Bacon, eggs, and Bubby

When I visited Bubby and Baby Mac last month, one of the things Bubby wanted us to do together was make cookies. Because it was so darn hot in the desert—even in the house—I convinced Bubby that it would be so much more fun to make and eat...well...bacon and eggs!

Believe it or not, it didn't take much arm twisting. Especially once I told him the bacon and eggs we'd be making featured none other than one of his all-time favorite ingredients: "num 'n nums".

Thanks to Grandma Judy, we had an easy recipe for bacon and eggs that required no oven, no stove top. I had made them for Bubby last summer, and he kinda sorta remembered that they were awesome. This time would be even more awesome, though, as Bubby was old enough to help make them.

So he donned his apron and set to work.

First, on a wax-paper lined baking sheet, Bubby carefully laid out double slices of bacon, aka stick pretzels:

Then Bubby separated the egg yolks, aka the num 'n nums, aka—for real— yellow M&Ms.

Once Gramma had the egg whites ready (meaning she had melted white chocolate in the microwave; see, no oven or stovetop required!), she poured the egg whites on top of the bacon. Bubby topped off the whites with yolks:

Time for a quick taste, so Bubby sampled a strip of bacon in the whites:

And again:

Heck, forget the bacon and the yolks, Bubby said, and went for every last drop of the whites:

Gramma placed the sheet of bacon and eggs in the freezer for "cooking" then washed up Bubby and his egg-white mustache.

Twenty minutes later, bacon and eggs were done, served, and savored!

One bite and Bubby was more than convinced that bacon and eggs are indeed so much more fun to bake and eat than cookies—especially on a hot summer day in the desert.

Today's question:

What is your favorite no-bake treat? (Recipes welcome!)

Friends and food

I have a lovely friend who's just a few centimeters away from having her first baby. She recently posted on her blog a great list of ways to assist a friend upon the arrival of their newborn, a list she was given by an equally lovely friend of ours. Many of the ideas include ways to help out by providing food, lasagne naturally being one of the suggestions.

My family and I have fond memories of lasagne. Delicious pan after pan of lasagne, provided by friends while I was in the hospital for a week nearly 20 years ago. Thank God for friends and for lasagne, as that's what my husband and daughters lived on while I was away.

My return home was met by more friends with more food. Dinner of pork tenderloins and pasta, warm and flavorful from a friend down the block. A huge sliced ham, selections of cheese, and soft sandwich rolls from the deli. And more lasagne, quite different than how I make it but all the more luscious as it was not my hands that prepared it. Again, thank God for friends and food as it's what we all lived on while I recuperated.

I know firsthand how helpful it is to provide meals and more to friends and family recovering from medical issues. Or getting used to a newborn in the home. But I also know firsthand how difficult it is to provide such things anymore. Not because of financial constraints, but because of what folks eat nowadays. Or don't eat nowadays.

Outside of my family — and to some degree, inside my family — nearly every person I know has strong preferences for the types of food they eat. Be it organic or locally grown or low-carb or low-salt or high-protein or no-fat, low-fat or only fats of a certain sort, it's mind boggling. And seemingly impossible to get the right combination for the right person.

Lasagne is no longer what it used to be. Back in the day, the basic dish had basic ingredients: noodles, sauce, cheeses, maybe meat. You couldn't go wrong. Now wrong is about all you can do when making it for someone other than those you make it for regularly. Are the noodles wheat or enriched or gluten-free? Sauce? Are the tomatoes organically grown, and what's the sodium content? Cheese? Don't even get me going on the cheesy possibilities. Or the meat ... or no meat ... or veggie options that would have been preferred over what I may have picked.

Lasagne is a fairly expensive dish to produce so I'm recently reluctant to make it for others when there's the possibility of it being poked, prodded, and questioned by a recipient, who may politely smile and offer thanks then feed it to the dog. Depending on the dog's dietary restrictions, of course.

"Make a giant pot of vegetable soup," reads another suggestion, but it's rife with the same concerns, same dilemma, because I'm pretty darn sure I'd use the wrong vegies, the wrong stock, the non-locally grown goodies that might make noses snarl and tummies roil, despite how delicious it may be. Not that my friend is a snarly kind of gal by any means; we just eat differently.

