Belle.of.the.Blog

Makin' bacon... butter. Bacon butter.

2011-09-18T22:00:00.000-04:00

You heard me. Bacon. Butter.

Sometimes, my mind wanders to mysterious places. For absolutely no logical reason, I decided two weeks ago that saving bacon grease was essential to my culinary life's continued success.

At the time of this ingenious idea's inception, I wasn't even cooking bacon. In fact, I was sitting on my couch, staring blankly at my living room wall thinking, "Laura, you need more hobbies."

Saving bacon grease is what I came up with.

So I promptly headed to the store, purchased the largest package of sliced pork belly they offered and began this very exciting and healthy new chapter of my life.

I really don't cook bacon on a regular basis. In fact, two weeks ago may have been the first time I had cooked bacon in over a year. I'm more of a beef-for-breakfast kind of girl.

Makin' bacon hurts when you're an impatient soul. It's hard to resist staring directly and closely at whatever item is sizzling on your stove top, mentally willing it to cook faster, when it smells as good as bacon.

Sizzling bacon punishes that behavior by slinging fiery grease on your skin while it cooks. Ouch.

But if you are patient and cook the bacon slowly, it yields the most precious results. Perfectly crisp but not too-crunchy strips of deliciousness.

But that's not the point. This stuff is the point. Let as much of that liquid gold drain off each strip as you remove it from the pan.

Then let it cool. You do not want to handle bacon grease while it is still sizzling. Again: ouch.

In the meantime, enjoy the byproduct of this activity with tomatoes from your neighbor's garden (Thanks, neighbor Bob!), fresh lettuce and a Panera asiago cheese bagel.

When this endeavour began, I really thought the idea of cooking with bacon grease was limited to farm-house grannies, which I think is why it appealed to me. Any other 24-year-old out there daydream about how awesome it would be to a pre-maturely matronly granny? No? Me neither.

But it turns out, a lot of very normal, young, hip people still use this as their "secret ingredient" for great cooking. I met one last week on a business trip. I'm not sure how my conversation with this very stylish, big-city pharmaceutical marketer from New Jersey led to bacon grease, but I think it might have gone something like this:

Her: "Know what I love almost as much as beef? Bacon."

Me: "Me. TOO. Mostly due to a recent obsession with finding recipes that involve adding extra awesomeness via saved bacon grease."

Her: "Me. TOO. I don't tell my husband. He just thinks I'm a really great cook. He has no idea it's the bacon grease talking.

Insta-friends. Just add bacon grease.

She taught me this. Once the grease has cooled to room temperature, don't just plop it in a regular ol' mason jar.

Ladle it into an ice cube tray. Freeze it. Then it lasts much longer, and it's conveniently portioned out. Because we agreed that it's not about WHAT you eat, it's about how much you eat. This is my kind of portion control.

That's my healthy eating mantra, and I'm sticking to it.

I'm yet to actually utilize my little stockpile of bacon butter in any cooking. The tray isn't full yet, and it just doesn't seem right to take any away until I have a full stock saved up.

But I'm getting closer. One B.L.T. sandwich at a time.

I'm three sandwiches away from a full tray. Then the fun will begin.

I can't wait to pan-sear a steak in bacon grease. Or add a bit to my mashed potato mix. Or to grease a pan before making cornbread. Or to whip into homemade biscuits. Or to season green beans.

What do you use bacon grease in/for? Any other tips/ideas?

Life in the non-digital age

2011-09-10T15:55:00.000-04:00

Let's get one confession out of the way right now:

I love cassette tapes.

I love the scratchy, somewhat distant sound. I love that you can't just skip a song, you almost have to listen the full body of work. I love the silent buzz indicating time to flip sides and the resilience of the plastic.

But since my car no longer has a cassette tape player, I have been forced to listen almost exclusively to CDs. That's OK too. Over the past couple years, I've grown a whole new appreciation for that media form.

I can't bring myself to just download music yet. That day may come, but for now, I continue to relish in being able to touch, feel, read and carry a physical copy of my music around with me.

That love was re-affirmed this week with the arrive of two new CDs in my mailbox.

Don't even get me started on Stoney LaRue's "Velvet." I love that CD so much that I think Stoney might feel the need to hire security staff due to my stalker-ish constant tweeting. That is of course assuming that he devoutly reads all on my tweets, which I am convinced is true.

Go buy this CD - don't download it, buy it. Caress the velvet cover, immerse yourself in the printed lyrics, play it on repeat in every possible CD player you own.

That's all I have to say about it.

The second addition was Robert Earl Keen's "Ready for Confetti." Another beautiful work of story-telling art from the legend that is REK. And again, an affirmation that the physical CD purchase was worth the snail mail wait. You don't get to read REK's personal note without it:

A few years ago it all made sense. I was writing songs that I liked, playing to crowds that were wild and enthusiastic and had the best band in the world. After ten years of being on the road, miracle of miracles, I'd managed to keep a loving, beautiful family together. Don't worry, I still have all that, but it changed. I thought the world and my creative trajectory were one. I probably even thought of myself as a world antenna, cosmetically gathering data and disseminating vital information. Maybe not exactly, but along those lines.

One day I was at the pond sitting on the bank and tossing a lure. The sun was frying this woebegone fisherman. I sat my rod and reel down and lay on the bank with my hat over my eyes until I drifted to sleep. When I awoke, it was twilight and the bats were feeding against an orange and indigo horizon and crickets were a symphony in the cool pre night air. Everything had changed and I had nothing to do with it. I was just living on the earth.

It doesn't matter if you are cosmically connected or have your head in the sand, the world changes whether you are ready or not.

That's what I was thinking... while we were making this cool record... hope you like it.

Sincerely,
REK

Why yes, Robby, I do like it. And I like that reminder -- the world is going to keep turning no matter what we do while one, so we might as well make our trip around the sun worthwhile.

A sad farewell...

2010-08-25T00:55:00.001-04:00

Goodbye, dear Belle of the Blog! Farewell, sweet followers and avid readers! So long, bloggerverse... I'm leaving you for Twitter. Really, it's not you... It's me. And Twitter.

*gasp!*
*shock!*
*swoon!*
*weeping and gnashing of teeth!*

Wait... Is there even anybody out there?

Mom? CaliAgChick?? CaliAgChick's mom??? Aunt Jayne or Aunt Carolyn????

OK, the gig's up. I was going to announce my official resignation from blogging, but I'm pretty sure I've been absent for so long that nobody would gasp or be shocked or swoon or weep and gnash their grinners. It's far more likely I would get a "Frankly my dear, I just don't give a damn," after the way I've led you all on and treated you so poorly.

And let's be honest... I'm much too Scarlet-like to do anything that doesn't cause at least a little sensation. I refuse to let Belle of the Blog die quietly and be gone with the wind, so I'm here to woo you back, dear followers.

Back in reality... I did have to say a tearful goodbye this week.

CaliAgChick has left me. For her fiancé. I think he is the only one who is really happy about this arrangement. I'm sad, she's sad, her empty cubicle is sad:

Oh wait... Maybe it's just me and the cubicle. She's totally faking it! That dirty Reb couldn't wait to move South!

And OK, I'll admit it.... as sad as I am to lose such a fantastic roomie and Ohio friend, I'm happy she got to migrate back to the western side of the Mississippi and will finally get to be with Big T.

Aren't I mature and selfless?

We diligently hauled all her stuff down the stairs and out the door last Friday night. It was about a bajillion degrees with 473% humidity and no sunshine that fine Ohio evening. A great reminder of why I was truly happy for her escape... for her sake. Although I think she will miss having a personal poperatzzi.

And so, with the little Tahoe packed with love and care, she shut the door and left me wondering; without my roomie/walking buddy/patio-partying friend, "What is there that matters?!"

Then hope spreads across my face.... Stones! I'll go see Stones and I'll think of some way to get a roomie back!

He has already moved into his new digs in CaliAgChick's old room. Together, we'll think of something...some way to survive in Ohio without her. After all, tomorrow is another day!

...well, and she'll be back to visit in a couple weeks. And I'll see her next week in California. I know, I know... always with the drama here...

Life speak 'n' sprinkles

2010-07-19T23:44:00.002-04:00

I haven't left Wooster for nearly a month. Four weekends in a row, I've remained confined to Northeastern Ohio. Sure, there have been a few trips north to various malls and eating establishments, but for the most part, my travels have hit a dry spell.

My writing humor has hit a bit of a dry spell, too. It seems as though I've been doing some pretty serious life-speak thinking here lately. Lucky for you, I get to board an airplane this Friday and take a little trip. That means my razor-sharp whit and knee-slapping good humor should be back and in rare form in a jiffy. I think Hampton Inn pillows just have some sort of revitalizing aura about them. Sleeping on them instantly make me smarter, funnier and better looking. Fo sho.

Until then, you have a couple more days of philosophising, life-lesson-learning, meaning-of-the-world-contemplating Laura left before fun Laura gets back.

Therefore, let's talk about something I know we all spend a good deal of time pondering.

Sprinkles.

I love sprinkles. I love sugar-coat sprinkles. I love chocolate jimmy sprinkles. I love rainbow sprinkles and crystal sprinkles and round dessert sprinkles and cake sprinkles. But most of all, I love crunchy sprinkles.

At one time in my life, I thought crunchy sprinkles were the standard. I mean, if crunchy sprinkles were the kind of sprinkles Uncle Fred's pizza/movie rental/coffee shop/catering/computer-fix-it-man-inthebasement Place offered, surely everyone else outside of Pine Bluffs, Wyoming followed suit. Now, I also thought I was going to grow up to be the next Kristi Yamaguchi. My Olympic gold would be followed with a lucrative concert tour with Randy Travis. I had a pretty good grasp on reality at age six.

I was seven when my brother explained that I had to be able to actually skate on ice if I wanted to be a professional figure skater. I ordered crunchy sprinkles outside of my hometown at age nine and was told they didn't exist. I was 22 when Randy let Carrie Underwood sing "I Told You So" and I had to explain to him how detrimental that would be to our relationship. Three childhood dreams; all shattered.

Until this summer, when the Guerne Heights Drive In taught me to believe in miracles. Crunchy sprinkles do exist! They do exist! I don't care what the Cheyenne DairyQueen says, they DO exist outside of Pine Bluffs! Crunchy sprinkles live in Ohio, and they've been 2.7 miles out of my grasp this whole time!

This is what crunchy sprinkles look like:

It's a wonderfully perfect mixture of rainbow jimmies and these crunchy little morsels that taste like a combination of Captain Crunch and Rice Krispies bathed in awesome and coated like Nerds.

When the waitress (and everyone else in a 2.7 mile radius) heard me passionately explaining exactly how incredible the crunchy sprinkles were, she packed extra on the cone and then brought a dish full. My voice apparently carries in small rooms. She all but patted my little blond head and told me I only got the extra sprinkles if I finished my corn dog like a good little girl and didn't fuss any louder about the yummy little sprinkles.

Maybe I should have pretend to be offended by being treated like a full-grown baby child that needed pacified by sprinkles to behave in public, but I was eatin' this up.

Literally. I ate all the sprinkles off my 10% butterfat twist ice cream in about two seconds. Now, I have been known to buy tubs of rainbow jimmies and eat them as a snack by the spoonful, but I had bigger plans for this bowl of sprinkles.

Re-dip! No need to eat plain ice cream here, folks. There's enough crunchy sprinkles to cover every surface. You can just keep re-dipping and re-dipping and re-dipping. It is a fantastic experience.

Even when the ice cream is all but leveled and you don't think you need more sprinkles... you do. At that point, the cone has started to get soggy and you really just need to have more crunchy sprinkles to add texture to the flavor palate. Food critics talk about this all the time.

Half re-dips are acceptable, too.

So are nub re-dips. At this point, it's like just dropping the last inch of a slobber-covered FunDip Dipping Stix into the sugar powder and then dumping the whole packet back into your mouth.

Stop pretending like you haven't done that.

If you left any crumb of crunchy sprinkles behind, it's acceptable to scrape the bowl with your finger.

Also: the joy of sprinkles is meant to be shared, folks. Let your friends in on the fun!

And by share, I don't mean give away any of the sprinkles the nice waitress lady set in front of your own face. I mean make sure they get their own special dish that in no way reduces your personal sprinkle intake.

Boooooy howdy... now stick that little feather of wisdom in your hat and go out and kick this week's hiney!

One of life's great mysteries: solved

2010-07-17T02:12:00.002-04:00

I hope I'm not the only one who has contemplated this burning life questions before... but seriously. Where does communion bread come from?

Is there a secret isle in the grocery store that us common repenting sinners don't know about? Is there a course dedicated to communion bread making in seminary school? Or is there a special store that sells communion bread and clergy robes and candles that never burn out hidden behind the parsonage? Is it just normal ol' white Wonder bread, torn into little pieces with a little added wonderment? I just don't know.

But now I do. Or, at least I know where one Wooster, Ohio church gets its supply. My kitchen.

A friend was overbooked and over-volunteered and needed some help. She heard I liked to cook, and asked if I could help out. I said yes. She asked, Have you ever made communion bread? Mystery. Solved.

There was a lot to be learned while cooking this little recipe, in the kitchen and from the Good Book.

It was really a simple recipe. Flour, salt, milk, sugar and Crisco. Can't go wrong there. Mix it all up, roll it flat. Then the complexities begin. Somebody actually does have to cut it into little bite-sized pieces; it is not an act of God. He's got bigger fish to fry.

There was a fun new kitchen tool added to my arsenal. Hi, pastry cutter/scooper/measurererer. A great addition to my drawer of tricks, despite its blue hue.

As the measurererer description indicated, this neat little tool not only elicits a stutter, it has a ruler to help communion-bread-makers cut near-perfectly square inch portions. Neat.

Measuring is important.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Yup, equal measurement is important in communion-bread-making and beyond.

My oven burns edges and leaves centers doughy. Terrible. It causes problems in my kitchen.

"Lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will make your paths straight." God's a problem solver. Thankfully, he gave me a brain to find solutions to these little issues while he figures out the life-direction-path-straightening thing.

While he works on that, I found a solution to the task at hand.

Separate all the edges, therefore also eliminating the not-so-perfect square inches. Win.

But then there is still the doughy center issue. Another problem, another solution. Spread all the square inches around the pan...

...and let them cook for another minute while the next batch's edges burn. Win.

This is where the scooping mechanism becomes essential. This utility was definitely worth its price differentiation.

It scooped all the good little breads into the Ziploc baggies that would take them to the church.

But what about the not-so-good pieces? Are they to be discarded? Nope -- waste not, want not, my friend.

All hard work brings a profit, but mere talk leads only to poverty.

This scripture clearly has much deeper implications than what was going on in my kitchen, but it is a reminder that even when hard work doesn't yield the results we wanted, it wasn't for nothin'.

In this situation, the results I didn't want still made good croutons. Yum.

Are my croutons and correlations blasphemy?

Naw. Just a reminder that until it's put into use and context, communion bread is just the result of another recipe for bread. The Good Book's mysteries make it just another good book until its lessons are utilized and experienced in all contexts, every day.

Former mystery solved; latter in progress daily. It's a little tougher case to crack, but I think it's sure worth trying.

Tweet, tweet tweet!

2010-07-12T22:39:00.002-04:00

Big news, folks. You might want to sit down. Pencil out a couple minutes in your Outlook calendar to process this big news.

I joined Twitter this weekend! I'm a tweep. I live in twittersville. Tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet. Yes!

