No Need To Apologize For A Southern Girl's 3-Ingredient Salsa.

Elton John once sang, “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word.”

Suffice to say, Elton’s not a woman. Or not, at least, a Southern woman.

For us, “I’m sorry” isn’t a phrase. And it’s not an apology. It’s a reflex.

There’s nothing difficult about saying “sorry.” The word escapes our lips at nearly every opportunity. You backed into my car? I’m sorry. Your kid shoved my kid down the slide and broke his arm? I’m sorry. I'm so achey I can't walk up the stairs and I have a fever of 104? I'm sorry. My car is wrecked, my kid’s in the hospital, I have H1N1, and I can’t bring cookies to the class party? I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry” isn’t the only verbal reflex in a Southern girl’s arsenal. Far from it. We’ve also got “I’m OK” (although this paring knife cut may require stitches, but only after I’m done with the dishes), “I can do that” (even though I don’t have the time, energy or inclination to manage that school festival requiring 250 volunteers) and, my personal favorite, “bless his heart” – the well-intentioned, and dimly-concealed attempt to soften any criticism, even the most-deserved. Well he just said he was tired of being married, and up and left her and their six kids, and then, before you knew it, he moved to Mississippi with that little blonde girl who is half his age. Bless his heart.

And let’s not forget the ever-popular “What can I bring?” which is a far cry from, “Can I bring anything?” which actually would indicate a girl’s unwillingness to make a contribution. Bless her heart.

Nope. When another woman says, “Why don’t y’all come over for supper later?” the only proper verbal reflex is “What can I bring?” As if, at the drop of a cupcake tin, we all have the time and ingredients to whip up an appetizer, dessert or main dish. As if we always have a liter or two of spiced and fruited rum in the fridge, waiting to be mixed into a tasty sangria. (OK. I may be an exception on that one. Click here for my recipe. It's worth it for the space the rum takes up in the fridge.) And trust me, “what can I bring” never means how about I bring some storebought cupcakes.

That’s why I love this next recipe. You can make it in a jiffy and present it proudly anytime “What can I bring?” slips your lips.

I’m a fan of salsa. And while I enjoy the vast array of chunky “gourmet” styles with ingredients like black beans and corn and Vidalia onions, I prefer the simple, thin, zesty style served in Mexican restaurants. That’s exactly what I had a recent tailgate party in Tennessee. When I begged for the recipe, the cook was somewhat embarrassed. “It’s pretty simple,” she said. Because “it’s simple” can be another one of those verbal reflexes, I braced myself for a lengthy description of roasted tomatoes, fire-smoked peppers, etc. No need. “It’s just two ingredients,” she continued. And holy cow, she was right.

But you know, when I made it again here at home, I thought it needed a little something more – just to brighten the flavor – so I added the juice of a lime. That makes it three ingredients, but I really think it makes it better.

I’m sorry.

Restaurant Style Salsa in a Flash
1 14-ounce can Ro-Tel tomatoes
1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes (not in sauce), drained but liquid reserved
1 lime, juiced

Dump all ingredients (except reserved juice) in a medium sized mixing bowl. Use an immersion blender to quickly combine all ingredients, stopping well before the salsa becomes the consistency of sauce. Taste for thickness and seasoning, adding reserved liquid and salt as needed. Chill for an hour or two, and serve with tortilla chips. Proudly. With a lime garnish.

On The List Of Things I Won't Buy For My Kid: A Snuggie.

In the spirit of the season, Darling Daughter and Snarky Son submitted their wish lists for my consideration a few weeks ago. Since then, in the spirit of the 21st century – or, more precisely, in the spirit of a generation accustomed to cutting and pasting and clicking and inserting 10 minutes before class begins -- they’ve each made countless clarifications and embellishments.

If only they were so thorough when editing their schoolwork.

Still, the lists – in writing – are essential, because I’m the “Go-To.” When someone, anyone, everyone wants to know, “What do DD or SS want for Christmas?” they don’t ask DD or SS, they go to me. I’m the “Go-To.” I am the mother lode. More accurately, I am The Mother.