I'm known for giving food gifts at Christmas: cookies, bars, breads. I'm not tooting my own horn by saying they're all delicious, I'm simply sharing the feedback the goodies have received. I'm pretty darn sure my gifts haven't gone to the dogs ... or the garbage can. But I'm reconsidering food gifts, for holidays and definitely when it comes to helping out a friend, for food no longer feels like a gift. It feels like a landmine. With too much potential for such offerings to explode, leaving both sides with burned feelings of one degree or another.

Bottom line is that because of our vastly different dietary preferences, when it comes to helping out my friend, the new mom, you can be sure food won't be the form of assistance I offer. With food off-limits, though, the assistance suggestion I next considered was the one about buying "6 pairs of black cotton underpants (women’s size____)." But unlike food preferences, panty size is something not even the best of friends share with one another.

Which likely leaves me to opt for the suggestions that include holding the baby while Mom showers, folding laundry, and buying household staples such as toilet paper.

As long as I'm told what kind of toilet paper to purchase, that is. Because, just like lasagne, purchasing toilet paper for friends is no longer as simple as it used to be.

Photo: Flickr/VancityAllie

Today's question:

What are your favorite ingredients for lasagne?

Rule No. 3

When my daughters were teenagers, if they wanted their own car, they had to have an after-school job to cover the cost of gas and insurance. Those were the rules.

All three wanted their own car, so all three worked.

Which led to other rules, primarily:

1. Grades must remain satisfactory.

2. No working at fast-food restaurants.

3. Absolutely no working on Sundays.

Rule No. 1 is pretty much self-explanatory.

Rule No. 2 was due to our high expectations of the girls. There's nothing wrong with working at fast-food joints. Heck, Jim and I started dating when he was my manager at a Sonic Drive-In. But we knew our girls could do better, expected them to do better. And they did.

Rule No. 3 was enforced because Sunday was family day, no ifs, ands or "but I have to works." We went to church as a family, and nearly just as important, we shared Sunday dinner as a family. Which prohibited morning or evening shifts on the job. Luckily their employers respected and abided by Rule No. 3, mostly because the girls were good workers they didn't want to lose.

Rule No. 3 extended to more than work situations, though -- it also applied to any outings the girls wanted to attend with friends. (Exceptions were made for special events and occasions. I'm not that mean of a mom.)

On Rule No. 3, Jim and I stood firm. The girls were required to go to church with the family, required to have Sunday dinner with the family. Some things are worth fighting for, worth demanding. To us, Rule No. 3 was one of those things.

In accordance with Rule No. 3 was yet another rule -- this one for myself and Jim: No lecturing at the dinner table.

Because of our rules regarding dinner with the family, some of our most-cherished family memories are of times around the dinner table. Throughout the years, dinnertime -- and not just on Sundays -- meant catching up, sharing jokes, quelling fears, answering questions. We'd talk about movies, family, sports, friends, work, politics, music. We'd laugh. We'd snort. We'd cry. We'd lament. We'd sometimes even sing.

Then the girls grew up.

And moved away.

And the dinner table was empty. During the week and, most noticeably, on Sundays.

This past Sunday, Andrea drove from Denver, Brianna drove from across town, and we enjoyed Sunday together as a family. I can't recall the last time we had Sunday dinner together; it was surely sometime before the holidays.

It felt like a special occasion. It was a special occasion. We laughed, we remembered, we talked about movies, friends, work, sports, music. It was just like old times.

The only thing missing was Megan.

And the requirement that the girls be there.

Which made it all the more special -- and me all the more thankful -- that they were.

Photo: Flickr/Beverly & Pack

Today's question:

What is your usual Sunday dinner routine?

Cooking up memories

For many people, regardless of age, their memories of Grandma have her firmly positioned in the kitchen, cooking and baking up goodies that will forever hold a place in the hearts and tastebuds of her grandchildren.

I don't have such memories. I don't recall a single dish made by either of my grandmothers. I'm certain they cooked and baked and canned and did all those other culinary things grandmas do, but I don't remember any of it. I don't remember the taste, the aroma, the aprons worn, the utensils stirring, the old-fashioned appliances whirring.