I've always thought Twitter sounded pretty obnoxious. I mean, too many people share too much information on their facebook status updates as it is -- there's no way I could handle a constant stream of so-and-so's insomnia or her broken heart for-the-tenth-time-this-month or his terrible grammar.

Then again, I also thought Chinese food was despicable until the fall of 2006. Turns out, grandma was right again. You just never know what you'll like until you try it. I tried Twitter. I like Twitter. I like Twitter a lot. There is such a wealth of information out there folks!

I did some research before jumping in, and the best advice I found was, "Twitter's not about you. It's about the conversation." Basically, avoid the kind of TMI play-by-plays that are annoying on facebook status updates. Instead, join a conversation. Engage people. Seek out new ideas. Share thoughts, not statements. Have fun with it. I am absolutely overwhelmed with interesting people with fascinating information to share.

All that wisdom about not being so egocentric aside, I've been so focused on tweeting that I just don't have much in me for an interesting blog tonight. Double H Photography tagged me in a little survey today. Since I've been sending my new Tweeps to my blog, this seemed like a good opportunity for them to get to know me better. So here it goes!

3 Names I go by:
1. Laura
2. Lauria... long story

3. LauraBelle

3 Places I've been:

1. Killarney, Ireland

2. Swansea, Wales

3. Budapest, Hungary

3 Favorite drinks:
1. Fuze Slenderize Cranberry-whatever-other-fruits-they-put-into-that-delicious-concoction
2. Coffee
3. Cattleprods

3 Job's I've had:
1. Industry Information Specialist, Certified Angus Beef LLC
2. Head of Cleaning Operations, LauraBelle's House Cleaning Co. (It was a pretty official business, you know)
3. Editor-in-Chief, Wingspan newspaper

3 TV shows I watch:
1. Dirty Jobs
2. The Sopranos
3. The Office

3 Places I would like to visit:
1. Charleston, South Carolina (Based on reading Charleston by John Jakes)
2. Prince Edward Island (Still in love with the Anne of Green Gables series)
3. Museum of the Shenandoah Valley (Winchesher, VA -- I was there, but didn't have time to go explore the museum. Must go back!)

3 Favorite retro TV shows:
1. The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross
2. Step By Step
3. I Love Lucy

3 Favorite Dishes:
1. Grandma's pecan sticky rolls
2. Aunt Carolyn's Cheesy Potatoes
3. CAB strip steak with avocado salad... well, really any steak with any side. This is just the most delicious meal I had a picture of.

3 Things I'm looking forward to:
1. Mid-year planning meeting at work this week
2. A trip home in August
3. Cuero TurkeyFest!

3 People I'm tagging:
1. Out Past the Pasture
2. Life Be Delicious
3. Caught in the Web

Oh, yes... and to find me on the oh-so-wonderful Twitter, I'm @LBelleoftheBlog. Tweet ya later, alligator!

Fifty Nifty and Grandma's lessons on gratitude

2010-07-10T14:13:00.000-04:00

Aren't grandparents the most awesome people on earth? I know mine are. Leland and Irene Nelson have taught me most of life's great lessons and values, and created a family that surrounded me with the same ideals throughout my life. A couple weeks ago, grandma gave me another little tidbit to hold on to.

I was chatting with grandma, telling her about work, my recent travels, life in Ohio... and that I was homesick and sad that I missed out on a recent family gathering. I found myself feeling envious of my friends and family close to home; they got to spend time together and enjoy all the things I took for granted when I was there. I didn't have to say any of that; I would be ashamed to tell grandma I was being such a baby.

She told me, "Laura, it sounds like you are doing great -- you are a lucky girl! How many people your age get to see all the great things you do? I would love it if you sent me some of the pictures you took so I could see some of the places you go. You know, most people never get to see those things."

Life lesson from grandma: gratitude. Be thankful for what you have; don't dwell on what you don't.

Now, you all know I love the big, open spaces of the Cornhusker State.

And I love the scenery and the company of fellow Wyomingites.

But it takes a little lesson in gratitude to remember how lucky I am to get to learn about Angus bulls in Arkansas:

...or score free tickets to a Black Eyed Peas concert in Arizona (before I really even knew who they were):

Running along a California ocean shoreline at sunset was invigorating:

A trip to the Colorado mountains with old friends is still worth treasuring:

The rugged mountains of Idaho's high country...

...the cityscape of Illinois...

...sun beams peeking out of the clouds after an Indiana rainstorm...

... and curious new calves on Iowa pastures were packed into my first year of gainful employment at a job I'm lucky to have and love:

I clicked my red high heels and passed under more than one Kansas rainbow:

The green chips might not be what Kentucky is most famous for, but they represented great friends and another step in my career:

Louisiana 'gators...

...and a Montana hitchin' both packed a little bite (Spend a weekend in Miles City and you'll understand):

Nevada was thankful we were there to keep law and order; I was thankful these were the only badges we saw in Vegas:

New York City never sleeps,

...but the state has a lot more to offer:

There was a lot of giggling to be grateful for in North Dakota:

And even squares can have a ball in Oklahoma:

My arteries were thankful to find this Pennsylvania butter molded into art instead of clogging the path to my heart:

Great historic figures in South Dakota,

... the Texas Alamo,

...and a sunset in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley made me stop and think about the beautiful, heroic and hard-fought histories of our country.

Last weekend, I was particularly thankful for... Ohio. Yes, Ohio.

We celebrated the independence of our great country with an abundance of food provided by American farmers and ranchers, plenty of fireworks to dazzle my little mind and a backyard full of great friends.

We all celebrated our country last weekend, but this little stroll down photographic memory lane was just what I needed to remind me it's worth being thankful for 365 days a year. Wyoming, Nebraska or Ohio: as long as it's within the borders of the good ol' US of A, I'll be grateful to have a home there.

In the kitchen with 'tader salad

2010-07-03T15:44:00.002-04:00

Welcome back to my kitchen. It's been a little sad and lonely lately. I've been spending too much time at Quiznos, the Lean Cuisine isle and truck stops, and my kitchen is starting to feel neglected. I'm sorry, kitchen.

Moving on.

Let me preface this post: I don't really like potato salad. I am, however, a big Ron White fan. Thanks to Hollywood Video's recent demise, I just got to add "They call me 'Tader Salad" to my collection for $3. I've wanted some 'tader salad ever since.

The one potato salad I have ever liked was found in south-central Kansas, at the home of the parents of an ex-boyfriend. His sweet mamma was kind enough to give me the recipe, so here it is:

If you can imagine, it starts with 'taders. Lots of them. Eight cups to be exact.

Then you boil them. Now, there were a couple parts of this recipe I was pretty excited about -- one of them being the fact that I finally had a reason to use the enormous cauldron I bought this winter. I bought it because it was pretty and matched the rest of my pots.

Surely, this will not be a waste of $30. I need a cauldron this big. It's perfect and red and pretty.

Since then, every time I have dug through my cabinets and cursed this enormous pot for taking up so much space, I have doubted the logic I used that day. Doubt no more... this pot was worth the purchase.

While the 'taders were boiling, I started assembling the dressing. This is why I am weary of potato salad... the things that go into the dressing have no appeal to me. Mustard? Gross. Vinegar? Gross. Condensed milk? Gross.

Put it all together? Not gross. Good, in fact. I guess I'll put this in the same category as tomato juice and vodka: separately, they are gross. Together in a perfectly spicy bloody Mary? Delicious.

This is a combination of a 1/2 cup of sugar, 1/3 cup evaporated milk, 1/8 cup vinegar, 1 tsp. mustard and salt. Sounds gross, looks gross, smell gross. Tastes good. I can't explain it.

You'll also need to hard-boil four eggs. Then run cold water over the eggs and the 'taders to cool them.

This is the second fun part of the recipe. I really love peeling hard-boiled eggs. I don't know why; I just think its neat how they crackle and like the feel of the little shred of shell peeling off. I know, I need more hobbies... but peeling hard-boiled eggs is just a good time in my book.

THEN, I got to use this fun little egg-cutter. It's another kitchen appliance I bought because it was red and pretty and matched my kitchen. I've owned it for more than a year, and this was it's original cooking debut. Are you noticing a pattern? Yes, I am a little financially irresponsible.

But how fun is this?! Three little presses, and the eggies were completely and perfectly sliced and diced. I don't care who you are, that's a good time.

Throw it all in a big ol' bowl with 1/2 cup each of chopped onions and sweet pickle relish, and she-ZAM: 'Tader salad is born.

So here's to hoping the 'tader salad turns out better for the party guests than the relationship did for that boy... and to hopes that the party it is being made for doesn't turn out like a Ron "Tader Salad" White story.

'Fraidy cat, 'fraidy cat

2010-07-01T00:15:00.001-04:00

It's no wonder Stones and I are such good buddies.

I'm a little 'friady cat. Always have been. Probably always will be. Learn some of the back history on page 10. I've toughen up a little bit from the days of making friends drive across town to do closet-checks when left home alone, but not a lot. My 'fraidy-cat ways were in full force last week.

I was traveling in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley for work. Round about 5 a.m., I roused myself from my comfy Hampton Inn pillows and set out in the beefy mini-van to capture the sun rise in the valley. You know I don't see 5 a.m. very often, but I just knew this was going to be worth it.

I carefully mapped out the path to Woodstock Tower, which is suppose to be one of the most beautiful scenic lookouts in the area. I crept up, up, up a narrow switchback path, anxiously awaiting the Seven Bends river view.

It was about a half-hour drive. There wasn't much time to stop along the way; I knew the best photos would be at the top. So I cranked up the radio, rolled down the windows and kept climbing. The necessity of the Tower quickly became clear. You couldn't see the forest for the tress... literally. There were no scenic vistas from ground level.

Finally, I reached the top. Just like my extensive google research indicated, there was a little pull-off to park at near a small path that would lead to the tower. Giddy with excitement over the pictures I was about to capture, I gathered up my camera and jumped out of the minivan and started my half-mile hike to the Tower.

I got about two feet past the graffiti-covered Tower sign and stopped dead in my tracks.

Hiker goes missing on Woodstock Tower Road

Ohio girl last seen eating breakfast pizza at local Hampton Inn, never heard from again.

I often imagine my life as it would appear in headlines. Working in journalism does weird things to the way you think of words.Sometimes I go ahead and write the whole news article in my head, too.

This front page story would be your typical young-blond-ventures-out-alone-and-meets-grizzly-mysterious end-news report.

I like to think my disappearance would be important enough to make the front page.

It would have quotes from the nice lady at the Hampton Inn who watched me devour the breakfast pizza and three cups of coffee. It was clear to her I was alone that morning and seemed disgruntled and uneasy. My family and friends would confirm that I was in fact not the kind of girl who ever had her whits about her that close to sunrise, which might offer an explanation. Or was I contemplating the inevitable demise ahead? Breakfast lady would certainly recall something seemed amiss the morning the blond girl set out for her fateful journey.

Stop it, Laura. Stop it right now. Grow up. Those kinds of things only happen in the news... not to girls travelling alone thousands of miles from home who don't tell anyone where they're going when they depart at sunrise to hike into the wilderness.

Go back to the van and get your cell phone. Keep one finger on 9 and another ready to follow it with 1-1. That will make you safe.

Laura, that's just creating a false sense of security. A false sense of security only makes you more venerable. Take a picture of your location and the van on your phone. Then if something happens and your murderer steals the van and all the search party finds is your cell phone, they'll be able to piece together what happened.

Deep breath.

You can do this. You want to do this. You're an adult. Stop being a 'fraidy cat.

I turned around and headed back down the trail. I got about two feet past the location that previously sent me running back to the van.

*snap. crack. rustling*

What was that? Footsteps? A bear? I can feel something watching me. Is that a shred of clothing stuck to that branch? Is that all that remains of the last hiker here?

Stop it. Stop being such a baby. Stop being such a 'fraidy cat.

Another branch snapped under the weight of my approaching doom.

GET OUT NOW! NOW! GET TO THE VAN... NOW!

A half hour later, my heart finally returned to beating at a normal rate. I finally got enough courage to stop on the outskirts of town and try to regain a little dignity.

You're OK. This is a nice, peaceful bridge... you have to have something to show photographic evidence of this little venture.

Wait.. what was that? What's under this bridge? There's a truck coming up... it look suspicious. Oh God... those guys look scary. They're eye-balling you.

The van! Get to the van NOW!

A feedlot and the fitness buff

2010-06-24T15:53:00.011-04:00

I am not a fitness buff. No amount of ZUMBA! will ever make me a fitness buff. No amount of trailing my marathon-running sister on a bike will ever make me a fitness buff. And taking a look at my cooking habits guarantees I never will be.

Ryan Andrews, on the other hand, has an MBA in fitness. My kind of MBA and an actual master's degree. He was a nationally-ranked body builder for five years and has more health/nutrition/exercise certifications than I have red high heels.

Seriously, take a look on my closet floor -- it's red, shiny and ridiculous.

Ryan is also a vegetarian.

What?! How?! Why?! All that delicious, lean protein in one little 3 oz. serving, and he doesn't eat any of it?! But that doesn't mean he bashes the system... any more. Ryan recently visited a Kansas feedlot. His account of what he saw and learned is such a great story.

No, he didn't instantly convert to meatitarianism... if that's even something a person can convert to. But his perspective was certainly changed and broadened. Read all about it here.

Stereotypes in the city

2010-06-22T23:05:00.001-04:00

I think it's been well established that I love my home state(s). A lot. I could talk about Big, Wonderful Wyoming or the Good Life in Nebraska for days. Unfortunately for people I meet, sometimes I do just that.

But the one thing I don't love about being from the WyoBraska area is the stereotypes that are often placed on the good folks from that area. Now, don't get me wrong... we do fulfill a lot of those stereotypes. I'd say folks out in my home states are a little old-fashioned, we're about five years behind in clothing fashion and are sometimes a little... um... culturally sheltered.

But if I am asked one more time if we all have this neat thing called electricity out in the wild west or if I rode my horse to school growing up, I will hog tie someone and drag em' through a pasture of yucca plants.

Now how's that for a stereotype?

Ok, it's been a while since I've been asked a truly outrageous question like that, although it has happened. But I do often get, "Oh, ya.... I've been to Wyoming. Jackson Hole!" Or, "You come from a cattle ranch out West? Your family probably run a couple thousand head then, huh?" Then there's, "Nebraska?! I drove across I-80 once... there is seriously nothing there. I mean nothing. You must have been reeeeaaally bored growing up." And then my personal favorite.... "So, how's the trailer court?"

As it turns out, I have no room to judge people who place stereotypes on my home states. A few weeks ago, I visited New York state. I spent a few day on a cattle ranch. Every time I told someone from home I was on a cattle ranch in New York, I got about the same reaction.

"A ranch?! In New York? What do they have, five, ten little pet cows?"

"Oooohh! New York City?! Did you see Sarah Jessica Parker?"

"Hahahahahahahahaha. Hahaha. Haha. No really, Laura. What are you doing in New York?"

And I didn't blame them. After four trips to NYC over the past seven years, these are the things I knew to be true about New York:

It's a concrete jungle. Sky scrapers, bridges, and brick: it's a convoluted mess of metal and pavement. New Yorkers wouldn't know a natural building material if it gave 'em a splinter.

It's a non-stop hustle-bustle, and you've got to watch your back. It's best to hope you're in a mob of people at a street crossing, because there's no way anyone is stopping for you in any other circumstance... unless it's to rob you.

Speaking of driving... who really drives there, except cabby's? No one really owns a vehicle. If they do, it's not more than a year old, is black, has deep tinted windows and a paid driver in the front.

