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.

Losing It In 2011

It’s Day Two of 2011 --  a.k.a. the “Year of Loss” Chez Wiles --  in which I’ve resolved to lose weight, bad habits, and mental stressors.

I lost it, all right.

My wallet, that is.  Along with my cool, sleep and patience.  (You might think the stress would also cause me to lose my appetite, but that would make it the “Year of Wishful Thinking,” not the “Year Of Loss,” much less the “Year Of Lose Five Pounds By Skipping Dinner And Sharing A Pitcher Of Beer.”)

I don’t mean to whine.  But "shap."*  It’s not that my wallet held much cash.  $40 altogether -- although it was all in $10 bills, which are my very favorite.  (Think about it.  How often do you see a $10 bill? $5s and $20s are much more common.  It somehow feels unfair to spend the under-circulated $10s.)

It’s not even that I’m now without a driver’s license, which can’t be replaced online because the NC-DMV site is down.  It’s not that I’m so distressed about losing my American Express and MasterCard.  I’ve checked online (obsessively) and it doesn’t appear that anyone is partying down on Four Lokos, Slim Jims and Funyuns at my expense.

What’s keeping me up at night and causing me to lose my train of thought before I can key in a complete sentence is all the “extras” that were in the wallet.  My insurance cards.  My Costco card.  My well-worn Starbucks card.  My Taco Mac Brewniversity card.  Christmas receipts.  Doctor’s appointment cards.  And my ex’s Visa card.

Cheri, you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.

It’s one thing, of course, to tell friends and family of my foibles.  It’s another thing altogether to have to ‘splain them to my ex.  Particularly when the credit limit on that single card is likely higher than all of mine together.  Plus a year’s worth of mortgage payments.  And a weekend’s spending at Costco.

Of course, it is the “Year Of Loss,” so it’s entirely apropos that – along with everything else, including my mental faculties -- I should be losing face.

To be fair, he took it well.  He even offered a replacement card.  Which makes me feel like, well, a loser.  Which, considering that I have no idea where my wallet is, I guess I am.

Shap.

So it probably goes without saying that I’m not including a recipe today.  Yes, I had a great photo of a surprising Sauteed Brussels Sprouts.  And I’m very happy with my new Bison Chili Recipe.  And I just know folks will love my Cranberry Spinach Salad  Recipe.  But at this moment in time, I can’t lay my hands on any of them.

You win some, you lose some.  Welcome to 2011 Chez Wiles.

*"Shap."  "Crap" with an "sh."

Derailing Exam Prep In One Easy Step

Thirteen days until Christmas and all through the house, not a creature is stirring.  Because exams start tomorrow.

Did we have exams in high school – back in the lava-lamp 70s?  Probably.  Maybe.  Um.  Maybe I was absent that day. 

Is it possible I didn’t have exams?  Is it possible I did, but just don’t remember? Could I possibly have been that Holly-Go-Lightly?  Well, to all three questions, my answer would be, “Don’t judge me.”

If we did have exams, I must’ve taken them even less seriously than Son did last year (see "How To Prepare For Exams In 20 Easy Steps"), which on the one hand, is almost impossible to conceive.  And on the other, it's entirely possible, if not probable.

This year, though, the Son and Darling Daughter (DD) are hard at work.  Son is diligent, no doubt still smarting from last year’s metaphorical two-by-four upside the head, and DD is cautious, surely reliving my ‘round the clock shrieks last year of  “You have to do well!  You’re in high school now!  Everything counts!”

Whatever.  For the past few days, they’ve both been hitting the books.  Not to mention the refrigerator, pantry and, on occasion, each other. Are they really well-prepared for the week’s exams?  (Son has four and DD faces two.)  Or have they both been skillfully dodging everyday chores, holiday errands, and me?

But wait.  Is that snow?  Really?  In December?  In Charlotte?  When Son has two exams tomorrow and DD has two end of the semester tests?  Really?

Really.  Out of nowhere, flakes fall – fast, furious and magically illuminated by our outdoor holiday lights.

So much for quiet.  So much for focus.  So much exam prep.  The proverbial train has jumped the tracks, hopped the rails and ground to halt in our own front yard.   Even though it’s dark outside, both kids run out to catch the season’s first snowflakes.

Not exactly the way I saw this blog post going.

What was previously peaceful progress – or at least, peaceful plugging along -- turns to a bizarre combination of exuberance and panic.  What if school closes tomorrow?  What if school doesn’t close tomorrow?   Will it keep snowing?  Will it stick?  Will the roads ice over?

Mom.  Mom!  MOM!  What’s going to happen?

I wish I knew.  For years, I’ve insisted to them, fairly convincingly, that, like Santa, I always know what they’re up to.  Not only do I have eyes in the back of my head, but I can also predict the future.

This time, though, all I can predict is that it’s going to be cold.  Darned cold.  I’ll be sure to check the school closings before waking anyone up in the morning.  And regardless of exam schedules, I’ll be making up a batch of this heavenly white bean soup.  Because baby, it’s cold outside.

Rosemary White Bean Soup with Gremolata

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

1 carrot, chopped

1 clove garlic, minced

1 4" - 6" branch of fresh rosemary

1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 quart chicken broth

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

2-3 cans cannellini beans (white beans), drained and rinsed

Gremolata

1 clove garlic, very finely minced or grated

1/2 cup minced parsley

1 teaspoon kosher salt

zest of two lemons

In large, heavy-bottomed pot, saute onion and carrot in olive oil, over medium heat until onion is translucent.  Stir in garlic, and continue sauteeing until vegetables are very fragrant and onions begin to brown.  Stir in seasonings, broth, lemon juice and two cans of beans.  Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and simmer, lidded, for at least one hour.  Remove rosemary branch.  Using immersion blender (or food mill), puree soup.  Bring back to a simmer.  If you like your soup thicker, stir in additional can of beans and puree once again.  Season well with kosher salt and pepper.  Stir together gremolata ingredients (or even better, use a large knife to "cut" ingredients together on a cutting board) and sprinkle over soup.  Yum.