My one and only food-related memory of a grandmother is the billions of blueberries my siblings and cousins and I would pick for my grandma on my dad's side, handfuls of them dropped into plastic ice cream pails alternated with handfuls of berry goodness popped into my mouth when I thought no one was looking. I clearly recall the buckets upon buckets of berries, yet I remember not a single instance of eating any blueberry goodies once the buckets were turned over to Grandma.

I want things to be different for my grandchildren. I want Bubby -- and Birdy and all others to come -- to have cherished memories of my cooking, my baking, my physical manifestations of love and adoration served up every time we were together.

I want my grandchildren to think of Gramma each time they smell cookies baking in the oven, each time they spread their peanut-butter sandwiches with jelly, each time they order macaroni-and-cheese from their favorite diner.

Bubby is not yet three years old. In those few years, we've been fortunate to share food and fun in the kitchen. I've had him help me bake chocolate-chip cookies. I've gifted him with my Christmas Spritz. I've treated him to jars of my homemade pomegranate jelly. And together we made dinner mints for Thanksgiving.

Thankfully, there's more to come soon. In exactly two weeks I'll be spending five days in the desert with Bubby. While there, I plan to bake for him my version of his current favorite dish: a super-easy, extra-cheesy macaroni and cheese.

For the visit, I've purchased a special grandma apron to throw into my Grandma Bag, and I'm mentally compiling a list of other goodies from my reportoire Bubby might enjoy while I'm there.

As a grandma who remembers very little of her own grandmothers, I say it's never too soon to start cooking up some memories.

Consider the cooking begun.

Today's question:

What food do you most associate with your grandmother?

Photo replay

Doing his part ... sort of.

Bubby started off strong, but working on Thanksgiving dinner mints quickly became too much for a two-and-a-half-year-old.

Thanksgiving 2010

Holiday question of the day:

What food most means "Christmas" to you?

Mom 2.0 redux

Not too long ago, I wrote a post called Mom 2.0 better than Mom 1.0 highlighting nine ways Megan (Mom 2.0) has outdone her mother (me, Mom 1.0). Well, she's gone and done it again -- taken what I've taught her and bumped it up a notch.

Consider this post reason No. 10 why Mom 2.0 is better than Mom 1.0.

As many of you know, Megan and Preston hosted our Thanksgiving gathering this year. Megan has never prepared the Thanksgiving meal and has only once cooked a turkey by herself. Yet she took it upon herself to do something I have never done, something I had previously never even heard of: Megan brined the Thanksgiving turkey.

And I must admit, it turned out to be the most delectably moist and flavorful turkey I think I've ever had.

Megan soaked the turkey in a savory solution for a day or so. Then she seasoned it well (before taking off for the Turkey Trot, I might add).

She baked it and basted it and recruited Preston for the heavy lifting of the 20-pound tom in and out of the oven.

Once roasted to golden perfection, Preston carved the bird -- his first time ever charged with Thanksgiving carving duty.

What a turkey! What a team!

Yes indeed, Mom 2.0 once again improves upon Mom 1.0. And it's only right to throw in a few props for Dad 2.0 (Preston) for doing the carving honors -- something Dad 1.0 (Jim) has yet to attempt.

In light of the savory success of Megan's turkey brining, I'm thinking about trying out the method soon myself. I just so happen to have a spare turkey in the freezer, happily waiting to be brined and baked.

And maybe -- just maybe -- Jim will be happily waiting to try out carving the bird himself once it's done.

These kids of mine continually amaze me. I thought I was the one who was supposed to be teaching them a thing or two, yet they've been pretty darn good so far at teaching me a thing or two. For starters, that soaking a turkey in salt water really does make it more moist.

And that it really is possible to run a 5k in the morning and still get Thanksgiving dinner on the table by early afternoon. Doing both while pregnant.

Did I mention that my kids continually amaze me?

Today's question:

What's something you've learned from one you're more typically in charge of teaching (a child, grandchild ... pet?)?

Weevils, the heads, and turkey days past

It's one week until Thanksgiving Day, and I can't wait.

