Frig, Frick, Love, Hate and Zucchini Bread.

When I was a kid, two words were off-limits.

It's not what you think.  Of course, all "curse" words were forbidden -- including words that pretended to be curse words, including "dang," "frig," "frick," "H-E-double-toothpicks," and anything that rhymed with "duck."  Curse-word substitutes weren't the only forbidden words.  We kids weren't allowed to say, "yeah."  Mom insisted we say either "yes," or "yes ma'am."  Or really, just "yes ma'am."  "Shut up" was also out of the question, which forced me to invent all kinds of stories where the evil queen declared, "Shut up the dungeon, men!"  If I was able to work a beaver "dam" into the story, all the better.

Today, though, the two words I'm referring to are "hate" and "love."

Sure, I was allowed -- expected -- to tell my parents and relatives I loved them.  I could also love God.  And my black cat, Smokey Joe, who, being born on Friday the 13th, surely warranted some extra affection.   I think what Mom was trying to head off was the tendency of young girls to "love" absolutely anything.  Or really, absolutely "everything."

You know.  "I love the smell of Hawaiian Tropic."   "I love blue eyeshadow."   "I love the black light section at Spencer's."  "I love that 18-year-old boy with the white Camaro."  But I digress.

And "hate"?  Well, I was allowed to say I hated ... nothing.  Nothing whatsoever.  I wasn't supposed to "hate" anything. Mom warned against overstatement.  How could the word "love" apply equally to your feelings for your parents and your feelings for the new Almay, no-sharpener-required, midnight blue eyeliner?  Did my feelings for the buffet pizza at Pizza Inn really equal my feelings for Hitler, Satan and world hunger?

Besides, Mom reasoned, what if your feelings change?  Do you really want to paint yourself into a corner of "love"?  Or, for that matter, "hate"?

Although I've never called my kids down for over-using "love" and "hate," I can't help but cringe when 15-year-old Son claims to "hate" stickshift cars.  Or when 13-year-old Darling Daughter declares her "love" for watermelon-flavored, Jolly Rancher gummies.  The word that really gets me, though -- the word that makes the skin crawl right off my body is "like," as in, "I need, like, three 5-subject notebooks."  Fine.  So you're saying you don't actually need three, 5-subject notebooks, but something "like" them?  Don't get me started.

One thing the kids agree that they hate is zucchini.  They "hate" it.  Hate, hate, hate it.

I want to ask, do you really want to paint yourself in that corner?  Do you really want to take such a strong stand against a vegetable?  And a bland one, at that? How do you even know that you hate zucchini?  Really?  Do you like that bread you're eating right now?  Ha!  It's zucchini bread!

Don't you just hate that?

Zucchini Bread
This wonderful recipe comes from my friend Cathy.  She adds a cup of chopped pecans -- which I think makes the bread even more special -- but which I've left out because of nut allergies.  Makes two moist, delicious loaves.

3 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3 medium eggs
2 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups grated zucchini

Preheat oven to 350.  In a mixing bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon.  Set aside.  In another mixing bowl, beat eggs until foamy  Gradually stir in sugar, blending well.  Stir in oil and vanilla.  Gradually stir in dry ingredients until well-incorporated (batter will be stiff).  Fold in zucchini.  Divide batter between two greased loaf pans.  Bake until golden (about one hour).  Remove from oven, let cool about 15 minutes before turning from pans, and allowing to cool completely on baking rack.  Freezes well.

A Clean Room? Now That Would Be Magic.

Although Son and Darling Daughter, at ages 15 and 13, have long outgrown the Harry Potter books (sigh), they both believe our house to be magical. Or criminally-infested. Or both.

I know this because each of them routinely – perhaps, weekly -- instigates the following claim.

“I don’t know where it is. I looked everywhere. It just disappeared."

Note: The magically vanishing object is not relevant here. It could be an ordinary piece of clothing, an algebra book, a water bottle, a housekey, or an item borrowed – almost always from me.

It just disappeared.

Right. Without benefit of a silk tophat, a blond, leggy assistant, or an 11” holly wand with a phoenix feather core (remember, the kids are the ones who've outgrown Harry Potter, not me), those magical words then propel us down a magically-scripted path – one from which we cannot veer.

Me: “What? Are you sure? Have you checked your backpack? Do you want me to help? Maybe it’s at school. Did you check?” Then, the deadly and inevitable, “Maybe if you cleaned up your room …”

Well. This is, indeed, a predictable script. Cue the criminal element. My child, “No, Mom! Stop! It’s gone! GONE! I think it was stolen!”

Stolen? Someone stole your unlabeled USB key? Your field trip permission slip? Your 35-pound backpack crammed with Nature Valley Oat ‘n’ Honey granola bar wrappers and the test you didn't want me to see? Your scraped and cloudy water bottle with the 3” peeled-off residue of a Nantahala River sticker? My new black suede boots with the stacked heels? (Actually someone might want to steal those. They're darling.)

Right.  Allow me to repeat: Maybe if you cleaned your room.

