Today Is All About Me. Or Really, Smoked Salmon Hash

I’m not pregnant.

I know.  No one’s stopping the presses.  I’m 47 and unmarried.  Hoop,  Dee.  Do.  Still, I am reminded of my fetus-free status every time I grocery shop, because I’m always drawn to those temptingly empty front-of-the-lot parking spots, only to be warded off by signs reading:  Reserved For Expectant Mothers.

Right.  Look I’ve got nothing against expectant moms.  Been there.  Done that.  Got the rear-end-revealing hospital gown to prove it.  Even then, though, I found it silly to save a space for a capable, healthy prego, no matter how much weight she'd gained or how tired she was.  Why not give it to the truly needy mom – the one who hasn't slept more than two consecutive hours in the past 28 weeks, who's toting an infant, a car seat, a diaper bag, and in most cases, an extra 20 pounds, an older toddler and a nasty case of post-natal hemorrhoids?

So you can imagine the guilty thrill I felt today upon visiting our new neighborhood grocery store, Bloom.  As usual, I was lured to an invitingly vacant space at the front of the lot.  But not as usual, there was a sign at the head of the space reading:  20 Minute Parking for Quick Shoppers.

That, my friends, is me to a “t.”  I scarcely touched the brakes before flipping the old Honda Pilot into the space.  Shop quickly and get primo parking?  Clearly, this is an all-about-me kind of day.

Well.  Kind of.

Earlier today, Darling Daughter headed off to spend a beach weekend with friends.  However, despite near constant nagging and reminders and pecking on my part, she managed to leave her Easter dress behind.  As she explained, “I would’ve spent more time packing, but you didn’t have the laundry done.” 

See?  It all comes down to me.

Then, at lunch today, Son grilled a couple of burgers and said, “I didn’t ask whether you wanted one, because I didn’t want to tempt you.” 

Other moms might have their feelings hurt, but not me.  As Son subsequently said, he was only thinking of me.

Right.  I’ll tell you what would really make this an all-about-me day:  If Josie-the-rescue-dog ceased dining on “tootsie rolls” from the cat litter box.  Nasty.  Just thinking about her “snacking habits” makes it so no one wants to be around her.  However, if her habits changed so she was dining on her own "ahem" and I didn’t have to spend so much time donning plastic bags as gloves, hunched over in the backyard, all the better.

Whatever.  I’m already plotting revenge.  Because if indeed, today is going to be all about me, then dinner will be one of my very favorites, Smoked Salmon Hash.

(Sigh.  All-about-me day is over.  Son unpredictably pronounced the hash to be “very good.”  But I still got the last smile.  Son had no idea he was eating a recipe that includes capers, which he hates.  Ha!  Back to me.)

Smoked Salmon Hash

Serves two

20-ounce package of refrigerated hashbrowns with onions, prepared according to package directions

4 ounces sliced smoked salmon, cut in thin strips

1 tablespoon whole-grain Dijon mustard

3 tablespoons horseradish
2 tablespoons capers

3 tablespoons sour cream (plus additional for garnish)

1 teaspoon lemon juice

3 tablespoons minced fresh chives, divided

In a small bowl, stir together all ingredients except hashbrowns, reserving 2 tablespoons of chives for garnish.  Stir salmon mixture into freshly prepared hashbrowns in large skillet.  Heat through.  Serve, garnishing with chives and additional sour cream.

Thirteen Years Later, I'm Still All In

I’m no martyr.

Yes, I know plenty of new moms who, before their little baloney loaf was even wiped down and weighed, were willing pack their bags, swaddle up that baby, install the newborn carseat and all but drive themselves home. 

Not me.   When Darling Daughter was born, due to some medical complications, I was given the option of staying an extra night or two at Presbyterian Hospital.  Thank you, Jesus.  No need to ask twice.  No need to wait for the umbilical cord to be snipped.  My answer was unequivocal:  Sign me up.

That was exactly 13 years ago.  Today is my girl’s birthday.  Which means I am now, officially, mom to two teenagers.  And before you ask, it doesn't make a difference whether I’m up to the task, because there’s no turning back.  I’m in.  All in.