And thanks to all those crowded cabby's, there's no such thing as a clear, blue sky. A black cloud of smog hangs over New York all the time. I don't think they've ever even seen the stars or a full moon, much less a sky full of lazy white clouds.

Worst of all, nobody cares about a single person there. In a place full of people trying so hard to stand out and show off how unique they are, there's no such thing as really being noticed. You blend in with the masses... just another brick in the wall.

And large animal livestock? Fa-ghetta-bout-it! New Yorkers might as well put their knowledge of cattle and unicorns side-by-side and see what feeds our country faster.

Speaking of things that don't exist in New York... let's talk about personal space. I feel claustrophobic stepping two feet east of the Mississippi.

Oh, wait... am I being too stereotypical?

Thanks, Rally Farms, for opening up a whole new view of New York to me. Less than 100 miles from the city, I found a place that blew all my preconceived notions of the Empire State out of the water. It was beautiful and idyllic and most of all, functioned like any other great ranch I've spent time at -- with a love for the land, the cattle, family and hard work.

But I'm still waiting to run into Sarah Jessica Parker. And Mr. Big. Jay-Z would be cool too.

The birthday in the Big Apple that just kept giving

2010-06-18T23:19:00.000-04:00

The first week of June always seems to be a transition time in my life. That time of year always marks the end of school, the start of summer, first days of work, moving trips, new rent leases, and.... my birthday!

I turned 21 somewhere between Wyoming and Ohio, probably on about hour 17 of my mom and I's cross-country trip to move me to the Buckeye State (the first time). I turned 22 two days after moving to Manhattan, Kansas, (the Little Apple). I drank a box of wine on my couch with Stones and went to my favorite college bar via teleconference with some of my dearest friends. I went to work the next day with a headache and wondered if I was really cut out for this whole moving-to-a-new-state-and-being-an-adult thing.

This year, I turned 23 in the other Manhattan, a loooooong way from Kansas. We were working about 100 miles outside New York City on a farm tour and my co-workers treated me to a night out on the town for my birthday.

That was the fanciest birthday dessert I have ever had -- a peanut butter chocolate mousse cake. I very eloquently described it as "chocolate pudding mixed with cake perfectly formed into a pile of goodness with flecks of really fancy, thinly sliced Butterfinger candy in it. With ice cream."

But my favorite part of the whole night wasn't the amazing dessert, or the jalapeno whipped potatoes, or the creamed spinach or the Certified Angus Beef brand Prime dry-aged-to-perfection rib eye... although all those items were fantastic. My favorite part was... the menu.

Thanks, BLT Prime, for loving your customers so much you want to educate them about beef cuts. An educated consumer is a empowered purchaser. Go ahead and empower yourself to love the beefy basics a little more here.

Later that week, I arrived home to Woo-town to this sweet little gift:

I've been in desperate need of new luggage for about two years now. The old set finally became intolerable when I started using a safety pin to try and zip it open and closed. My favorite group of Woo-town friends took pity on the deplorable state of my luggage and got my new set started. They're awesome like that.

Know who else I think is awesome?

Jessica Simpson. I know, everybody thinks she's real, real dumb. Maybe she is. But I have to appreciate a girl who will rock a "Real Women Eat Meat" t-shirt after picking up on Carrie Underwood's ex. And she makes shoes and handbags to die for... and now luggage to love.

The next day, I got this little treat from Rhinestone Cowgirl:

If you can't read the note, the jest of it is this: she wanted to buy me a birthday beer, but there happened to be about 1,000 miles between us. So bought six and mailed them instead. That's friendship.

Early the next week, Ms M surprised me with orange cake for a belated birthday breakfast. I just finished the last leftover piece day before last. I can't even begin to explain how amazing this super special orange cake is, but if I ever finagle the recipe out of her, I'll share it, and you'll love me (even more) for it.

Then THIS week (now a full two weeks after my birthday), DOD finally made good on a promise and made it into a fun little birthday treat. He's been raving about this irresistible ice cream that's made only in the Buckeye State pretty much since the day I moved here.

I really had my doubts that this ice cream could really be that much better than other ice creams. Let's be honest, I'm not exactly known for my refined palate... this is a girl who digs truck stop food and likens a dessert at one of NYC's finest steakhouses to "fancy Butterfingers."

But I must admit... this ice cream was fancy. It was delicious and perfect and amazing. I think I just reached a quota for nice adjectives in one sentence describing something to do with Ohio.

Well done, Graeter's. You've made a believer out of me.

Meanwhile, the time between June 3 and June 18 has been filled with balloons, cards and sweet phones calls from friends and family.

Today, I think I finally closed the books on the two-week celebration of turning 23.

I lovingly took the Jessica Simpson tags off my new luggage, stuffed it full and loaded it up in the beefy mini-van. I begrudgingly handed it off to a grumpy man with the TSA at the Cleveland airport. It arrived in Chicago with me this afternoon, scuffed and a little dirty, and I knew the party was over.

Take me out the baaallllgame...

2010-06-12T16:13:00.000-04:00

Question: What is the most boring thing in the world to watch on TV?

Fact: Baseball is the most boring thing in the world to watch on TV.

But I don't have TV. Therefore, baseball gets to remain an idylic and nostalgic American pastime in my mind and is spared descriptions of mind-numbing boredom. Yes!

Baseball also has this going for it:

Baseball parks are one of the few places in the world that have food comparable to truck stops. Ballparks have the advantage of also serving beer. Mathematically, this means ballpark food > truck stop food. And you know how I feel about truck stop food.

CAB took us out for an evening at the Akron Aeros ballpark last night. And by "us," I mean any of our 100+ employees who were interested in bringing their family to a AAA baseball game for free, nacho-cheese-sauce-and-jalapeno-smothered-hot dog included. How awesome is that?!

What with the Americana nostalgia, truck stop-style hot dogs and cold beer, it was a perfect summer night with great friends.

I even learned a very valuable life lesson from KOD after taking this picture with Bobcat:

ME: I hate taking pictures so close to the camera. I always feel like my face is trying to back away from the camera so much that it ends up looking like my chins are literally attached to my chest and I don't have a neck.

KOD: Tyra has to tell models to avoid that all the time. I learned this on America's Next Top model. You're suppose to put your shoulders back, keep your chin up and try to look intrigued by the camera all the time. You have to try to let your face stand out from your body.

*KOD stretches her neck out like a scared/curious giraffe.*

*Belle of the Blog follows suit*

ME: Oh, ya. I can totally see how that's flattering. So that's what I've been missing without cable all this time...

KOD: Ya, who says Tyra doesn't have anything important to share with the American public?

ME: Well, usually I do. But I guess I'm wrong. I mean, we're clearly on our way to being America's Next Top Model with technique like this:

Clearly. Thanks, Tyra.

You all can now look forward to a new, hotter, more photogenic Belle of the Blog from this point forward... or a weird, head-floating-away-from-my-body-chubby-giraffe-look. Whatever.

KOD pulls it off so much better than me. I guess that's the benefit of seeing Tyra's examples first hand.

Oh, wait... there's a baseball game going on?

Yes, there was. And we actually did pay attention to it. We did the wave, we high-fived, we danced along to cheesy music and we jeered at one of our co-workers for not making a dive for a fly ball that landed three rows in front of him.

To top it all off, there were fireworks.

I like fireworks. A lot. I squeal like a little baby kid and oooooh and ahhhhhh and clap and want to high-five people. So many awesome things all at once.

I swear, someday I'll grow up all the way. But not today. And certainly not until after the 4th of July. OK, fine. Maybe never. Here's to summa, summa, summatime!

The beefy basics, part II

2010-06-02T22:56:00.002-04:00

May was Beef Month. May 28 was National Hamburger Day. Today is the second day of June. So why, you ask, is today the day I share the second episode of The Beefy Basics?

Well, quite frankly because I've been a terrible blogger lately. I've barely blogged more than once a week this whole month. I have so much to share right now my head is nearly exploding, but it turns out when I'm actually having a life, there is less time to write about it than times when I'm living in my PJ's talking to Stones more than human people on a regular basis.

You might remember, I started with blog with the intention pressuring myself into having a life and being an educational outlet for all the seemingly useless knowledge that jumbles around in my hear. Lately, it's been more of a personal gossip column. Sorry about that. Unless you are a reader who prefers senseless and sometimes pointless ramblings about my fabulous life -- In that case, sorry about the fact I'm about to cram more educational and important knowledge into your eye holes.

Remember last time I explained the basics of beef grading? I hope you read that one. I know, it was long and involved numbers and graphs instead of pithy jokes and fun pictures, but I swear it was a post full of valuable information. Today, I want to share the second part of the BEEF 509 course I took earlier this spring: the basics of beef cuts.

Here's a video from the American Meat Institute that pretty much sums it all up:

It's a little dry, but that video just summed up about three pages of writing in less than three minutes of simple video. You're welcome.

Why is this important? Well, when you're standing in front of the meat case dumbfounded by all the options, names and shapes, just image the sub-primal cuts and how those names are reflected in the individual cut names. Think through it logically and imagine this picture:

Beef that comes from the middle of the animal (rib and loin) are more tender and can be quickly cooked -- think grilling, broiling, etc. Those muscles don't get much exercise, so they are nice and tender (like me). Cuts that have names from the front and back of the animal (chuck, round and others) work a lot more. They are more muscular (like the Hulk) and do better in a slow cooker or as a roast. In short, I'm perfect just the way I am. The Hulk might need a little time or marination to tolerate.

Yes, that was a legitimate analogy.

In all seriousness, here are the points about beef cuts I want you to remember:

The most tender cut of beef is the tenderloin. We cattle people are not trying to trick you, folks.
For the leanest cuts, look for the words round or loin in the name.
There are 29 cuts of beef that are considered lean by the USDA. Yes!

Remember in the beef grading basics blog when I described the standards for beef that meets the Certified Angus Beef(R) brand? Well, there are 24 cuts of CAB you can enjoy while staying lean, too. Yes! (fist pump) Yes!

If you are looking for something with a more robust flavor, go with something like a ribeye (my favorite).
Don't be afraid to ask the meat manager, butcher or chef if you don't recognize the name of a piece of beef. While we're not trying to trick you, sometimes marketers try to get jazzy and make simple terms fancy. Fancy = confusing. That's why they call PR "the dark side." Ask questions, because knowing what kind of cut you have is going to have a big impact on how you should prepare it and ultimately how much you enjoy that tasty little packet of protein.

OR, check out this website: http://consumer.certifiedangusbeef.com/cuts/Default.aspx. It's a great starting place to help you understand the different cuts and cooking methods.

Most importantly: if you are ever in a situation when you have the chance to learn about beef cuts first hand and break down a sub-primal, do it. It's a very cool thing to learn and do. But do not; I repeat: do NOT, think being this hot will prevent you from being clumsy with a very sharp knife:

Despite the hairnet, wrist guard, hard apron, cut resistant gloves and XXL frock, it is still possible to mistake your finger for a rib. If you mistakenly cut your finger instead of a rib steak, it bleeds a lot.

Sometimes, doing that will make you realize all the blood that is rushing out of your finger is coming directly from your brain. When all of your brain blood is gushing from your finger, this may lead you to faint in a meat lab. Sometimes it even takes a few minutes to wake up and remember where and who you are. Sometimes, you'll be one of only three girls in a class of 30 men and suddenly find yourself being viewed as the most stereotypical drama queen in the world.

Sometimes, a wound like that will make your finger swell and turn green and spurt blood for three days.

Sometimes, a camera phone photo with no flash doesn't do justice to how dramatic an injury really is.

That's all I have to say on that very hypothetical subject.

Reasons to Celebrate

2010-05-22T22:23:00.001-04:00

We've had a lot of those lately here in Woo-town.

Reason to celebrate this week No. 1: I have the most awesome best friend ever.

Out Past the Pasture sent me flowers this week at work, just because she's awesome.

Well, she's awesome and I'm a crybaby sometimes. I was homesick and whiney one night and she just magically knew I needed a little pick-me-up. This pretty little bouquet was just what my little cubicle needed. It was just what I needed, too -- a reminder of things worth celebrating.

Great friends are worth celebrating.

Reason to celebrate this week No. 2: caliAGchick came back to Ohio, too!

Let me explain something about caliAGchick and I. We live together, we work together, we work out together, we have all the same Ohian friends and we spend literally all our free time in Woo-town together. And you know we have a lot of free time in Woo-town. Moral of the story: we're kind of close.

But somehow, we haven't seen each other for more than a month. All of the above factors being true, we have gone more than four weeks without having a face-to-face conversation. Needless to say, our reunion was worth celebrating.

Great friends are worth celebrating.

Reason to celebrate this week No. 3: caliAGchick got flowers, too.

She also got this pretty little thing a couple weeks ago:

The flowers were for her birthday. That big sparkly number was for an agreement to spend foreva with her bf. That's worth celebrating.

Wine bars are worth celebrating.

Birthday desserts and birthday candles are worth celebrating.

Birthday gifts that elecit "Go Pokes!" sqeals are worth celebrating (even when it's a cheer for the wrong Pokes):

Front row parking on your quarter-century mark is worth celebrating:

Great friends are worth celebrating. Celebrate your friends today. Every day. All the time. They're worth it. And who doesn't love a good excuse to celebrate? :)

I'm baaaaack...

2010-05-16T23:30:00.001-04:00

Back in Ohio. Back to work. Back with Stones. Back in touch with reality. Back to blogging.

I apologize, friends, but it has seriously taken me a full week to recover from my ten day vacation in Wyoming. I have been an awful, snuffly, sleepy, messy zombie since I arrived back at my Woo-town home at 1 a.m. last Monday. It's been pretty.

I finally unpacked my bags today. I finally did laundry, washing all the little particles of Nebraska dirt off my clothes. I finally disinfected my house of all the little dust bunnies, dirtballs and kitty messes that accumulated after such a long absence. I just couldn't function normally until this house was cleaned from top to bottom. Now it's spotless, and I am ready to blog, baby!

Here's just a few more highlights from home... then I'll stop being so nostalgic and blog about something else, I promise... maybe.

One week ago, my mama and I celebrated Mother's Day with a nice, long drive to the airport. Luxurious, right?

Well, it was pretty luxurious compared to the alternative, which my grandpa suggested: "You have to drive her clear back to Denver?! Oh, heck... just put some stamps on her and kick her out on the side of the road. Let the mail man find her!" He's ornery like that... and I love it.

Oh, hey Gramps!

Mom and I did get to spend Mother's Day morning at the Bushnell United Methodist Church, which might be one of the best places on Earth. Everything about the little white one-room chapel I grew up in makes me feel warm and fuzzy and blessed with love. It was a perfect Mother's Day morning.

Well, except for the weird shadows playing around in our glasses that make mom and I look like we duked it out the day before. I promise, we didn't. We actually had a very relaxing week with no black eyes included, despite what this picture looks like.

Sister came to visit while I was home, and the three of us girls spent a day in Chey-town shopping, eating, movie-going and getting pretty little pedicures. Guess what?! Finger toes are genetic.

Those are our toes. Yes, they are the same length as our fingers.

Weird, right? Yes, our toes are weird. But not quite as weird as the number of photos Sister and I managed to take of our weird little pedicured finger-toes... or the amount of difficulty I had actually getting our toes in the picture.

And certainly not as weird as what my foot is doing in this picture.

I don't know what is wrong with me.