Although I always remind the kids that the Baby Jesus only got three presents, I like to have gracious plenty ideas to choose from. (Dangling participle. My bad, my blog.) Some years, the kids are stumped. (Until, of course, I remind them that I love nothing more than buying books.) This year, though, they were downright prolific. I wanted ideas, and hoo boy, I got ‘em.

DD’s list included possibilities priced from $1.97 (a toothbrush) to $997 (not a toothbrush). As an added benefit, I could actually read and was familiar with the items listed.

By contrast, the list “written” (a word I use loosely) by SS was largely hieroglyphic – even after he de-coded it. Does every other mom on the planet know what a Boss DS-2 distortion pedal is? And MacBeth Brightons? Anyone? Anyone? Nah. I’m not that lucky. MacBeths have nothing to do with The Bard.

So here we are, two weeks from Christmas, after two weeks of list fiddling, and it comes down to this. DD wants a ceiling fan. And braces. Sigh. Neither one of those will fit into a nice, neat gift box. However, she’s asked for the ceiling fan for lo these past five years. And the braces? She already knows that her Dad will be getting them for her as soon as the orthodontist flashes the green flag. What we have here is yet another example of why some people call her “The Golden Child.”

SS slimmed his list down, too. Having blown through more phones in the past year than he has fingers, SS’s top priority is a basic, no-frills flip phone. And a Snuggie. True, either one would fit in a nice, neat gift box, but I refuse to buy him another phone. And a Snuggie? Not gonna happen. There's no way I can click the "Buy Now" button. Not for him. Not for a frostbitten child. Not for a featherless penguin. Not for the cryogenically-preserved head of Ted Williams. OK. Maybe for the frostbitten child. Other than that, not gonna do it.

Not that I’m not flexible. I’m plenty flexible. OK. Maybe not that flexible. But I’m bendy enough. Take this tomato basil soup recipe.

I came up with the recipe for Cougar Bait (I know, he’s only 23 days younger than me, but he likes to believe ...), who’s something of a connoisseur of Tomato Basil Soup. But at the last minute, I remembered I had some ground turkey in the fridge. Just like that, a totally vegetarian dish became not-so-much.

Just a little cutting and pasting and clicking and inserting and voila – I had a very nearly vegetarian Tomato Basil Soup – with meatballs.

Almost Vegetarian Tomato Basil Soup – With Meatballs
Despite the ingredient list, the soup comes together pretty quickly -- and it's very good without the meatballs, as well.

Meatballs
1 minced garlic clove
1 pound ground meat (turkey, beef or pork)
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons dried breadcrumbs
1 teaspoon dried basil
2 tablespoons minced parsley
½ teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground pepper

Soup
1 large onion, chopped
2 dozen baby carrots, chopped
1 rib celery, chopped
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes
1 quart vegetable broth
1 bay leaf
red pepper flakes
½ teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground black pepper
½ cup fresh basil, sliced very, very thinly (chiffonade)

First, make the meatballs. Preheat oven at 350. In a large mixing bowl, gently mix all meatball ingredients. Try not to “pack” the meat. Form into ¾ inch meatballs. Place on an ungreased baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Remove and let cool.

Make the soup. In a very large skillet or soup kettle, saute the onion, carrot and celery in the olive oil until the onion is very translucent and the carrots and celery are slightly browned. Stir in the tomatoes and vegetable broth. Stir well, and add the bay leaf, a sprinkle of red pepper and salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes. Remove bay leaf, and carefully, carefully, use a handheld immersion blender to smooth out the soup. (Alternately, allow soup to cool, and then, puree in a blender until smooth. Then reheat.) Taste and adjust seasoning (particularly for salt). Stir in basil and meatballs. Simmer another 10 minutes and serve hot.

Making Lists, And Then, Reindeer Cookies.

It was inevitable, I suppose.

I can’t find …

I seem to have misplaced …

I just can’t put my hands on …

Dagnabbit.  I lost a list.