I knew it from the beginning.

After DD finally and quietly emerged, purple and blotchy with a cord around her neck, I basked – no, reveled – in those extra couple of nights in the hospital.  The laundry, cooking, cleaning and inevitable day-to-day responsibilities of parenthood and housekeeping – not to mention that supposedly essential bonding with Son -- could wait. Instead, I hunkered down in the hospital room with DD, whose sweet little foot was so tiny, it could fit in my mouth.  And it did.  (She hates that part of the story.)

The best part of those few days, far and away, was when the nurses would bring DD to me for feeding at night.  Although hospital policy encouraged newborns to stay with their moms during the day, babies were kept in the nursery at night.  The idea, I suppose, was to give recovering moms the chance for a few extra winks.

Right.

Around 10 or 11 at night, a nurse would retrieve DD from my arms, and, utterly exhausted – both from childbirth and the parade of friends and family wanting to know whether I’d finally decided on DD’s middle name -- I’d achieve REM sleep before the hospital door quietly shut behind them. 

For about 20 minutes.  Maybe 25.  The rest of the night, instead of falling deeper and deeper into sleep as the hospital halls grew quieter and quieter, I become more and more alert.

Newborns were returned to their moms during the night for feeding.  But instead of being carried down the hall, each newborn would be rolled in its own little cart.  Like room service.  Only you didn’t have to sign anything.  Or tip.  (I know.  Why be a neo-natal nurse if you don’t get to carry around those sweet-smelling squishy swaddled babies?)

Thing is, those little baby delivery carts had little squeaky wheels.  So instead of getting much needed sleep (which I fully intend to catch up on once the kids are in college), I’d lay in my remote-control operated hospital bed wondering, “Is that my baby?” every time a cart creaked down the hall.

All night.  

“Is that my baby?”

“Maybe that’s my baby.”

“That sure sounds like my baby.”

As if I’d recognize the sound of the squeaky wheels bearing my 9-pound (I know, right?) bundle of joy.  Thirteen years later, I still can’t think of anything as thrilling as hearing that cart roll toward my room, easing to a stop, just before the door cracked open, spilling light into the room and illuminating perfectly pink Darling Daughter.

In honor of DD’s thirteenth, the best recipe I could offer would be for Chocolate-Chocolate-Chocolate Cake.  Yes, I know I ran it this same time last year, but it’s her favorite.  (It was also one of my favorite posts ever, What I Want For My Daughter.)

And on her birthday, when she asks whether I’d mind making it – yet again – I can’t help but answer, Sign me up.

Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Cake

Cake

3 cups flour

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 cups sugar

1 cup corn oil

2 cups cold water

1 tablespoon vanilla

1 1/2 cups chocolate chips

Frosting

1 1/4 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature

5 cups powdered sugar

8 tablespoons whole milk

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 scant cup unsweetened cocoa powder

Make the cake.  Preheat oven to 350.  Butter and flour three 9-inch cake pans.  (This is a delicate cake, so be sure to prepare pans well.  If you have the patience, I’d strongly recommend preparing each pan and then, lining the bottom of each with a circle of wax paper, also buttered and floured.)  Sift first five ingredients into a large bowl.  Mix water, oil and vanilla in a separate, small bowl.  Make a "well" in dry ingredients, pour in wet ingredients and whisk well.  Scrape batter into prepared pans, dividing evening.  Sprinkle 1/2 cup chocolate chips over batter in each pan.

Bake 25 minutes, or until layers test done.  Cool in pans on racks for 15 minutes, then turn cakes out and allow to cool completely.  

Make frosting.  Beat butter in large bowl (an electric mixer is best) until fluffy.  Gradually beat in three cups of powdered sugar.  beat in six tablespoons milk and vanilla.  Add cocoa and remaining sugar, gradually.  Beat until blended and fluffy, using remaining two tablespoons of milk, if necessary.

Assemble cake, with layers chocolate-chip-side up and about 2/3 cup frosting spread between each layer.  Spread remaining frosting over sides and top of cake.  Tastes even better the next day -- for breakfast!