Speaking of weird... have you ever seen a swarm of kittens? Yes, I said a swarm. Like, what bees do. That's the best way I can describe what was happening in our barn.

That is a swarm of kittens. There are a full dozen of the little buggers wedged between a couple hay bales.

A few more good years of cat crops like this, and they'll have to sell the cattle to keep up with the feline farm.

He doesn't look like much now, but by 2015 this foundation Tom will have laid the genetic groundwork for most of Kimball County's line-bred barn cat bloodlines.

Speaking of awesome things that originate in Nebraska...

This is a Legend Supreme from Runza. It is the only fast-food hamburger worth eating. Ever. You can only get it in Nebraska. Runza is the reason Nebraska's catch phrase is "The Good Life."

Those stars just appear whenever I am blissfully enjoying a Legend Supreme. I can't explain it.

Know what else I can't explain? How I can love the town of Laramie, Wyoming so much, even when it does awful things to me like this:

That's snow. Falling all around me. In May.

Ah, but how could I not love it?!

It's beautiful. It's blissful. It's perfect. It's home.

Flashback to 1803

2010-05-06T13:09:00.002-04:00

...no, not the year. The house number in Laramie, Wyoming -- 1803 Apt. B., to be exact. Yesterday I spent the afternoon with my former college roomie, Lizzard. Then we spent the evening with our other former roomie, BigStar, at Lizzard's engagement party.

This the three of us the Halloween after we moved in to our sweet little home at 1803B:

A lot of awesome things happened at 1803B, a lot of which involved auto timers for self portraits. We're cool like that. We also cooked a lot in our little apartment in teckerville, so it only made sense that we spent a little time in the kitchen on my visit. Lizzard and I made Pioneer Woman's Bacon-Wrapped Jalapeno Poppers.

Do you know who the Pioneer Woman is? You should. You really should, especially if you like to make magic happen in your kitchen. Cook everything PW tells you to, because it will always end well. This was me and BigStar's conversation the day before:

BigStar: What time are you going to head to the party?
LauraBelle: Early afternoon, after we get done cooking with PW. We're making the jalapeno poppers.
BS: Have you ever really thought about how creepy it is that we talk about PW like we're close intimate friends?
LB: No, I think that's normal. We're friends online.
BS: Ya, except she has no idea who we are. I think that's called stalking... literally.

So be it. Internet stalk PW. We do. It's totally worth it for these poppers.

Start with a big mound of jalapenos.

Then mix together the cream cheese, green onions and shredded cheddar.

Fill the jalapenos with the cream cheese, then wrap them lovingly in bacon.

Doesn't Lizzard make a great hand model?

At this point, we were discussing the oddity of taking step-by-step pictures of us cooking a recipe from a cookbook that has step-by-step photos.

LB: Do you think we could get rich and famous by making a cookbook about PW's cookbook?
Lizzard: Kind of like Julie & Julia, but with PW?
LB: Ya, like that. We could take pictures of us following the pictures. Then we'll write a blog about it and publish our own cookbook, based on PW's cookbook.
Lizzard: Or we could just paste our faces over her face on the cover of her cookbook.
LB: That does sound easier. Think people would buy that?
Lizzard: Oh, definitely. I would.

We're total creeps.

Back to the cooking. After all the little jalapenos are snuggled into little bacon blankets, bust out your favorite barbecue sauce. Stubb's was a signature item at 1803B:

Smother the poppers with the barbecue sauce. We were suppose to use a fancy basting brush, but we chose to just pour it all over and then spread it around with our fingers instead. You can use a brush if you think you are fancier than Lizzard and I.

Then cook them. I recommend going to another room while these are cooking. I have never had the urge to eat raw bacon before, but these smelled so good it took all my restraint to not grab one right of the oven and pop it in my mouth. Luckily, the raw bacon deterred me. If raw bacon doesn't totally gross you out, you'll want to leave the room. Better yet, leave the house. These smell that delicious while they are cooking.

Give it an hour or so, then prepare to wow party guests with these little babies:

Speaking of party... meet the guest of honor for our little party:

Aren't they smiley and happy? Congratulations on your engagement, Lizzard and Tyler! After all the cooking, we had a wonderful party to celebrate Tyler putting that pretty ring on Lizzard's finger.

Despite a handful of other people in the same room, we chose to use the self-portrait timer to take our picture again. It was a 20-minute ordeal full of giggling and silliness that could have been shortened and simplified by just saying, "Hey, push this camera button for us."

But simplicity just wasn't the style in 1803.

Happy Chris LeTuesday!

2010-05-05T00:54:00.000-04:00

Until today, I forgot that in Wyoming's capitol city every Tuesday is Chris LeTuesday.

It's a tribute one of the local radio stations has done ever since the great Chris LeDoux died in 2005. They play two LeDoux tunes, back-to-back, around every hour throughout the day. It's magic, and it's just one little thing that makes me love this part of the world. In honor of how down-right giddy it made me to spend a Chris LeTuesday in Chey-town, here's a little tribute I found to Mr. LeDoux with one of my favorite songs:

Here's another little reason I love WyoBraska. Well, it's more of a big ol' reason... the big ol' open space:

On this Chris LeTuesday, I'm reaching back a few days to share a couple highlights of my first day visiting the Cowboy and Cornhusker states.

Saturday afternoon, my brother and our friend Robin showed up at the farm, ready for fun. When we were in high school, I can't even begin to count the number of hours our crew of friends spent cruising country roads; driving for hours and hours aimlessly looking for fun, wasting time, causing trouble, solving the world's problems or just "shootin' stuff." The boys were mostly interested in the latter.

Some things never change. In fact, most things about home never change, and that's exactly why I love it. The three of us loaded up in Brother's pickup and spent the afternoon rambling across empty fields, pastures and rutted trails in search of "stuff" to shoot. "Stuff" as in any rodent that dared cross our path.

They're pretty tough, walking into the horizon with their big shiny guns... in search of little bunnies and ground squirrels. Real macho stuff like that.

This is Brother's newest toy. Between the two of them, they own 12 guns. Overkill? Perhaps. Pun intended.

I, as usual, dawdled along behind them, taking pictures of clouds and cows. <3.

For the most part, I was more interested in shooting photographs than guns. But they did let me shoot the .22 for a while, and let me just say: all those hours playing Big Buck Hunter in college bars paid off after all.

Once I got over the thrill of my successful hunts, I went back to shooting pictures.

But the fun was just getting started. While I was busy planning my trip home, my Daddio was planning a little party of his own. Not a party for me; a party that just happened to fall on the weekend I was home. The guys at Nelson Farms worked calves last week, so we celebrated by frying up the Rocky Mountain variety of oysters.

It was an evening filled with approximately half of Kimball County, including our family...

...fun friends...

...and dancing. Lots of dancing...

We may or may not have "slapped the bladder" a few times throughout the night, too. If you don't know what that means, don't ask. Or go ahead and ask...but be prepare to be disgusted just a little.

Take me back to WyoBraska

2010-05-01T16:05:00.005-04:00

Welcome to state line road one, an arbitrary place in the prairie where Wyoming and Nebraska differentiate themselves.

Beautiful, eh?

People in eastern Nebraska sometime forget the panhandle exists. The southeast corner of Wyoming is flatland country, blending in with the panhandle more than the mountains of the rest of the state. Hence the birth of the term WyoBraska. It is my home, and I love it.

Here it is:

View Larger Map
This has created a slight identity crisis in my life. Cops always question why a car with Nebraska license plates is registered to a girl with a Wyoming drivers license, especially now that I live in Ohio. Good thing I'm such a great driver and never get pulled over.

I usually claim Wyoming because UW is my Alma Mater. Buuuutttt.... our home is actually in Nebraska. But I went to high school in Wyoming. But I grew up showing at the Kimball County fair. But I went to Youth Group in Pine Bluffs. But I went to church at the Bushnell UMC. I love Runza; I love Chugwater Chili. I've screamed "Gooooooo biiiiiiiiiiiig reeeeeed....... GO BIG RED!" on the steps of our nation's capitol. I've seriously considered getting Steamboat tattooed on my body. I grew up genuinely thinking Tom Osborne was the most influential man in the world. Cheyenne Frontier Days is the most profoundly wonderful event in the world.

What's a girl to do?!

Well, share with you fun facts about both states, of course! I arrived back in Mountain Standard Time late last night for my first trip home since moving to Ohio. In honor of this great event, I want you to get to know both my home states. Did you know:

The largest coal mine in the USA is the Black Thunder mine located near Wright, Wyo.
Kearney, Nebraska is located geographically dead center of the U.S.-between Boston and San Francisco, each way is exactly 1733 miles on either side of Hwy 30.
Wyoming is the least populated state in the Union, with a whopping population of 544,270.
Arbor Day was started in Nebraska City in 1872 by Sterling Morton to encourage tree planting.
The Wyoming state name came from the Delaware Indian word, meaning "mountains and valleys alternating."
The 911 system of emergency communications, now used nationwide, was developed and first used in Lincoln, Nebraska.
The JC Penney stores were started in Kemmerer, Wyo.
Kool-Aid was invented by Edwin Perkins in 1927 in Hastings, Neb. He changed his soft drink syrup, Fruit Smack, into a powder to make it easier to ship.
Yellowstone was designated America's first official National Park in 1872; Devils Tower was designated as the first National Monument in 1906; Shoshone National Forest was a first as well in 1891; all in Wyoming.
The Sand Hills of Nebraska are the biggest grass-covered sand dunes in the Western Hemisphere. They cover about one-fourth of the state. Only the Sahara and the Arabian deserts have bigger areas of sand.

Sources: http://www.50states.com/facts/nebraska.htm, http://www.legendsofamerica.com/WY-Facts.html,

I found this "Black Table" blog this morning with a listing of Six Things You Don't Know About: (fill in the blank). It had entries for both Wyoming and Nebraska. Pretty good stuff:
Nebraska -- http://www.blacktable.com/munson040616.htm
***very funny and accurate description of Nebraska. So true in so many funny ways.
Wyoming -- http://www.blacktable.com/tharp040728.htm
***also pretty funny, although I wouldn't agree with the significance of some of these things. For example, calling Wyoming a "hotbed of feminism" isn't entirely accurate. Yes, we were the first state to allow women to vote, etc., but most will tell you it wasn't under the noble context of advancing women's suffrage. We just didn't have enough people. If Wyoming wanted to be a state, it needed more voters. It wanted to be a state, so it let girls vote. Pretty simple. But, that simplicity is what I love about the Cowboy State. Also, I've never heard of the crazies it talks about in #3, but I'm sure it's true. Wyoming's a big state, folks, and people can blend in and disappear here, especially weirdos. We were famous for hiding outlaws in the wild, wild west, and it's no different now.

How's that for an "afterthought?"

I have a very busy and exciting week ahead, complete with a calf fry tonight, an engagement celebration, banquets, pedicures, family, dear old friends, UW's graduation, fundays and Mother's Day. I am so blessed, lucky, and happy to be home!

The Heart of our Country

2010-04-28T21:47:00.007-04:00

This book is amazing. Seriously. While reading it, I laughed out loud, teared up a little and got goose-bumpy shivers about every other page. Sometimes all those things at once... in the middle of a downtown Kansas City Panera Bread. Awkward, but worth it.

Paul Mobley, the photographer of "American Farmer," spoke at the National Agri-Marketing Association on Friday. He had so many incredible stories to share with his photographs. To me, the most interesting story was his. He immersed himself in the world of farmers and ranchers for three years, travelling across the nation to capture the spirit of agriculturalists in print.

Guess what happened after those three years? ...he became one of agriculture's biggest fans! How could he not? We're kind of a lovable group.

"I embarked on this project as a photographer in search of artistic evolution, and I found it. But the exquisite and unexpected discovery was of a kinder and gentler world and way of life than any I had known before. The agricultural communities of America are made up of modest, hardworking men and women who prize their families, their land, and their heritage above all else," Mobley said.

He captured the stories and hearts of Wyoming cattle ranchers, California avocado farmers, Southern fruit growers, mechanics, cotton pickers, horse whisperers, beet farmers and everything in between.

And by in between, I mean everything in between. I loved that he captured more than just farmers and ranchers farming and ranching. Mobley shared several stories about families who took him outside of stereotypes. "He'd say, 'Oh, let's not talk about farming. I talk about farming all day. Let's talk about motorcycles."

Side note: please don't mind those big blobs of white leg meat
propping up the book. I don't know who those belong to.

Mobley's photographs and Katrina Fried's writing tell so many captivating, unique, personal stories. Yet the book as a whole tells one common story I wish everyone in the world would hear.

"Like so many of us, I doubted the existence of this kind of goodness in the world. You look around at the ways we treat -- or mistreat -- one another, and it's gotten so out of hand. You want something you can believe in. You ask yourself, where have all the good people gone? Well, I can tell you. Drive up to any farmhouse in this country. You'll find them. They're there."

In short, I really just love this book. Every coffee table should proudly display this book. This book makes me wish I had a coffee table. I'm going to work on that.

Oh, and thinking of photography... my cute baby calf photo made the top ten finalists in the Beef Daily photo contest! I would love, love, love for you to stop by the Beef Daily blog and vote for my picture (it's #5) so I can win another wonderful photography book to share with you! Tomorrow (Thursday) is the last day to vote, so head over there and vote now!

But even more than that, I would love for you to sign up to receive news updates from Beef Daily. It is a news source that keeps a great pulse on what is going on in the cattle industry, whether you are a beef producer, consumer or someone who just like cows.

Go here to vote: http://blog.beefmagazine.com/beef_daily/2010/04/26/baby-calf-photo-finalists-vote-today/. Then go buy Paul Mobley's book. Then make me an ice cream sundae. With crunchy sprinkles. Please and thank you.

Hey, it was worth a try while I was handing out demands, right?

The pack mule and a marathon runner

2010-04-24T21:56:00.002-04:00

My sister runs marathons. My brother went to college to be a physical therapist. He's a MegaMan. They were both star athletes in high school. They are both coordinated, strong and agile.

I was the water girl in high school. I took stats. I ran the time clock, cleaned locker rooms and laundered, organized and stored jerseys in numerical order with matching hangers. Are you shocked by any of this?

This weekend, Sister had her 20-mile training run. I got to go along. She sold it to me like this:

"Laura, on the Saturday that you'll be in Lincoln I have to go on a 20-mile run. Are you going to come along?"
*silence*
"You can ride a bike while I run."
"Oh. OK. I should be able to handle biking the same amount of time as you run."
"Great. You can be my pack mule."
"Pack mule?! This sounds less fun."
"You'll just carry my snacks and drinks in a bag that attaches to the bike. You can bring your camera."
*snacks? juice? camera?*
"Done!"

Today, we set off on our 20 mile journey. Sister led the way.

After about three miles of herding her along, I started to get bored. Luckily, the Jamaican Trail had a lot of fun stuff to entertain my camera and I (and relieve me of 20 strait miles of biking). I stopped to play near a little creek:

Somebody forgot their rusty barbed wire next to the creek:

I wandered my way back to the trail to find Sister, still running:

This is where we think the Boxcar Children lived. If you don't know who the Boxcar Children are, you should ask your parents why they didn't make you read more as a youngster.

A nice little assortment of broken down railroad cars, semi trailers and various other piles of junk. What a soothing addition to the running trail.

Don't worry, Sister was still running. I really had to work to catch up to her this time.

Then there was a pretty little bridge.

Sister ran over it.

I went under it and found a tire. A lot of random crap littered this running trail.

There was pretty stuff, too.

Guess what Sister was doing?