Who know what treasures would be unearthed if you cleaned your room -- if you just picked it up -- a little. Who knows what's lurking under the laundry pile or in the crusted-over closet? The book you're looking for may very well be keeping company with the baseball hat, empty chips bag and hoodie crammed under the desk. At the very least, if you cleaned up your room, I’d have time to fix something for dinner. Although truth be told, this roasted chicken dish comes together in a snap.

We’re big fans of my Slow Cooker Chicken With Artichokes, and one recent evening, I craved the same flavors, but had less than an hour to pull it all together. This fit the bill perfectly. Quick and flavorful.  Like magic.

Still waiting, though, on the clean room.

Roasted Chicken with Israeli Couscous and Artichokes

6-8 dark chicken pieces
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
1 lemon, zested and juiced
½ cup parsley, minced
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cups boiling water
1 ½ cups uncooked Israeli (pearled) couscous
1 package frozen artichoke hearts
½ teaspoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon oregano

With a large butcher’s knife, cut together garlic, lemon zest, parsley and teaspoon of kosher salt, until pasty. Combine in a large, resealable plastic bag with lemon juice, oil and cut-up chicken. Massage until chicken is coated with mixture and allow to marinate for 20-30 minutes.

Heat a large, ovenproof skillet over medium high heat. Brown marinated chicken, well, on all sides.

While chicken is browning, preheat oven to 350. Combine boiling water and couscous and let stand 10-15 minutes.

When chicken is browned, remove from skillet, and stir in couscous mixture, artichoke hearts, kosher salt and oregano. Bring to a boil, scraping up flavorful bits from the bottom of the skillet. Remove from heat. Place browned chicken on top, and put entire skillet in preheated oven for 15-20 minutes, or until chicken is done and couscous cooked through. (Add additional water as needed, so couscous cooks completely.)

For My Birthday, A Good Nap. And Happiness.

I am 48. Have been now for over a week.

Truly, truly, truly – I don’t mind getting older. Truly. (It won’t bother me when Cougar Bait turns 48 next month, either. I’m just saying.)

I don’t yearn to be 18. Or 28. Or 38. Well, I wouldn’t mind having my 38-year-old body back. All those eyelashes. All that naturally-colored hair. All that naturally-occurring collagen. On the other hand, at 38, I had a 7-year-old, a 5-year-old and couldn't run two blocks without getting a stitch in my side. In the words of Roseanne Roseannadanna,* “Never mind.”

Despite my petty hair and skin complaints, September 17, 2010 was the best birthday I can remember. It was fun, it was surprising, it was decadent, it was comforting, and it was also -- restful.

I know. “Sleep” shouldn’t a fabulous birthday make, but after 48 years, I'm now enamored with naps.

That’s how old I am. More sophisticated people may grow to love fine wine, or appreciate opera, or treasure literary works. I’ve become discerning about sleep. I prize it. I revel in it. Given the opportunity, I might marry it.

I had an even better birthday gift, though. One of Darling Daughter’s 13-year-old friends said this to her mom, who then repeated it to me, “Ms. Wiles smiles all the time. She’s so happy, she should get married.”

Don't you love it? “She’s so happy.” C’mon. Think about it: Isn't that exactly what we parents always insist? “I just want my child to be happy."

We all know the drill: “They don’t have to get soccer scholarships, and they don’t have to be valedictorians, and they don’t have to be the most popular. I just want them to be happy.”

I do want my kids to be happy. True, I have no worries that I’m doing laundry for budding Ronaldinhos or Zuckerbergs or Kardashians. But even if I were, bottom line, I'd still want them to be happy. And if I get to be happy too, all the better. Even without eyelashes. Or collagen. Or shiny, bountiful, brunette hair.

Sigh. I do miss the hair of my youth. But I’m happy.

I’m 48, I’m happy, and Cougar Bait will be 48 in 13 days.

Life is good.


*Gilda Radner, SNL, 1978-79. Yes. I am indeed that old. And happy.


Ginger Spice Cookies
An incredibly dear and thoughtful friend -- who's kept a special eye on me since my divorce -- delivered these cookies on my birthday. I haven’t made them myself yet (although I’ll be stirring up a batch tomorrow), but they are crazy and intensely good. The crystallized ginger packs quite a snap. I may just double the batch.
2 cups all purpose flour

1/2 teaspoons ground ginger

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground cloves
3/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup chopped crystallized ginger
1 cup (packed) dark or light brown sugar

1/2 cup vegetable shortening, room temperature

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

1 large egg

1/4 cup mild-flavored (light) molasses


Sugar

 (for rolling)

Combine first 6 ingredients in medium bowl; whisk to blend. Mix in crystallized ginger. Using electric mixer, beat brown sugar, shortening and butter in large bowl until fluffy. Add egg and molasses and beat until blended. Add flour mixture and mix just until blended. Cover and refrigerate 1 hour. 

Preheat oven to 350°F. Lightly butter 2 baking sheets. Spoon sugar in thick layer onto small plate. Using wet hands, form dough into 1 1/4-inch balls; roll in sugar to coat completely. Place balls on prepared sheets, spacing 2 inches apart. 
Bake cookies until cracked on top but still soft to touch, about 12 minutes. Cool on sheets 1 minute. Carefully transfer to racks and cool. (Can be made 5 days ahead. Store airtight at room temperature.)