I am an inveterate list-maker.  At this time of year, I even keep a list of my lists, including:

•  Wish lists from Snarky Son and Darling Daughter, itemizing their ideas for gifts I purchased months before they made their lists; gifts I’m not giving, but may purchase on behalf of stymied (I did not say “feckless”) family members; gifts they probably don’t want but I’m giving them anyway; and gifts I wouldn’t give even if they came with a bucket of water and my hair was on fire.  Doesn’t hurt to ask, though.

•  List of things to make/bake/mix/ladle/freeze, including the usual holiday sweets like the saltine-based Chocolate Toffee Treats, the semi-homemade Sausage Bread we have to have but never actually eat while tearing into gifts Christmas Day, and, inevitably, something ridiculous, like Julia Child’s Boeuf Bourguignon, which I have no business attempting under the best of circumstances, much less during the time of year when a bowl of cereal is considered a fairly complete dinner Chez Wiles.

•  Gifts to wrap/deliver/mail, including the Feminine Wiles cookbooks I had made up which are absurdly priced, but I am  distributing as if they were Belk department store perfume samples.

•  The always outdated grocery list.  Despite constant updates and the best efforts of SS and DD, who know that, if you don’t write it down, it won’t go in the cart, I’m now visiting our neighborhood Harris Teeter at least twice a day.  On no fewer than half of these visits, I’ll be distracted by something like those darling bags of crushed peppermint (perfect for Chocolate Toffee Treats!) or tiny cinnamon chips and will completely forget that milk, milk, MILK is the one item I’m supposed to buy.

•  A Christmas card list.  What am I thinking?  For the previous two years, during my separation and divorce, I didn’t address a single card.  Even my parents have abandoned all hope of finding anything in their mailboxes bearing my return address.  But if good intentions count for anything, I do have a list.  Check.

•  The daily “To Do” list.  This one includes such important items as when to pick up my various carpools, and more importantly, where.  It also includes “clean out the fridge,” which seriously, is something I have to do at the beginning of any holiday season.  For me, a clean fridge equals a clean mind.  Or a clean slate.  Or at the very least, a place to put the milk.  If I remember to buy it.

Santa help me, because the List goes on and on, including everything but the kitchen sink -- and, regretfully, the misplaced Shared List I made with Little Sis which included such mundane things as parent gifts I said I'd buy.

Umm.  Sorry, Sis?

Yep.  Time to simplify.    I can’t really eliminate any of the items on the lists.  They’re important to me.  They’re important to the kids.  They’re part of our holiday tradition.

What I can do, though, is lighten up.  I don’t have to wrap every cookbook with hand-painted paper.  A bow-tied ribbon (a really lovely one, of course) is plenty.  An e-mailed Christmas letter or card will get the job done.  And although I’m desperate to try the Salted Chocolate Covered Caramel Cookies described in A Good Appetite,  I may not get to them before DD’s cookie swap this weekend.  Instead, these adorable three-ingredient Reindeer Cookies, made with Pillsbury dough will be plenty good enough.

But first, has anyone seen that list?  I think it was on graph paper.  Three-hole punched.  And have you looked inside my fridge?  Nice.

Reindeer Cookies

1 package Pillsbury Gingerbread refrigerated dough

Pretzels (for antlers)

Red and green M&Ms

Preheat oven to 350.  Line cookie sheets with parchment paper.  (Parchment paper, I think, is the key to any successful cookie.)  Using a serrated knife, slice dough into ¼-inch discs, placing on parchment paper 3-4 inches apart.  Know, using your thumb and forefinger, squeeze each disc into a kind of hourglass shape.  Press two pretzels into the top of each cookie, as antlers.  Add two green M&M candies into the top half of the hourglass, as eyes.  Press a red M&M candy into the bottom half, as a nose.  Bake about 8 minutes, or until dough puffs up and loses that “shiny” look.  Let cool and remove to racks.  There, that was easy.  Check it off the list.