Yup. Still running. Notice how much further ahead of me she is getting. I didn't notice that at the time, so I stopped to enjoy some more scenery.

Then there was DANGER. This sign suddenly made me realize I had piddled around so long that I didn't know where Sister was. I was under a creepy bridge that explicitly stated it was DANGER, in the middle of nowhere, near a railroad track with abandoned trailers.

Ah! Peddle faster, Laura! Faster!

After a couple miles topping Earth-shattering speed of 13 mph she was back in sight, although smothered by a cloud of train smoke.

...still running. I did not want to bike through the smoke, and the amount of energy I exerted trying to catch up with her made me hungry. Boy, was I glad to be the pack mule with all the snacks.

Fruit Smiles might be one of my all-time favorite snacks. I stopped to fully enjoy their sweet, smiley goodness.

But don't worry, Sister was still... oh crap. She's not running anymore.

Turns out her pack mule was dawdling and forgot to replenish her thirst. Turns out, her pack mule hadn't really checked in for about seven miles. At mile 15, that's apparently not very nice.

Don't worry, we go her back on the road, hydrated, re-fueled and running like the wind.

I found a bee.

Round about mile 18,5, I finally caught up with her by the tulips.

She was looking for her pack mule again. Ooops.

Celebrating Earth Day

2010-04-22T09:43:00.001-04:00

There was a time in my life where I thought "environmentalist" was a nasty word. It conjured up a lot of images of granola-eating hippies who were all about being at peace with nature and saving the rain forest. And women who didn't shave their legs. Those all seemed like weird/bad things to a young teenager.

Then I found out granola was pretty tasty. Hippies were cool in the '60s, and the '60s produced some pretty good hippie tunes. Since moving east, I realized I could use a little more peace with nature. And after watching the show "Life" on the Discovery channel, I want to save rain forests, too... as long as they keep filming all those incredible little creatures for my entertainment. Basically, I came to the conclusion many years ago that a lot of my stereotypes about environmentalists were unfounded and misguided.

But what really turned my thoughts around on the topic of environmentalists was the realization that even those descriptions weren't accurate. Environmentalists are simply people who care about the land, the animals that live off it, and being sustainable so future generations can enjoy our world and natural resources.

Guess who best fits that description of an environmentalist? Farmers and ranchers, of course! Agriculturalists were the original stewards of the land, and they are still working hard every day to care for this Earth and all the life that depends on it.

In honor of the 40th anniversary of Earth Day, I'd like to share this video from Pasture to Plate's YouTube channel. Enjoy!

For more information about the original environmentalists, visit www.explorebeef.org.

A day in the life...

2010-04-21T22:28:00.002-04:00

Over the weekend, a friend/co-worker of ours got married. It was an absolutely beautiful ceremony and reception on a gorgeous spring day in Woo-town. It was also a nice chance for Bobcat, caliAGchick and I to have a little bit of social interaction, which is an exciting event in our lives.

As we sat at the reception, giggling and telling stories of how we entertain ourselves in Woo-town, someone made the comment, "You girls are so funny. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in your house!"

Well, today is your lucky day. I happen to have photo evidence of a typical conversation between caliAGchick and myself. Welcome to a day in our lives.

caliAgchick: I need iced tea. Let's go to DQ. They have the crushed ice. I love crushed ice.

belle.of.the.blog @ DQ: Hmmm... no, I don't want anything. I'll wait till we get home.

Two seconds later:

belle.of.the.blog: Oh man... I wish I would have got a hot dog. I'm just a little bit hungry.

Five minutes later, at the Wendy's drive through across town:

belle.of.the.blog: This value menu is awesome. I think I'll have one of everything.

A nice young woman at the drive thru handed us our change. We sorted it out between the two of us, and something special caught my eye.

"Ooooooooo, caliAGchick! Look at this penny! What kind of penny is this? What's going on here? I've never seeeeeen a penny like this before!"

"It must be really old. How old is that?"

"I don't know. Old enough to be worth more than a penny, I bet!"

"Look and see!"

"1947?! Wow! That is old. I'm going to take a picture of it and then google it when we get home. Maybe it will be worth lots of money."

"I can't see it very well. I don't think my phone will take a good enough picture to be able to read what all it says."

"Well hold it steadier!"

"I'm tryyyyying! Maybe it will help if it's on a clearer background."

"Belle.of.the.bllllooooog! Get that thing off the top of my iced tea! Do you know how old that thing is?!"

"Yes! Since 1947! That's.... a lot of years old!"

"I know! Think about where that penny has been in that many years! Eeeeewwww! Get it off there -- its diseases could fall through the straw hole!"

"OK, fine. But we have to compare it to a normal penny, too."

"Oooohh! Look at the front, too! The old one is raised up and shaped different!"

"Oh man... this is awesome. We'll need a picture of that, too."

"My phone can't take a good enough picture to tell the different in contour. I need to get this at a different angle. caliAGchick, you're going to need to hold them up so I can take a picture at eye level. This is serious!"

*Throat clears*

Oh jeez. We're still at the first window of the drive-thru, with the window down and five cars behind us. The nice lady who made our change and handed us this pretty penny five minutes ago is staring through the car window.

Is this seriously the conversation I'm hearing right now? These two little dummies are seriously holding up my drive-thru line over a penny? Why are they still talking in my presence?

She didn't have to say anything. We knew what was on her mind from the cocked eyebrow and dumbfound expression.

"caliAGchick! Grab the pennies! We've got to go."

Moral of the story: You do not want to be the person on the other side of the drive-thru window from us, much less a fly on our wall. True life. Have we convinced you to come visit us in Ohio yet???

Confessions of a compulsive baker

2010-04-17T14:11:00.001-04:00

Welcome to my kitchen.

Well, this is actually my old kitchen, taken the last time my compulsive baking got out of control. I started off making a couple dozen Christmas cookies to force myself into a holiday spirit. Before I knew it, I had thumbprint cookies, chocolate cookies, peppermint cookies, chocolate striped/peppermint cookies and every sprinkle known to man stacked in my little Kansan kitchen. And a crock pot feast stewing in the background.

This is totally a healthy way to deal with holidays away from home.

Fast forward four months -- another holiday nears, and another kitchen falls victim to an all-day baking marathon. My intentions were innocent enough. I just wanted to make something nice to take to [D]'s house for Easter brunch.

I started scouring my library of cookbooks... as I've previously mentioned, decision making isn't my strong suit. How could I make just one tasty treat when I have a whole cabinet full of delicious recipes?

It started by wanting to try something new. I found a "Celebrations Made Easy" cookbook in a bargain bin at Big Lots a few weeks ago and couldn't help myself. It turned out to be a fantastic find, if for nothing more than this recipe:

It had fresh blueberries in it, so I considered it a health food. Until I doused it with a nice coating of sugar.

The batter was amazing delicious, but I'm always nervous about debuting a new recipe to a large crowd. Just in case this mess of blueberries and sugar turned into a pan full of trolls, I figured I better make a tried and true treat as well.

Hello, Best-Ever Apple Cake. It is so adequately named.

With the blueberry shortbread in the oven, I started peeling apples. Don't apples look funny naked?

Add a good coating of sugar and cinnamon to make them look a lot less funny and a lot more tasty.

Make a couple layers of cake batter and apples:

And sha-zam! The Best-Ever Apple Cake is ready to start baking, too.

In the meantime, the blueberry shortbread has formed the perfect golden crust.

Think about how exponentially better the top of a blueberry muffin is compared to the plain ol' bottom. This is pretty much like a whole pan of blueberry muffin tops. Hot diggity.

Since my Christmas cookie spree, I've added a new element of awesomeness to an all-day baking binge.

I finally stopped mooching off my office during the week and driving to gas stations five times a day during weekends and bought a coffee maker when I moved to Ohio. Just another excuse to never leave my house between Friday at 5 p.m. and Monday at 8 a.m.... er, 8:30 a.m.

Somewhere between the first and second pot of coffee, my little apple cake came out of the oven.

Oh, and then there were scones.

I really just like the word, scone. It makes me think of sconces, which is another very cool word. Someday, when HGTV comes to re-decorate my house, there will be a lot of sconces involved.

Do you feel smarter for reading my blog yet?

Or do you just want me to shut up and bring you scones?

Big, fluffy, maple and cinnamon-y scones.

Another pot of coffee, a heap of cheesy potatoes fixed up in the crock pot, a major kitchen cleaning and a Netflix season of The Office later, and my day was complete. Sometimes it's just hard being me.

Help! I need help!

2010-04-15T17:58:00.004-04:00

I hope you have had the chance to fully digest my last post about beef quality. There is so, so much more I want to share with you on that subject, but today is not the day. I'm waiting to get photos of my experience with carcass fabrication to finish up that re-cap. Trust me, you want photos to accompany the rest of this story -- it will involve hair nets, knives and a fun little story about me being a big girly pansy-pants.

In the meantime, I need your help! I am quite possibly the most indecisive person on earth. I can (and do) spend hours upon hours pondering life's big challenges... like, which flavor of ice cream do I love most (yes, I am that person in line at Coldstone)? Does sandstone-beige or moonstone-beige look better with plum eyeshadow? Which PW Photoshop action is most flattering to Stones? My life is really complex, as you can see.

That said, please, please please help me decide which little calf makes the prettiest picture. I plan to submit a photo to the Beef Daily baby calf photo contest, but just can't make up my mind. Leave a comment below and tell me which one is your favorite. Or tell me you hate them all and I'll go take more. Please and thank you!

The beefy basics, part 1

2010-04-14T23:59:00.003-04:00

These next couple posts will break down the basics of beef buying and talk about actually breaking down a beef carcass. Get your thinking cap on – there will be quizzes!

What??? Stop your groaning! I can’t just endlessly entertain you with stories about my travels, photography, cooking, nonsense and my naturally charming sense of humor. There must be education every once and a while, people. But you’re going to like it, I promise.

I had a pretty abrupt education on beef buying about five years ago, and I want to spare you from the same traumatic experience. I thought I was a fairly worldly college freshman – I traveled a lot with the National Beef Ambassador Program, promoting the beef industry and sharing the cattle production story. That was easy. The problem was, I had a hard time connecting with consumers’ stories.

Beef had always magically appeared in my freezer, straight from Nelson Farms. It showed up wrapped in crisp, white butcher paper with a red stamp that told us we were the only people allowed to pay for this product. An accompanying blue stamp described simple things: GROUND BEEF. STEAK. ROAST. BONELESS STEW. STEW BONES. PUT ME IN HAMBERGER HELPER. You see, I like simple things.

Then one day, I ran out of beef from Nelson Farms. I had to go to the grocery store and venture into the meat case, just like 98% of our population does. I was completely and totally dumbfounded. I didn’t even know where to start. All the things my high school ag teacher tried explain in our meat evaluation segment jumbled around in this big ol’ blond head as I stood at the meat counter…. hmmmm…. quality grades… cutability… yield grades… USDA inspections…. marbling… oh, if only I had spent more time paying attention in ag class and less time talking boys into doing projects for me! I knew that was going to backfire eventually. I just knew it. They were just so gullible...

I resorted to the only thing I knew to do at the time – I called my mom. She walked me through it, explaining that yes, this beef looks a little different. Yes, that is OK. No, Select is not an instruction to pick that one... buy at least Choice. Yes, that ground beef looks kind of like worms, but it will taste the same. No, I will not reimburse you for this expense. You're a big kid now. Ugh.

Since then, I’ve made sure to truly educate myself on the beef industry, not just the cattle industry. That turned out to be a pretty good thing to understand, since making those connections pays my bills these days. I got a great refresher course on these concepts last weekend at the BEEF 509 course, which reminded me how confusing the meat case can be to consumers and cattlemen.

So this is where the education starts. I’m going to define a couple terms that we’ll need to differentiate here.

First, inspection. All beef sold in a retail store must be inspected through a branch of the USDA (United States Department of Agriculture) called the FSIS (Food Safely and Inspection Service). This process ensures the wholesomeness of the product. The FSIS works very hard to make sure your beef is safe to eat. They’re nice like that.

Second, grading. Beef grading determines value (as in, price and enjoyment). A grade from the USDA is different than an inspection approval from the USDA. An inspection only determines it is a safe, wholesome product. A grade determines varying levels of quality in that product, which then helps determine its value. This is governed by the USDA’s AMS (Agriculture Marketing Service). This is not mandatory, although nearly all beef product sold in retail stores is graded.

Get the different between USDA inspected and a USDA grade? Good. If you don’t, read those two paragraphs a couple more times. Or persuade someone else to explain it to you. This is getting lengthy and I have a short attention span.

Now… about beef grading. There are two types of "grades."

Quality grade predicts the eating experience of said "graded" beef. It’s a system that categorizes the predictability of that piece of meat’s tenderness, juiciness and flavor. In essence, quality grade is all about palatability. This is what most people want to focus on when buying beef. We'll address that more in a bit.

Yield grade shows a comparison of meat and fat on a carcass. This helps retailers predict how much meat they will have to actually sell when they buy meat compared to how much will be considered “trim.” This is called cutability. YG is a somewhat complicated calculation that doesn’t really have a lot of applications to the everyday consumer – the jest of it is this: a YG1 has more meat, less exterior fat; a YG5 has less meat compared to more exterior fat. YG2, YG3 and YG4 are in between. If you really want to know how to calculate YG, be my guest. Here's the formula:

Ya, that's what I thought. Stick to this mental picture of what the different YG numbers mean:

See the difference between the amount of muscle and exterior fat? I love being a visual learner. So in review:

Quality grade = palatability.

Yield grade = cutability.

Still with me??? Good. There’s more. Let’s dig a little deeper into quality grade. Quality grade is determined by two things: maturity and marbling.

Maturity, like YG, probably isn't something the average shopper needs to concern herself with. Just know that the nice graders from the USDA look at bone characteristics, cartilage ossification and color and texture of the ribeye muscle to determine the physiological, not chronological, maturity of the beef animal. That basically means it doesn't matter how many birthday candles were on the last cake, it's all about how well (or poorly) your little (or big) behind metabolized it. Depending on those things, the graders assign the carcass a maturity designation of A (youngest) through E (oldest).

That maturity ranking is only half of the quality grade equation. The other half is the marbling score. The marbling score indicates.... this is a tough one... the marbling of that carcass. Marbling is the little flecks of fat spread throughout the meat. This intramuscular fat is what gives beef its great flavor and juiciness. Marbling is also considered "good fat," which makes it a homerun in my book. You can see the differernce in marbling between these two cuts:

Once the graders have determined how much marbling is in the beef, they do another calculation that combines the maturity rank and marbling score and sha-bam! A quality grade is born. This is where that stamp that says USDA Prime, Choice or Select comes from. There are more classifications, but these are the only ones you should ever even consider eating. Trust me on this one.

Prime has the most marbling and youngest maturity classifications. Only about two percent of beef grades Prime. It's super tasty and delicious.
Choice is what the majority of beef grades. It can vary from really good (upper Choice, which is closer to Prime) to just OK (lower Choice, which is closer to Select).
Select has slight traces of marbling, which means you're going to have to do some digging to find those little flecks of flavor. Some folks like Select beef because it tends to be a little leaner. Personally, I want a really tender, juicy steak and am willing to sacrifice a couple extra calories for it. That's just me -- you don't have to agree. However, if you've read this far into my babble, it seems like you might just care about my opinion, so there you have it.

Now just for good measure, let's review this all one more time.