Spring Break -- Then and Now.

Spring Break was a fairly new phenomenon to Charleston County Schools in the 70s.  I don’t think our parents knew what to do with the odd week of vacation – or us.

No problem there.   We were smart.  We were creative.  We were open-minded.  We were teenagers.  We knew exactly what to do with those seven days.  We drove straight – and speedily -- to Folly Beach, rented a bunch of houses (don’t ask), stopped in at Chris and Jerry’s (a sandy little grocery store with eye-rolling prices, a barrel of fresh feta cheese, and an inconsistent policy of checking IDs), dunked ourselves in baby oil, and flopped out on the sand.  Heaven.

C’mon.  It was South Carolina in the 70s.  Certain things – like the drinking age – were different then.  But we didn’t push it.  At that time, SC law also would’ve allowed teenagers -- as young as 14 -- to get married.  We never tried that.  To the best of my knowledge.

We’re a far cry from all that now.  Parental consent is now required for 14-year-old girls to marry in SC.  And spring break is its own industry.  The question isn’t whether you’re going away for break-- it’s where.

Then it’s a matter of cold (skiing) or warm (beaches), active (again, skiing) or sluggish (again, beaches), educational or, well, I’ve got two teenagers.   The Smithsonian is no longer an option.

This year, we chose warm and sluggish.  My bad.  There was no “warm” on Amelia Island last week.  Which instantly put a cramp in “sluggish.”

Look.  I’m certain Amelia Island is delightful – the other 51 weeks of the year.  Last week, though, for the three of us, though, the words “chilly,” “dreary,” “overcast” and “threatening” come to mind.  And the weather wasn’t any better.

Still, we had fun.  There’s no denying how much I enjoy the kids’ company.  Come rain or shine, they are howlingly funny.  Just a few quotes:*

Why does farting smell so bad? I’m asking.

You should be glad we don't like getting shots. That way, you never have to worry about us shooting heroin.

DD, accusingly, "What are you doing?" Son, "Apparently something wrong."

I'm sorry, but you're just a bad mom.

I like long sleeve shirts. Then you don't have to wear pants.

Fortunately, the trip ended on a high note.  We opted to head to Charleston to spend some extra time with family and friends – sans baby oil and Chris & Jerry’s.  But before leaving the Sunshine State, we fit in a Segway tour of Fort George Island.  You know Segways, of course.  It’s impossible to see one and not think – man I wish I were riding that thing.  We did.  And for us, it made the trip.

All’s well that ends well, I suppose.  At least we didn’t ride home shifting in our seats from painful sunburns and peeling patches of blistered skin from our noses and shoulders.  But I felt like we still needed a little something to remind us of sunnier days -- maybe something like this fresh and light tasting grilled chicken.

The Sunshine State may not have lived up to its name this time, but we were smart.  We were creative.  We were flexible.  Heck.  Some of us were even teenagers.

*I keep an ongoing list of these quotes.  If you'd like to read more, check out "Overheard At My House" on Facebook or @HeardAtMyHouse on Twitter.

Grilled Ginger-Citrus Chicken

4-8 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (depending on how many you’re serving)

1 lemon, zested and juiced

1 lime, zested and juiced

1 orange, zested and juiced

1 clementine (optional), zested and juiced

1 tablespoon fresh grated ginger

1 tablespoon vegetable oil

¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes

kosher salt

fresh ground pepper

3 cups hot, cooked rice (1 cup rice to 2 cups water)

In a resealable plastic bag, combine chicken breasts, citrus zests, juices, ginger, vegetable oil and red pepper flakes.  Allow to marinate 30 minutes.  Drain, reserving marinade, and season each breast with salt and pepper.  Grill over medium-hot coals until done.  (About 5 minutes per side for thin breasts).  While chicken cooks, heat remaining marinade to boiling (in the microwave is fine).  When chicken is done, allow to rest 5 minutes before slicing and serving.  Stir 2 tablespoons of heated marinade into hot rice and serve with sliced chicken.