whisk together remaining ingredients and toss with apple and cabbage.  Keeps, refrigerated, at least one day.

Shrimp Tacos
1 1/2 pounds raw shrimp, peeled, deveined and cut into bite-size pieces
1/4 cup canola oil
Juice of two limes (2-3 tablespoons)
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon chili powder

flour tortillas
bottled salsa verde

Stir all ingredients (except tortillas and salsa) together, combining well.  Heat a large skillet over high heat.  In batches, stir fry shrimp just until done -- 4-5 minutes.  Serve hot, in tortillas warmed one-by-one in the microwave --about 15 seconds each.  Drizzle salsa verde over top  and serve with Apple Slaw.



Sunday, January 9, 2011

Forecasters Call For Snow. I Call For Panic.

Lionel, our "indoor" cat, making his way through snow earlier this season.


Just two days ago, the gas gauge on my beloved Honda Pilot (there’s no seat like a heated seat, there’s no seat like a heated seat) hovered perilously close to “E.”*  Yesterday, on the way to Darling Daughter’s basketball game (where, by the way, she had the game of her life), the gauge pointed squarely to “E.” And this morning? Well, let’s just say it could only have been faith that got us to church and back, because fumes were in short supply.
No problem. This evening, I made a quick trip out to “fill ‘er up.” And what to my wondering eyes should appear but … a line? At our neighborhood gas station? Why yes, Virginia. There was a veritable crush of cars snaking around, backing in askew, with drivers leaning out their windows to kindly correct and traffic-direct others.

All that, for the privilege of paying $3.05 a gallon.

It’s January here in Charlotte, so the signs could only point to one thing: Snow’s in the forecast.  But silly me, I still wanted to stop by the grocery store. I know my neighborhood Harris Teeter like the inside of my own pantry, and I only wanted three things -- hamburger buns (for BBQ tonight), Italian sausage (for marinara sauce tomorrow) and grapefruit (for me). Easy peasy. Unfortunately, I also know the parking lot like the inside of my own pantry – and even better now after circling it for far too long to locate a space for the beloved Pilot. (Hey – that wasn’t agression, I really was there before that Highlander.)

Inside the Teeter, I saw everyone I know. Or at least that’s how it felt. And while everyone I know was there, nothing I know was on the shelves. Truly. It’s not that I needed bananas. Or lettuce. Or spinach.

But who did? I need to know. What were people doing? What were they planning to cook? I could understand the disappearance of milk. (Hot chocolate. Duh.) Or diapers. (There is no substitute.) Or pinto beans. (Who doesn’t want a pot of chili steaming on their back burner during a snow storm?)

But spinach? What are people making? Oysters Rockefeller?  Spanakopita?  Gingered Spinach and Mushroom Soup?

I was all but twitching. What was I missing out on? Did we need spinach Chez Wiles? Is it possible I’d be up in the middle of the storm, whipping up a spinach-artichoke casserole? Should I be looking to find a fix at another grocery store?

Nah. I was already confused enough.  Time to get home. Besides, I already had what I needed to weather a storm. A gas grill. Gloves. Beer.

And look. In the back of the fridge, I've got some fresh spinach -- perfect for one of my favorite salads.

Tomorrow, though -- chili!

Spinach Salad with Hearts of Palm, Cranberries and Blue Cheese
Salad
One bag baby spinach (6-8 ounces)
1 can hearts of palm, sliced
1/2 cup dried cranberries
4 ounces blue cheese, crumbled
1/3 cup salted sunflower seeds
1 orange, peeled and cut in sections

Dressing
1/4 cup canola oil
1/4 cup raspberry vinegar
1/4 orange juice
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon kosher salt
healthy grinding of black pepper

Toss salad ingredients in a large bowl. Whisk together dressing ingredients and toss -- lightly -- with salad. Serve immediately.

*As an aside, I never look at the “E” and “F” symbols on the gas gauge without recalling my Dad’s observation when I was a kid: “’E’ is for ‘Edna.’ ‘F’ is for ‘Fountain.’” “Edna,” of course, is my mom. “Fountain” is my maiden name. And still, they were married for nearly 20 years.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Even A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day Can Get Worse.

Yesterday, in the words of one of my favorite children’s books*, was a “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.” 

I was unsettled.  Out of kilter.  Overwhelmed.  Under-able.  I was so awash in pity that the lyrics to Jimmy Buffet’s song, “My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink, and I Don’t Love Jesus” kept running through my mind.

The house needs painting, the laundry needs washing, the kids need to be more helpful, the bills need to be paid, I need to be do more volunteer work, the cat needs to go to the vet, the plants need to be watered, I’m not sure how to manage a few financial hurdles, I have no sangria, and I’m struggling with subject-verb agreement.