Beef inspection determines wholesomeness. ALL beef is inspected and equally wholesome and safe.
Beef grading determines value. Beef grading determines value by using two indicators:

Yield grade, which determines cutability.
Quality grade, which determines palatability.

Quality grade determines palatability by looking at two items: maturity and marbling.
Based on these items, beef is graded into these important categories:

Prime = Yum, every time.
Choice = Yummy, but can be inconsistant in its marbling. Hence the advent of branded beef programs like the Certified Angus Beef brand to bring a little more quality consistancy to the table. Oh come on... like you didn't know that plug was going to show up eventually.
Select = eh, if that's what you're in to. It's a wholesome, nutritious product -- just a little different flavor profile than what this girl likes.
Everything else (Standard, Commercial, Utility) = never, ever buy for human consumption. Ever.

Got all that? Excellent! Now it's time for the quiz. I warned you about this!!!

Q1.) Who is my No. 1 blog follower from California?
Q2.) Who gave birth to my wonderfully charming and sweet roomate?
Q3.) Who is celebrating a birthday today?

A1.) Kathy; A2.) Kathy; A3.) Kathy
Happy Birthday, Kathy!!!

Just checking to see if anyone is really playing attention out there.

But really -- I hope this was a useful little lesson on beef basics. I know it was lengthy, and I'm exhausted from writing it. But this is important, people. The process of getting food on the world's table is a long and complicated, but it has safety, wholesomeness and consumer satisfaction in mind all the time. That needs to be understood. I want you to always enjoy your beef eating experience, and an educated consumer is a happy consumer. So holla if I missed something or you are dying to learn more!

Goodbye cubicle, helllllooo Kentucky!

2010-04-08T23:27:00.021-04:00

For the first time in what feels like forever, I got out of my cubicle and have been on the road this week. On Tuesday, I headed my beefy mini van south. Yes, I look awesome driving a mini van. Try not to be jealous.

After a near breakdown over the lack of Chuckwagon sandwiches in southern Ohio truck stops, I arrived in Carrolton, Ken. I arrived round about one in the morning and found myself in home-sweet-home Hampton Inn. I love me a good Hampton Inn. The pillows are to die for.... but only if you got to die while sleeping on them. For real.

Bright and early Wednesday morning, I headed out to meet with some of the folks at The Beef Connection in northwestern Kentucky. Owner Bob Sand started the Beef Connection to help cattlemen in the state realize more value in their cattle and ranch business models. Since then, they've expanded to having members all over the state and partners across the nation and in every facet of the industry.

I spent the day with Bob, his son, Travis, and a couple producer-members learning about their ranching systems, the power of data feedback in herd improvement and a couple of other interesting aspects of life and agriculture in Kentucky. Somehow I think I got volunteered to experience the miserable-sounding process of the manual labor involved in tobacco harvest. Suddenly, wheat harvest in western Nebraska seemed like a walk in the park.

My new camera also got broken in on its first work trip. After months of experimenting on photo shoots of Stones, snow and sunrises, my sweet little Cannon got to focus on cattle. It was love at first sight for all involved. Here are some of the highlights:

Yes, that is a photo of a Charolais calf, taken by a camera owned by Certified Angus Beef LLC. But he was sired by a registered Angus bull. And he was really, really cute. I couldn't help myself.

These guys were cute, too. Springtime in a cattle pasture nearly makes me down-right giddy with happiness.

I finally came to terms with the fact that there are places east of the Mississippi that are every bit as gorgeous as the open skies of Wyoming. This was one of those places. It's a different type of beautiful landscape -- the green kind, which we don't usually see back home for several more months.

Hoards of trees don't have to make a westerner feel claustrophobic, either. Not being able to see an open horizon is nice, too... when there are pretty little calves hiding behind every corner.

So green. So peaceful. I love my job.

Can I tell you again how much I love springtime on a cattle ranch? I'll also remind you I love Hampton Inn pillows. There are five of them calling my name right now. They win.

Morning has broken

2010-04-04T17:38:00.001-04:00

"Morning has broken, like the first morning

Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird

"Praise for the singing, praise for the morning

Praise for the springing fresh from the word

"Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven

Like the first dewfall, on the first grass

"Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden

Sprung in completeness where his feet pass

"Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning

Born of the one light, Eden saw play

"Praise with elation, praise every morning

God's recreation of the new day." -- By Eleanor Farjeon

"For what I recieved I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve.

"After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all he appeared to me also as to one abnormally born.

"For I am the least of the apostles and do not even deserve to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.

"But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect." I Corinthians 15:3-10

An Easter suprise

2010-04-02T15:30:00.002-04:00

Everyone in the office left early today, skipping out the door to enjoy the beautiful 80 degree weather, on their way to enjoy a nice little family holiday weekend. Well, everyone except me (always soooo dramatic, I know).

Literally, there were three of us left on our side of the office. So we cranked up our music and owned the west side (of the office). It was actually pretty nice and encouraged a lot of productivity. However, productivity didn't cure me of being a bit of a baby about the upcoming Easter weekend. This will be the first holiday I have ever spent away from home or without my family.

Going to college two hours from home apparently spoils a girl. I could always use bad roads on the summit as an excuse to stay in L-town and party. Yet, I could always make it back to Kimball County when I wanted to. Today, I wanted to.

Luckily, my parents haven't forgotten their youngest daughter, stranded out here in the east. As I pulled into my parking lot for lunch, I noticed a little box sitting on my doorsteps, glistening in the sunshine. Well, the packing tape was glistening. Cardboard has a hard time being shiny and pretty.

Nonetheless, I snatched it up and ran into my house. I knew my day's awesome level was about to increase. I tore open the box, and this popped out:

Then I pulled this out:

ALLLLLLL of these things came out of that one little bag-in-a-box. I love the fun little things my mom finds to fill gift bags with. I realllly love sticky notes. Come visit my cubicle in a week, and you will find an explosion of star-shaped sticky notes and pink striped binder clips.

And I love, love, love candy-flavored jelly beans. I'm pretty sure these are Jolly Rancher flavored. They are almost gone.

These markers are sure to make an interesting little craft project. I'm a little worried about what caliAGchick might come home to after this weekend... Whatever impressive artwork I create on our windows will surely be awesome in my mind, but she might have other opinions.

Stones was pleased with the gift basket, too. Look how pleased he is:

That is his happy face.

Big Kitchen calling...

2010-03-26T22:39:00.007-04:00

Those words are music to my ears, especially on a Friday afternoon.

Let me share with you one of the many joys of working for the company I do. On the other side of my cubicle wall, there live two professional chefs. In the basement right below my cubicle, there lives a big kitchen. On really, really happy days, the two get together.

So on mornings like today when I wake up late, forget breakfast, stumble into the office without my first cup of coffee and then realize I forgot to put socks on, a call from Big Kitchen is truly a blessing. The afternoon went something like this:

At 1:30 my tummy was grumbling, but I had become completely engulfed in digging through our writing archives to find the perfect stories to include in an upcoming publication. I got completely sucked in. I could get lost reading our archives for days. Seriously, check it out.

My phone rings. Caller ID reads "Big Kitchen." Hhmmmmm... I wonder who's down in the basement and wants to talk to me?

"Hello, this is Laura."

"Hello, Laura, This is Big Kitchen calling."

"Well, hello Big Kitchen. What's going on down there?"

"I'm cookin'. Wanna sandwich?"

"YES."

Aren't inter-company calls enthralling?

Chef Michael made me a Certified Angus Beef® Philly cheese steak sandwich. He popped it in this enormous toaster oven they call the salamander. I don't know why they call it that, but this baby could broil a steel post in about two seconds.

Luckily, it also perfectly toasts steak sandwiches:

I found this apple in my drawer and thought it would make my little desk-side meal look more complete and healthy. I was pretty sure it had only been in there a few days.

Unfortunately, an apple didn't really sound that appetizing with a tender, juicy steak sandwich. The vending machine downstairs had a much better option:

Life was looking up. With a full belly and renewed strength, things were really hummin' along on my Friday afternoon.

A couple hours later, Ms. M took it to a whole new level. She poked her head around the cubicle wall. "Pssstt. We're making a DQ run. It's almost spring, you know." It snowed this morning, but we're really trying hard to pretend like that didn't happen.

Chocolate cookie dough + Health bar blizzard = summertime in my dreams:

Oh, and that apple I had such good intentions of eating? I ended up using it for more of a stress ball for the rest of the afternoon as I mulled over new story ideas.

Turns out, you can all but smash up some apple sauce without breaking the skin on a hearty, desk-cured Gala apple.

Yes, that is complete mush under the skin. Weird, I know.

Are you wondering what the point of today's post is yet?

Quite frankly, there isn't one. I was just really pleased with how a bad morning turned into a fine afternoon, thanks to one little phone call from "Big Kitchen."

High fives for factual reporting on beef and the environment. Thanks, Washington Times!

2010-03-25T15:47:00.004-04:00

I have a hard time blaming all the world's problems on the evils of misinformed and sensationalized media outlets. The four years I spent getting a degree in journalism makes that kind of disparagement seem a bit hypocritical.

Yes, a lot of reporters get it wrong when it comes to the facts about American agriculture. But they’re only reporting what their sources told them, and it is their job to determine what “news” is. Whether or not you like what their sources told them or how they constructed the story is irrelevant. If you want the story told otherwise, I guess you should have been a journalist, right? OR, I guess you could get your MBA, start a blog, and become your own news source that publishes whatever story you are so inclined to tell. Or you could just make a point to share factual information to everyone and anyone who will listen. But, I digress…

My point is; it’s nice to be able to pat a fellow journalist on the back. The Washington Times recently published an article titled, “Meat, dairy diet not tied to global warming: report finds claims flawed.” Thank you, Ms. Harper, for printing something factually accurate, informative and sensible. Read a couple excerpts from the story:

Forget all that indecorous talk of animal flatulence, cow burps, vegetarianism and global warming. Welcome to Cowgate.

Cows and pigs have gotten a "bum rap," said Frank Mitloehner, an air quality expert at the University of California at Davis who authored the report. He is plenty critical of scientists and vegetarian activists such as Paul McCartney who insist that livestock account for about a fifth of all greenhouse-gas emissions.

Mr. Mitloehner said the claims that livestock are to blame for global warming are both "scientifically inaccurate" and a dangerous distraction from more important issues.

He has traced the problem back to a 2006 United Nations report, "Livestock's Long Shadow." In the report, the damning livestock "emissions" included those of the digestive variety — along with gases produced by growing animal feed and actual meat and milk processing. But the transportation analysis factored in only fossil fuel emissions from cars.

"This lopsided analysis is a classical apples-and-oranges analogy that truly confused the issue," Mr. Mitloehner said.

"The developed world should focus on increasing efficient meat production in developing countries where growing populations need more nutritious food. In developing countries, we should adopt more efficient, Western-style farming practices to make more food with less greenhouse gas production," Mr. Mitloehner said.

Ahhh... how refreshing.

Follow the link to the full story and leave a comment for the author. Let Ms. Harper know you appreciate the article, and politely give the folks who are leaving negative comments some more information about the beef industry and the environment.

Blackberry + beef recipes = true Love

2010-03-24T22:37:00.002-04:00

*That's saying a lot. I've been accused of being averse to the L word a time or two*

But I do love beef recipes delivered directly to my Blackberry phone. I also love lists. Particularly shopping lists. You find me a fella who will look up delicious recipes based on beef cuts within seconds, then organize a shopping list categorized by grocery section... then we might talk.

In the meanwhile, meet Beef For Dinner mobile.

caliAGchick and I were contemplating dinner plans this evening over a nice, brisk walk in the park. We had some pre-cut skirt steak thawing in the fridge: perfect for fajitas. Normally, I would marinate fajita meat overnight, or at least a couple hours before cooking. But we needed fajitas, pronto, and I was not interesting in running home to ask Sandra Lee or the Crook County CowBelles (my two favorite cookbooks) for advice.

Oh, wait... let me introduce you again... this is Beef for Dinner Mobile. He's full of great advice. Just type "beef for dinner" into your mobile web browser, and you'll be BFF in no time.

I typed in fajitas; it gave me ten options. I picked Classic Beef Fajitas with Galic & Lime; it made me a shopping list. It told me what to get in the fresh produce isle, what to look for in bread & baked goods, the condiments section and the meat case. Why, thank you, Beef for Dinner Mobile! I was in and out of the store in ten minutes.

I saved the recipe (for free, of course), to be brought back up once I was home.

Then I used all the muscles I had to squeeze fresh lime juice. Unfortunately, neither my Blackberry nor the Beef for Dinner site was helpful in that. After some strenuous effort, I managed to miss the counter enough times to splash nearly two tablespoons in the dish.

I poured the lime juice, some fresh minced garlic, and pepper over the steak strips. Then I cheated and dumped my pre-cut peppers and onions in the skillet. I added a fun sprinkle of Chugwater Chili seasoning -- just a little taste of Wyoming, compliments of one of my dearest college roomies.

The beef got a similar dash of Chugwater Chili love and started sizzlin'.

I whipped it all together with some fresh cilantro, and there you have it:

Dinner was done and served just as caliAGchick got home. She suggested I quit my job and become a full-time nanny. I reminded her how slightly irresponsible I've been known to be, and we agreed it was best I stuck to cooking for her.

Topped off with some tortilla strips, cheese and avacado slices, it was the perfect little feast.

I asked caliAGchick if it was odd I've started taking pictures of all my meals before eating lately, and she assured me that was normal... as long as I didn't expect her to wait until the photo session was done to dig in. Deal.

It's official... MBAs all around

2010-03-19T10:27:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was a big day at the Certified Angus Beef LLC office. More than 40 employees went through our MBA graduation ceremony with NCBA Director of Communications Daren Williams.

I'll be expecting my pay raise any day now to go along with this new education level. That's not unreasonable, is it? Ok, maybe it is. I might not be getting the pay bump that would come with a real MBA, but my Masters of Beef Advocacy degree is certainly a valuable asset.

The Masters of Beef Advocacy program is all about empowering agriculturalists to stand up and speak out about our industry. We talked a lot yesterday about the most effective ways to share our story, and how to tackle some of those tough topics the average consumer doesn't understand and most beef producers are a little uncomfortable talking about... like hormones in our beef, PETA and/or the HSUS, antibiotic use, animal welfare and health misconceptions.

Ever been faced with some of these tough questions? Or seen a news article that didn't paint the whole picture about the food we eat? Maybe you didn't think YOU were the right person to correct inaccuracies and share a positive story for the beef industry.

Well, quite simply... you are. If you care about the beef industry and want to be armed with the facts about modern food production, you are who should be talking about beef production. Sign up today to start working toward your MBA by e-mailing Daren at dwilliams@beef.org, call him at 303-850-3346 or contact your state beef council. It's free, it's simple and it's not time consuming.

Plus, you know you want one of these...

"Congratulations on completing all six courses in the Masters of Beef Advocacy (MBA) program. You are one of more than 800 students who have completed the MBA online courses and are now ready to enter the “real world” of beef advocacy. Thanks again for your commitment to reclaiming our legacy as original stewards of the land, caretakers of animals, and producers of safe, wholesome, and nutritious beef."

In honor of St. Patty's Day...

2010-03-16T23:30:00.001-04:00

... I painted my walls green!

OK, just joking... I didn't do this for St. Patrick's Day. But I did paint my wall (singular) Forbidden Garden Green last month. It was inspired by the advice of caliAGchick and Bobcat, not tommorrow's celebration of Mr. St. Patrick.