This will be the first Thanksgiving that one of my daughters will host the affair. Jim, Brianna, Andrea and I are headed to Megan's for the big day, to include the community turkey trot (the girls are trotting; I'm watching), time with Bubby, and Thanksgiving dinner together as a family.

I'm excited to add this "first" to the collection of Thanksgiving memories that have been rumbling 'round my head and heart the last couple days. Things like ...

Thanksgivings early on as a family, when the girls and Jim and I had to eat two turkey dinners in the same day to accommodate holiday visits to both parents -- both my parents, not my in-laws.

Thanksgiving in South Dakota with the Indians. Real Indians from the reservation, who were friends of Jim's sister and brother-in-law, our hosts. The weekend included horseback rides for the girls, silly nephews pitching olives during the meal and the obligatory visit to "The Heads" (Mount Rushmore, for the uninitiated).

Another Thanksgiving in South Dakota, another visit to "The Heads." The time Granny reserved a room at her church to accommodate her many visiting relatives. Just before the meal, she realized she'd forgotten to make potatoes and cheerfully announced she could throw together instant potatoes she had at home. "My husband will NOT be eating instant mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving," snarled one of Jim's sisters. The sister who eventually left her husband -- for her daughter's ex-boyfriend. The husband who eventually died -- from complications of a broken heart.

Once again: Thanksgiving in South Dakota. The year Megan and Andie wrecked their car on the way home from college. So we drove two cars to South Dakota -- Brianna and my mom in one; Jim, Megan, Andie and I in the other -- so that after the festivities (and, of course, a visit to "The Heads") Jim and I could take the girls back to college. We drove from the Black Hills of South Dakota to the east side of Nebraska to drop off the girls, then home to Colorado ... driving straight through. It was our first introduction to Red Bull and Monster energy drinks -- and the last time we'll ever drive that many miles without sleep.

The long-standing tradition of spreading Indian-corn kernels on the Thanksgiving dinner table, with everyone invited to place kernels symbolizing their personal blessings in the special "gratitude" dish at any time during the meal. The tradition I can never explain to guests because I get all verklempt thinking of my many, many blessings. Thankfully one of the girls always steps in and explains it for me -- another blessing that increases my verklempt state. Every time.

The first Thanksgiving I hosted at my house for all the extended family, including my older sister and her husband, whom I wanted desperately to impress. Naturally it would be the year that when I pulled out my "gratitude" dish with Indian-corn kernels saved from the previous year and dumped the kernels onto the beautifully set Thanksgiving table, weevils -- who'd been happily noshing on the kernels all year -- scattered everywhere. Yes, I made an impression.

The first year Jim and I participated in any Black Friday madness. It was the year of the Furby fracas and each of the girls wanted a Furby. We woke up early, went to store after store in the dark -- and came away with three Furbys (Furbies?), one for each of the girls! Thanks in large part to my brother and his wife who were staying with us for the holiday. My brother who no longer speaks to me or Jim ... hasn't for years ... for reasons I don't understand.

The Thanksgiving Jim and I hosted the family mere days after moving into our current house. Boxes still awaited unpacking, furniture, rugs, curtains and more still needed to be purchased and placed. Yet Megan and Preston came -- it was the visit when they announced they were pregnant! -- Andrea invited a visitor from Brazil (I think it was Brazil), and many from my extended family attended. Truly one of my warmest Thanksgiving memories ever, despite the cantankerous and not-yet-working-correctly boiler system of our new place.

Thanksgiving activities with the family: crafting ornaments, doing puzzles, decorating gingerbread houses, painting canvases to adorn the walls of our new home. Megan's creation the year of the canvas? A depiction of how cold our seemingly cavernous house was thanks to that pesky boiler system, especially to one accustomed to desert temperatures.

The tradition of the girls, when they were too young to cook, contributing to the festivities by making dinner mints -- a cream-cheese and powdered sugar concoction flavored with peppermint, pressed into candy molds then popped out for sharing. A tradition that will be passed along to Bubby this year, so he too can contribute to the meal even though he's not yet able to cook.

It's one week until Bubby's little hands squish and squash like Play-doh the traditional dinner mints. Mints that will surely, in years to come, be remembered as the sweetest dinner mints ever.

And I can't wait!

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What are some memories from your Thanksgivings past?