I wasn’t awash in pity.  I was wallowing in it.  Bathing in it.

In my head, I was chanting the lyrics to an old childhood song, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I’m gonna eat some worms.”  And then, sure enough, things got worse.

A few days earlier, when the kids and I returned from Reunion Weekend, we’d noticed an “off” smell in the house.  So “off,” in fact, that the kids refused to hang out downstairs.  It was foul.  It was pervasive.  It was an “unwelcome” mat.  After a good bit of head-scratching, cautious-tiptoeing, hesitant-door-opening and reluctant pantry-sniffing.  I found the culprit – a decomposed, liquefied potato.

I tossed it immediately.  The smell, however, lingered.  Indeed, it worsened.

For the next couple of days, I burned candles, sprayed Febreze, ran the fans, and “aired” out the house – in 97 degree heat.

The funk remained.

Combined with my own foul mood, that stench made misery for everyone.  I typically turn to cooking to lift my mood, so I began making up a batch of Darling Daughter’s favorite macaroni and cheese for supper and chopping the ingredients needed to re-stock the basement freezer with marinara sauce.

Um.  Did I say “freezer”?

Dammit.  (Sorry, Mom.)   My super-sleuthing and super-sniffing hadn’t extended to the basement.  Dammit.  So now, cracking the basement door was akin to opening the gates of Hell.  Poets write of hell reeking of sulfur and brimstone, but I’d say Hell is a personal matter.  For me, Hell smells like 30 pounds of putrefied, decomposing chicken, oozing out a freezer door.

Shap.**

Trust me, I could be far more graphic – describing, for example, how the various plastic zippered bags holding far-from-frozen poultry were either inflated like balloons, or had already burst, releasing foul, black used-to-be-chicken sludge – but really, who wants to hear about that?

So just like that, my pity party was over.  I had to get to work.  No time for self-indulgent navel gazing.  Time to put on those big girl panties.  I had to scoop poultry residue from a fridge.

And then, come up with something decidedly “not poultry” for lunch.  Something like this cool, refreshing cucumber salad.

Hold the worms.

Creamy Cucumber Salad

¼ cup sour cream
2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
1 very small clove of garlic, minced, then mashed to a paste with 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1 seedless (hothouse) cucumber, peeled, cut in quarters lengthwise, then sliced

Combine first five ingredients, to make a dressing.  Toss in cucumber slices.  Chill slightly and serve.


*Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, Judith Viorst

** That’s “crap.”  With an “s-h.”

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Read All About It! Worst Mom Ever Falls Down And Goes Boom.


I never flinch when one of my beloved offspring declares me the “Worst Mom Ever,” because to be honest, they don’t know the half of it.

C’mon. It’s not that I’m deliberately “bad.” Indeed, the tears I’ve shed, the books I’ve read, and the committees I head, I think, all give testimony to my devotion to “good” parenting.

There are times, though, with seemingly little effort -- ba-dow! – I squarely reclaim the title.

Take, for example, when the kids are sick or hurt. Let me be clear, in instances like those, I’d always gladly, desperately, prefer to take their places and bear their pains. Still, there’s something perversely satisfying, after deciding the situation calls for a professional, in hearing a doctor announce, “It’s strep.” Or, “Yes, Ms. Wiles, it looks like he needs stitches.” Or, “Hmm. I think we need to see a specialist.”

At moments like those, it’s all I can do to suppress my true feelings, which run along the lines of, “Yes! I knew it! I knew we needed to go to the doctor! I knew this was a real medical situation! I was right!”

Not exactly banner parenting. Far from it. Still it’s not just the kids who are subject to this “I was right!” behavior. I do it to myself.

Yesterday, Son and I went for a run. (OK. His was a “run,” and let’s just say that mine was something less.) At the last minute, we decided to take Josie, the high-strung rescue dog, so she could “unstring” a bit.

She loved it. Loved, loved, loved it. Son ran (far) ahead of us. As I trudged – and Josie cantored -- through our first mile (have I mentioned that my 30th high school reunion is in fewer than four weeks?), a bicyclist pedaled up behind us. Josie (have I mentioned that she’s high-strung?) got spooked. Mid-stride, I tripped, and then, flipped over her, landing on my palms, my knees, my top lip and my left elbow.

As my nephew would say, “Crap! With an S-H.”

I reckon that would be “shap.”

I finished the run, er, trudge, with a split lip, blackened and blued palms, bloodied and gravel-embedded knees, and a keen pain in my elbow.

Returning from his three-mile sprint, Son hardly noticed. “You need a towel,” he noted. “You’re sweating a lot.”