It all started when one of our grounds maintenance guys re-painted some of the walls in the office. He got my cubicle section done in a half an afternoon, which made painting seem like a fun, simple little weekend project. So, that day after work, I headed to Lowes.

I started in my room. My first instinct was, of course, to paint the walls an off-white-with-a-touch-of-warm-pink and then one focused wall of a deep chocolate. Luckily, my dear friends convinced me to overcome this weird OCD obsession with matching colors, and that I needed to add a pop of something new and different. I'm so glad they did.

Isn't it just beautiful?

I couldn't completely abandon my odd devotion to matching items... as soon as the paint was dry, I ran to Kohls to accessorize. caliAGchick had to call and tell me to back away from the home decor. Immediately. But not before I snatched these pillows:

Then I got online (where she couldn't scold me for compulsory shopping) and started ordering new wall decor... simple little things, but enough to add some excitement to my once plain, white-washed surroundings. My favorite find was this:

That's on a backdrop of Toasting Tan, which covered the other three walls. It goes perfectly with the rusty stars on the other wall. It is a lot smaller than I had imaged it, but it still nestles just perfectly between my two closet doors and above my beloved jewelry armoire.

Yes, you heard me. My two closet doors. It's actually four, if you count each of the sliding doors. That's a big deal in my life. And isn't armoire just a great word? It's a great piece of furniture to have, too.

But my most favorite new items are what anchor the freshly green wall above the furniture set from my great-grandma's house (which I will someday write a whole post about, I promise).

I am in love with these stick-on vinyl letterings, and found the perfect one to go over the vanity.

It says, "If you are confident, you are beautiful."

It's just the perfect little reminder that if I feel like a puny little baby, I am sure to look like one, too. And nobody likes that. So toughen up, buttercup.

All that's left to spruce up is the wall next to my bed. It's still a blank canvas of Toasting Tan, waiting for my sister to come visit and spill some creative love on.

So hurry up and come to Ohio already, sister!

Move over, Kraft.

2010-03-13T14:10:00.001-05:00

The blue box just got its mac & cheese butt kicked.

Last weekend while [D] and I were driving home from the Sugar Shack, we had a long talk about our personal fitness and wellness goals while chowing down maple chocolate coconut haystacks. She told me a little saying I'd never heard before: "Nothing tastes as good as the feeling of being skinny." We both laughed, although there are times I think that might be right. Last night was NOT one of those times.

caliAGchick's mom sent us a recipe for Chipolte Mac & Cheese last week. I've been dying to try it since the second it arrived in my e-mail inbox. Last night we prepared a cheesy little feast.

It started with this:

Buttery, garlic bread crumbs.

Then I chopped up some of these:

Meanwhile, caliAGchick started cooking up the noodles and was working on the delicious meatloaf she whipped together to go with it.

This is where it starts tasting better than a hot beach bod:

We're dumping the noodles in a mixture of heavy whipping cream, milk and butter. Nearly six cups of it in all.

Then comes the first pound of cheese. Yes, I said the first pound. As in, there is more than one pound of cheese in this.

Freshly grated, extra-sharp cheddar cheese. It was all suppose to be white cheddar, but I like a little variety. The next full pound of cheese was extra-sharp yellow cheddar.

Once that melted into a oohey-gooey-cheesy slurry, we added in the chilies and poured it into the baking dish. We smothered it in the bread crumbs and popped this little baby in the oven.

Meanwhile, Bobcat put together three little wedge salads that could have passed as artwork. Really tasty artwork.

Then the cheese and meatloaf sauce started bubbling in the oven. We pulled it out and gathered around the stove, staring... waiting... wanting to disregard the fact that putting the macaroni in our little mouths right out of the oven would have burned our tongues to a crisp.

When the steam cleared, we finally dug in.

For one night, that was better than being skinny. Well, it was better than being skinny this morning at breakfast, too. And I bet my feelings don't change by tonight either.

I think you'll agree. Give it a try. Next time I don't feel like being skinny ever again and make this, I think I'll cut the bread crumb topping in half so it gets a little crispier. And I'll probably wear elastic pants.

Enjoy!

PETA's trash-talk is garbage

2010-03-12T10:19:00.001-05:00

Sorry, I couldn't help but make as many puns as possible in that headline... you'll understand soon.

My dearest Aunt C e-mailed me this "news" story, and I am still a bit baffeled. Below is the AP article that ran on 9 News in Denver, and here's a longer version running in the Colorado Spring's Gazette.

COLORADO SPRINGS (AP) - The animal rights group PETA is offering to help cash-strapped Colorado Springs by paying to put trash cans back in parks, if the cans carry an anti-meat slogan and a picture of a woman in a lettuce bikini.

The city stopped picking up trash in parks to save money, and all the trash cans have been removed.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals told city officials Wednesday they'd pay for new trash cans saying "Meat Trashes the Planet" and "Go Vegan." The cans also have PETA's logo and the lettuce-clad model.

Mayor Lionel Rivera says he'll consider the offer if it PETA also pays to have the trash picked up and hauled to the dump. But he joked that the Colorado Beef Council might demand equal time.
(Copyright 2010 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

I don't know why this struck me as such an unusual tactic from PETA; they've been known to do a lot worse. But for some reason the audacity this organization has never ceases to amaze me. Colorado ranks 10th in the nation for beef production. Here's a little more info from the Colorado Beef Council:

Nearly one-third of Colorado's counties are classified as either economically dependent on the cattle industry or having the cattle industry serve an important role in their economies. Cash receipts from the sale of cattle and calves at $2.5 billion represents over half of the gross farm income of $4.9 billion -- Colorado's largest industry.

Colorado Springs might be strapped for cash right now, but jumping in bed with PETA is not the way to fix the problem, especially when you look at what the beef industry brings to the state. I still can't tell from his comments in the article if Mayor Rivera is serious about considering this offer or finds it as laughable as I do. Just in case, send him a note in support of animal agriculture:

Mayor Lionel Rivera
Address: P.O. Box 1575, Colorado Springs, CO 80901
Phone: 719-385-5986
E-mail: lrivera@springsgov.com

Thanks for making MK pretty again

2010-03-09T21:59:00.001-05:00

Mary Kay heard a bit of an outcry over the past couple days due to their involvement with the HSUS. They acted quickly and listened to what their customers had to say. They recently released this statement on their facebook page:

"Some fans of Mary Kay® products and independent beauty consultants have expressed concerns over a recent sponsorship of a Dallas-area event. Thank you for bringing your concerns to our attention. We have heard you and want to clarify any confusion.

First and foremost, Mary Kay is not a sponsor of this event. Mary Kay’s owner’s wife was approached to make a personal contribution towards a local event here in Dallas sponsored by the Dallas chapter of the Humane Society. This event specifically supports efforts to stop puppy mills and the organization’s stop puppy mills campaign. Out of caring and compassion for addressing puppy mills, our owner’s wife agreed to make a personal contribution. Mary Kay has contacted the Humane Society to clarify that we are not sponsors of this event and the company logo is being removed from the website.

As a company, we sincerely apologize for any confusion or causing any offense to members of the Mary Kay community."

This is great news for all involved -- agriculturalists know their voice has been heard, and we can all go on loving Mary Kay! If that's what you're in to and stuff. If not, then I guess you can go about your day as usual. Don't mind me.

An now, on a completely unrelated note... Happy birthday Bobcat! We had a little birthday celebration at 3 Amigos (where else?!) tonight, complete with a pile of fried ice cream and a nice, long chat with Cheryl about how we think the weekend crowd could be improved.

Mary Kay's not-so-pretty partnership

2010-03-09T12:54:00.003-05:00

The word's out: the agriculture industry is watching the Humane Society of the United States and making sure those who send them money know where it is really going. Mary Kay cosmetics recently tied itself to HSUS, and we need to let them know that's not OK. Read more about it on the BeefDaily blog.

Here's a copy of the note I sent Mary Kay. Please take a couple minutes today and do the same -- instructions are on the BeefDaily site.

I recently learned Mary Kay is planning to be a corporate sponsor at a Dallas, Texas gala with the Humane Society of the United States. What a slap in the face to the hardworking women who use and sell your products. HSUS is an extremist animal rights group that has made it clear they want to put animal agriculture out of business. I know dozens of female farmers and ranchers who supplement their income by selling your product. It will be awful hard for them to make a sale knowing their hard-earned money is going to an organization so set on destroying agriculturalists’ way of life.

I can only hope your partnership with HSUS is by mistake -- they are not the organization most people think. Less than half of 1% of their multi-million dollar budget actually goes to hands-on pet shelters. They hide behind the name "humane society," making people believe they are affiliated with local humane societies (the ones who actually do help animals). Learn more here.

I noticed the gala you are sponsoring together is working to stop puppy mills and abuse. However, the HSUS sends some mixed messages on where they really stand on that issue, too.

Please, learn more about the HSUS and reconsider your sponsorship of this event. Support local shelters that will actually put your money to use helping animals, not paying fat salaries and lobbying bills. I have used your product for years, and will not pay another dime to your company until you reconsider. I will ask all my friends and Mary Kay consultants to do the same.

Respectfully,
Laura Nelson

Down at the Sugar Shack (sugar shack baaay-bee)

2010-03-09T12:33:00.008-05:00

I took a little educational adventure this weekend to the Sugar Shack, and that B-52s song instantly stuck in my head. I hope it's stuck in your head now, too... like a fly in maple syrup. Ha!

My friend [D] and I took her two kiddos down to Malabar Farm to the opening weekend of the Maple Syrup Festival. There, according to the brochure, we went on "a self-guided tour of the sugar camp and sugarhouse that revealed the evolution of sugaring equipment and how maple sap is transformed into maple syrup." That's three direct references to sugar in one sentance. You know this was going to be an exciting day.

Here are a few things we did learn on our day at Malabar Farm:

Lesson No. 1: Check the white balance settings on your camera before shooting. Don't assume you just can't see the screen very well in the sunlight when the color is off. Luckily, some black and white editing turned out well on these to cover up the blotched photography. Thank you, Photoshop.

Lesson No. 2: A LOT of people were excited about the Maple Syrup Festival. We were imagining a handful of folks peacefully meandering through the woods at this little farm (which also happens to be a state park). Instead, there was this:

Yikes! There were lines, crowds and a lot of mud. This was the third day in a row that the sun graced us with an appearance. People were coming out of the woodwork in a mass exodus from the sad, gray Ohio winter. You could practically hear the sighs of relief as people said goodbye to their seasonal depression.

This pretty little view was enough to shed some of my winter misery:

Lesson No. 3: Motherhood is complicated and not for the weak of heart -- this probably is not a shock to anyone else. However, being the baby of my family did not leave me with a natural understanding of what it takes to have another human being dependant on me for survival.

[D]'s supermom-ing skills never cease to amaze me. She strapped her 30 pound, year-old son, little-L, into what looked like mountain hiking apparatus and carried him on her back all day. little-L was very pleased with this arrangement.

Lesson No. 4: Native Americans were the first to discover how to harvest maple sap. They slashed grooves in the trees and collected the sap in hollowed out logs. Then super hot "cooking stones" were dropped into the sap to crystalize it and make a form of hard candy. This was likely the only sweet-tasting substance in the Native American's diets.

[D]'s older son, c-man, thought the Indians were cool, too. This one gave him a high-five, but as we walked away, he whispered something to me about making sure those Indians didn't "get us" later. And he was watching the snow for "bad guy tracks." He cracks me up.

Doesn't [D] have the cutest little fellas? This is c-man, investigating the sap buckets:

Then in colonial times, they figured out how to make the sap into sugar. How this guy represented colonial times, I don't know. But it was the one photo I salvaged from the scary blue tints, and I just loved the colors of the trees around him.

Lesson No. 5: Cotton candy is really cotton-y. That's one I learned from c-man. After watching everyone else eating maple cotton candy, he was really excited to get some of his own. He waited patiently as we toured the Sugar Shack, which showed modern maple processing, then waited in a line to buy the maple sugary goodness. We finally got the cotton candy, and he was just dying to dig into it. [D] opened it outside the store, and his long wait was finally over.

He took one bite and handed it back to [D]. "This candy is too cotton-y. I don't like it at all." End of story.

Lesson No. 6: Every day is a parade when you are riding in a horse-drawn wagon. I've ridden horses all my life and the novelty of it should have really worn off by now. But it's still fun. This big fella was our transportation from the Sugar Shack back to the parking area. I liked him.

Lesson No. 7: It doesn't matter how old you are, a sugar high is still always followed by a massive crash. The boys were sound asleep about two seconds after leaving Malabar Farm. I stayed awake long enough to devour my maple-chocolate coconut haystacks and some pure maple candy, then we stopped for ice cream.

I lasted through one episode of the Sopranos and crashed, happily tucked in bed before 8 p.m. That makes for one great day at the Sugar Shack (sugar shack, baaayy-beee).

I'll admit it: I'm a bit of a steak snob

2010-03-06T15:37:00.003-05:00

Not that I look down on any other beef. It's all healthy, safe, delicious and nutritious. But once you have had a steak like this, you just know some is better than the rest:

That’s a Certified Angus Beef® brand Prime strip steak. Eating one will change the way you think of steak. For the better. The much, much better.

I swear, I’m not just saying that because I work for them. I ate this whole heaping mess of goodness and then had to be restrained from licking the plate. I’m such a glutton. If I hadn’t been at a work-related event, I would have done the same thing…but not held back on the plate-licking.

My roomie/co-worker/friend caliAGchick invited me to tag along with her to Cantina Laredo’s in Columbus for a beef and tequila tasting, sponsored by CAB and Corzo tequila.

It was a four-course meal, starting with these tasty little shrimp nachos and a cucumber margarita. You think cucumber margarita sounds odd, but it was the crispest, most refreshing little concoction ever.

See all those little snifters behind the plate? Those were for the different kinds of tequila. They were paired with different courses and their flavors and distilling processes were explained as we went through the meal, just like a wine tasting. This completely shocked me, as I always thought tequila had only one flavor: revolting.

That was the first, last and only time I had tried to drink tequila in anything but a girly little margarita or cocktail until earlier this week. It was in Mexico – you can see how impressed I was.

But this was completely different – you could taste the differences in each flavor and how they tasted with the different courses. The shrimp nachos were followed with an enchilada-like soup that was the perfect combination of spicy and smooth. Then the main course, this prized item (again):

The avocado salsa to the side of the steak was to die for. Seriously.

Then the finale. Mexican apple crepes smothered in a tequila-infused sauce. Oh. my.

This picture doesn’t really do the crepes justice, but it does get caliAgchick in the picture. Since her mom and aunt consist of nearly 15% of my readership here, I like to include pictures of her to keep them happy.

*Hi caliAgchick’s mom and aunt!*

Oh, wait – did you really think I would let you go with a fun post about tequila with no educational value at all?? Well, you thought wrong.

One of the reps from Corzo shared with us she had stopped eating meat after watching the movie “Food, Inc.” I am respectful of anyone’s personal choices, and if she makes an educated decision to be a vegetarian that is her business. But, it is important for people to hear both sides of a story before jumping to conclusions based on a biased, sometimes factually inaccurate movie. Get the other side of the story here.

Ok, that's really all now. But I just got my wireless Internet hooked up, so look forward to hearing from me a lot more now!

All things new

2010-03-04T10:14:00.001-05:00

Remember that time I started a blog with a promise to try something new each week in an attempt to not hate living in Ohio?? Well folks, I’m a lady of my word, and I’ve been tracking my new adventures on a handy sidebar here… scroll down… down... look left…no wait, your other left (also known as the right -- thanks, Meg) Ah! There it is… “New experiences since starting this blog.”