When we returned home, Son played video games, I began dinner (grilled sausage and grits, asparagus in lemon and butter sauce), and Josie? She ran away.

Three hours later, Son recovered her, and by then, my elbow was really bothering me. I tossed and turned all night. Should I go to the doctor? Won’t he just tell me I’m old? What if he says it’s just a bruise? Still, after a sleepless night, I made the call.


Doc found nothing broken. Yes, I was injured, but there was nothing to garner real sympathy. All I could really tell people was that I fell down and went boom.  Still, Doc sent me on to the orthopedist, just to be sure, who, praise the Lord, took x-rays from a slightly different angle, allowing me to now triumphantly say, “I have a fractured elbow! I knew it!”

Shap. I'm still a mom, though, which means someone's about to pose the dreaded "What's for dinner" question.  Time for Plan B.

So tonight, instead of grilled salmon, it’s delivery pizza. Well, that, Celebrex, hydrocodone and this light little radish salad.

Of course the kids don't like radishes.  Yet another way for me to regain the title, "Worst Mom Ever."

Radish & Chive Salad
This refreshing and crisp salad is super simple -- no real measuring required!

One bunch of radishes, cleaned and sliced as thinly as possible
One small bunch of chives (bunch should be no heftier than your pinkie finger), minced
2-3 tablespoons of rice wine vinegar
Generous sprinkling (about 1/2 teaspoon) of kosher salt

Toss all ingredients together.  Chill about 30 minutes and serve.


Saturday, June 12, 2010

Things I Need, In Addition To Laser Hair Removal.

Surely, slowly, and then quickly, my money’s flowing into a big watery hole known as Lake Wylie.

When I bought my little Sea-Ray, my trusty salesman (and I say that without a trace of facetiousness), Matt, told me I wouldn’t need a thing. He gave me a complete boater’s package, including four lifejackets, 100 feet of line, an anchor, a fire extinguisher (I know, right?) and a full tank of gas. With all that – not to mention the boat -- Matt was sure I wouldn’t need a thing.

Huh. Is it possible that Matt's never met me?


In two short weeks of boat ownership, the kids and I have already identified a myriad of necessities, including:

•  Skis, wakeboards, inner tubes
•  A tow line, for all those skis, wakeboards and inner tubes
•  A dry box, for stashing that impressive boat registration -- and those water-sensitive cell phones.)
•  A new cooler, on wheels
•  Coozies, preferably embellished with “Feminine Wiles," and "Accepting Donations"
•  An unsinkable, "unlosable" bottle opener
•  A waterproof camera, ideally one that automatically erases images of 47-year-old women who have the gumption – or poor judgment -- to wear bathing suits
•  Photoshop for Mac, in the event the camera malfunctions, failing to delete images of 47-year-old women in bathing suits
•  Champagne, multiple bottles for christening and consuming
•  Laser hair removal. (Legs are mandatory. Underarms, optional.)
•  A pop-up grill, portable potty and on-deck icemaker.

OK. Just kidding about that last bit. The grill, that is, not the laser hair removal, because there is nothing like the stark light of day, reflected off the shimmering surface of Lake Wylie, to illuminate every spikey follicle of stubble that emerged as the boat was being “splashed.” “Splashed” is boat-speak for “put into the water.” Turns out there's a lot more to being boat-fluent than "starboard" and "port."

Cougar Bait, who actually knows how to drive a boat, has come to our rescue with skis, a tow line and dry box.  But there's no end to the amount of money you can spend on a boat.  Just ask the folks at West Marine.  There is, however, one thing money can't buy -- a name.



Yep, our boat still needs a name.

Apparently, it’s bad luck to have a nameless boat. So here are a few of the ones we’re floating around. (Ha! “Floating"! Not quite boat-speak, but still.)

• Wiles Thing
• Worth Wiles
• Cheri’s Jubilee
• Always Write
• Scratch Pad
• Feminine Wiles
• What's For Dinner?
• Cougar Bait

• The Boat

Honest. It was easier to name Son and Darling Daughter than this 20-and-a-half-foot Sport.

It was also plenty easy to come up with this Tuna & Cannellini Bean Salad, which I'll be taking out on The Boat this week. Whatever her name is.

Tuna & Cannellini Bean Salad

1 can good quality tuna, packed in olive oil, undrained
1 can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
1/2 cup chopped red onion
1 handful of parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons capers, drained
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1-2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 teaspoon coarse ground pepper
4-5 cups romaine lettuce, coarsely chopped

Stir together all ingredients except lettuce. Season to taste with kosher salt. (May not need, depending on the saltiness of the tuna.) Chill well. Toss with lettuce and serve.