Sometimes I have to stretch a little to consider some of these entirely new experiences, but I’m working on it. I know you’ve just been dying to read about my adventures in Ohio, so wait no longer. This one will cover both an old new event and a new new event. Look out.

About a month ago, caliAGchick, Bobcat, Buckeye and I drug ourselves out of ZUMBA! class, exuding so much fitness we could have been featured on that You Tube video. We were ravenous and wanted to try something new. caliAGchick mentioned a little Mexican restaurant she had seen on her way to our affectionately located “south side” home (a handy neighborhood to live in if we ever decide to be gangsters). She said it looked like a bit of a dive, but could be fun. Sign. me. up.

We ended up on the other side of the track (literally), right off the freeway and behind the Super 8 back parking lot. A dive, indeed. Welcome to 3 Amigos:

It’s really a treat. The food is amazing and cheap and we’ve managed to make BFF with the waitress, Cheryl. Shocking, I know.

You would assume it is mostly Mexican fare at a place called 3 Amigos, right? It is… until you get to menu item #43: spaghetti. A little above that, #32: frog legs. #51: wings (we just convinced Cheryl to add teriyaki flavor this week. Score!). # 64: fried fish basket. They have a little bit of everything you could ever want at 3 Amigos, and it is all conveniently numbered so you never have to worry about pronouncing Mexican words wrong. Or English words for that matter. They have this, too:

*I can't find this photos right now, so make it up in your head. It's a mounted buffalo head with a Mexican sombrero on it. Image it*

Yes, that is a buffalo with a sombrero on its head. No, he does not have a number. But he is cool.

Our little group of friends became regular diners at 3 Amigos, stopping by after ZUMBA!, grabbing a happy hour drink after work and even hosted our own Groundhog Day celebration. We frequented 3 Amigos on weekdays and daylight hours only, which is apparently why we loved it so much.

Over the weekend, caliAGchick and I saw a whole different side of 3 Amigos. After a super fun dinner with our friend KOD and her wonderful family, we decided to stop by and check out the nightlife at our favorite little dinner spot. Talk about a change of scenery.

For those of you who were lucky enough to go to college in Laramie, Wyo., I would compare the scene to the Cowboy Bar. Not the Cowboy Saloon, the Cowboy Bar. Yes, that Cowboy. The other Cowboy.

I was wearing a cardigan. Needless to say, that wasn’t exactly dress code.

Let me give you a little slice of the conversations we had with a couple nice young men there:

“So, I was stabbed on Tuesday.”

*looks of horror exchanged between AGchick and I*

“But you should see the other guy.”

AGchick: “Let’s leave. Now.”

Cheryl told us later this young man came back the next night and his stab wound was bleeding through his shirt. He picked a fight and was asked to leave.

Another nice man: “Naw, you don’t want to hang out at the UG (another bar in town we had heard of). That’s where all the little college kids go with their school books. Then they go home early and study. It’s real preppy…
Well, maybe you girls would like it. That is a nice cardigan.
But don’t get me wrong… you can still definitely score some good drugs there. If that’s what you’re in to. I’m going to guess not though, huh?”

*more horror*

Monday night over chips and salsa, Cheryl assured us these were not normal occurances. But better safe than sorry -- we'll stick to daylight hours at 3 Amigos from now on, thank you. Don't say we didn't give the Woo-town social scene a chance.

What if I didn't know?

2010-02-25T13:32:00.002-05:00

I read a great editorialin the High Plains Journal yesterday. It's a topic we all need to be reminded of over and over again as we work as advocates of agriculture. Here's a couple excerpts from Holly Martin's writing:

"What if I didn't know what it is like to be a farmer or rancher? What if I honestly didn't understand?

What if I didn't know what it is like to bring in the harvest? What if I didn't know what it is like to see a herd of white-tailed deer grazing green wheat in the frosty morning air? What if I didn't know what it is like to see a hillside of newborn calves romping in the springtime sun?

"What if I didn't know those things--the good and the bad, the positive and the negative, the realities of what it takes to raise food? If I didn't know, I might think it is easy. I might not know how much financial risk and stress a farmer endures. I might not know the pride and satisfaction of feeding our country and the world through the labors of my hands.

"And chances are, consumers don't know these things. It doesn't make them wrong or ignorant. It just makes them uniformed."

It's easy to get frustrated with the mounds of misinformation that surrounds agriculture. It's easy to watch our industry take punch after punch and say, "Those people are stupid. They just don't get it, and they are wrong," then go about our ways. The point is -- they DON'T get it, and if we want them to, we have to help.

Don't let the extremist animal rights groups trick you in to thinking they are the majority. Most Americans are just misiformed and want to learn more about the food they eat. They might have heard mixed messages from different media sources and just don't know what or who to believe.

Don't scoff at their questions or act like they are "stupid" for listening to people like Katie Couric, Oprah or Jonathan Safran's opinions and taking them as truth. Put yourself in the shoes of people who don't know what it's like to grow up on a farm or ranch and have that personal relationship with animals and the land we care for.

The agriculture community has gotten better and better at speaking its mind recently, as exemplified by the recent [yellow tail] / Yellow FAIL ordeal. Check out http://humanewatch.org/ to find more ways you can speak out against HSUS and stand up for agriculture.

Who's the expert here?

2010-02-19T17:26:00.001-05:00

When I was little, going to the doctor's office meant going to Dr. Plate's office. It didn't matter what ailed me, whether it was an ear infection or a tummy ache or a broken bone -- Dr. Plate fixed it all.

Do those kinds of family physicians exist anymore? It seems like there is an expert and a specialist for everything. You go to an Otolaryngologist for ear, nose and throat problems, a Gastroenterologist for your tummy and an orthopedic surgeon for broken lower limbs. Same holds true for everything else in life – if you have a problem, you go to the specialist or expert in that field.

So why is it that the Humane Society of the United States seems to think they deserve to be the experts in agriculture and animal husbandry? When I think of experts in animal husbandry, I think of people like veterinarians, ranchers and animal scientists. Last November, Ohio passed a ballot initiative that would create the Ohio Livestock Care Standards Board to oversee livestock care in the Buckeye State. Ohians spoke – let the experts on animal husbandry make the laws that govern animal husbandry.

But the HSUS can’t leave well enough alone. This extremist animal rights group still thinks they are somehow qualified to be the experts. They’re gathering signatures to put on a referendum that would require the Board to adopt standards they’ve dreamed up, implying they know more about the matter than veterinarians, animal scientists, food safety experts and ranchers. This is just another example of the HSUS showing its true colors and once again pushing for its private agenda.

I still think Dr. Plate is the best doctor to ever grace the Nebraska panhandle where I grew up, and he cured a lot of different things that ailed me as a youngster. But when it comes to something more serious than a tummy ache, I’m sure even he would have looked to a more specialized expert on the matter.

Tell the HSUS to leave animal husbandry decisions up to the experts.Learn more here.

Catch up on how Ohio’s Issue 2 has evolved here:
Ohio’s Issue 2 passes; HSUS vows a rematch
HSUS back at it in Ohio: pushing animal handling ballot initiative
HSUS cleared to circulate petitions for Ohio animal handling initiative

I'm getting my MBA

2010-02-17T21:35:00.002-05:00

One evening at Bob Evans at a time.

No, sitting at Bob Evens eating chicken and noodles by myself while using their free wi-fi will not earn me my Major BadAss certification any time soon. The good news is, I already got that. In case you didn't know, I was a dual major during my time as an undergrad at UW. COJO and MBA. But mostly MBA.

Yes. I seriously just wrote that.

You know it's true.

But today, I am working to earn a different type of MBA. It's one that might actually improve my lot in life. I started working on my Masters of Beef Advocacy program yesterday, and it's long overdue. It's a program put together by the Beef Checkoff that is working to empower agriculturalists to have a voice on the issues that affect them most -- consumer's perceptions of the beef industry.

From Katie Couric's recent barrage against animal agriculture's use of antibiotics (twice) to [yellow tail]'s fall to [yellow fail] to the fact that well, everything the HSUS touches turns to muck, it is clear that agriculturalist need to have an educated, united voice to share our story.

The program consists of six, 1-hour core courses on topics like beef safety, beef nutrition, animal care, environmental stewardship, modern beef production and the beef checkoff. They are interesting, easy to complete and forces folks in beef production to think like a typical beef consumer. It's all about equipping beef producers across the country to tell their story in presentations to schools and church/civic groups, through local media and in the “virtual” world of the Internet.

Some of the smartest, most incredible people I know are cattlemen and women. But it doesn't matter how smart you are or how great of a rancher you are or how right we know our way of life is if our story is told by groups like the HSUS and PeTA. So educate yourself on how to tell our story. Learn more about the MBA program here: http://www.beefboard.org/news/08_1010News_MBApressRelease.asp or by e-mailing Daren Williams at dwilliams@beef.org.

If you're reading this blog, I can only assume you are already a Major BA. Now go prove it with your MBA.

"There's nothing wrong with Ohio...

2010-02-13T11:14:00.004-05:00

"... except the snow and the rain.
I really like Drew Carey and I'd like the see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame."

Ok, this song is more about loving Texas than disliking Ohio, but they pretty much hit the nail on the head with that opening line. Cleveland was recently voted the city with the worst weather in the country. Eaks.

Luckily, winter is my favorite season of the year. I love snow. And by all means, the snow here in Ohio is pretty -- it falls quietly and peacefully. No wind, no white-out blizzards. Just peaceful, sparkling snow everywhere.

Yes, this is at a cemetary. It's right across the road from me, and Stones is tired of being the only subject of my photography. It's suprising idyllic and pretty.

Then we got more than a foot of snow in one day.

Then there were six more inches two days later.

Ugghhhhhh... Then the trees went from really pretty and snow-crystal-ey to sad and hunched over.

And now I park in a little tunnel between two enourmous snow banks.

But hey -- we do have the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

America's Future

2010-02-12T16:48:00.003-05:00

This is something I worry about. A lot. Seriously, it keeps me up at night.

Has the society we live in completely lost touch with the ideals of past generations? Will the generation after mine even know about World War II and the Depression, or the significance those events had on the world? How will they, when the generation of my grandparents is gone? Who will tell those stories? Will our society as a whole ever grasp the concept of personal responsibility and stop blaming schools, the government, food and the media for all their problems? In another generation, will anyone understand the importance of physical labor and blue-collared workers?

Aren't I an odd little 22-year-old? These are the things Stones and I think about in our free time.

These worries have only been intensified by reading the book The Greatest Generation. Sometimes Tom Brokaw gets a little liberal for my taste in the political ideals he draws in the book, but the story-telling is extraordinary. It confirms that there is no doubt in my mind that the generation of my grandparents is, in fact, the greatest generation this society has ever produced. And it makes me wonder – if that generation is now nearly in extinction, what does the future of America hold?

Turns out, Mike Rowe seems to worry about the same thing.

Ok, maybe not the exact same things, but it seems he worries about the general direction our society is heading in – that being a direction where people are scared of working hard and expect a lot of hand outs.

If you don’t know who Mike Rowe is, please crawl out from whatever rock you are living under and become familiar. He is the host of the Discovery Channel’s “Dirty Jobs.” He’s a champion for hard workers, blue-collared values and patriotism.

Read his recent blog post, What is in America’s Future? Oh ya, and then watch this video:

Then put my name under it with a big “ditto.” If you didn't love Mike Rowe before today, you will.

PS – Please note: I am not an eternal pessimist and think our country is really headed to ruin. I think we live in the greatest country in the world. And I'm a pretty happy-go-lucky gal. I just worry. A lot. Again, this is why I think I need more hobbies.

Ze purfect vinta sport

2010-02-10T08:43:00.003-05:00

A couple years ago, I went to Eastern Europe with an international journalism class. It was amazing. Don't think traveling Hungary or Ukraine can hold a candle to Western Europe? You're wrong. Give me a trip in Budapest or Kiev over London and Paris any day. Someday, maybe I'll finally finish that scrapbook and share it with you. Until then, here's one of the more humorous highlights of the trip:

A group of Wyoming students were out in Bratislava with a group of Slovakian students. Some Slovakian men were talking about how much they love winter sports. One of the girls from our group joined in, bragging about how much she LOVES winter sports. She liked to show off a lot, and at this point in the trip we were all quite tired of hearing about all her amazing life feats. She continued on and on and on about what an avid and extreme winter sportswoman she was, surely impressing these Slovakian men (in her mind).

Then one Slovakian man asked exactly what winter sport she enjoyed most. Her answer:

Snowshoeing.

Yes, snowshoeing. Now, in the realm of extreme winter sports, snowshoeing doesn't exactly come to the top of my mind. Apparently, our fun-loving Russian exchange student thought the same. Before said snowshoe queen could defend her sport and her feeble attempt to show off, Dennis the Russian says,

"Ereen (Erin), sno-shoing iz not a sport. Eat iz not even an acteeevety.

It iz seemply walking.

Un sno."

Bahahahaha. I love Dennis Yulin's honestly.

The point of this story, you ask? I’ve finally found the only “winter sport” that is easier and less brag-worthy than snowshoeing. It’s called snow tubing, and it’s very fun for the lazy sportswoman in me. It’s basically sledding on a groomed ski hill.

While Rhinestone Cowgirl was here to visit this weekend, we joined a group of co-workers for a very special youngster’s birthday party at the snow hill. We were pretty much the only adults there not directly accompanying children, but I swear – we are still just as cool as we were in college.

Seriously, look how fun this is:

In a moment of pure genious, we decided to take the camera down the mountain with us to document the ride down. Shockingly, it didn't work out as well as we might have planned.

Here we are, at the top of the mountain. We're not scared at all. This is going to be fun!

Yes, this is still fun. We're being shoved down the mountain by some poor high school student with a crummy weekend job.

OK, this is a little scary. We both sqealed like little sissys.

No, it's fun. We're giggling like five year olds.

We survived! Yay!

In most sledding situations, this is where you have to turn around and lug your tube back up the hill, completely detracting from all the fun you just had going down the hill. That's where normal sledding may qualify as a "winter sport."

But not here, my friends. In snow tubing, there is this:

This is a conveyer belt. It pulls you back up the mountain. Effortlessly.

This is where Dennis the Russian would step in.

"Sno-tubing iz not a sport. Eat iz not even an acteeevety
It iz seemply seeting.
Un sno."

Enjoy the Winter Olympics, my friends! In the meanwhile, I'll be confining my winter sports to sitting. In a tube. On snow.

San Antonio-ina-minute

2010-02-04T20:50:00.005-05:00

Have you ever seen the video "Bible in a Minute?" If you haven't, you should. It's funny. And pretty factual. Ok, it leaves a lot out, but hits the high points.

Anyway, I've been home a week now and am over the thought of really writing about my week in San Antonio. I mean, my social calendar is just SO FULL there is no time to waste in the past. Right. So here is my trip to San Antonio-ina-minute:

Tuesday - set up booth, run all over, wear cute heels, feet hurt. Blisters - bad - walk, crippled. Meet nice old southern man, stop for chat. Hi, I’m from Ohio. Oh, you’re one of those damn Yankees, huh? Quickly take it back, I'm from Wyoming! We weren't a territory then. That’s OK. Stocker conference, hand out manuals, talk to people, Pfizer dinner, SLEEP.

Wednesday - Cattlemen’s College, set up lunch, run around, set up signs, haul banners, buy comfy shoes, still crippled, take pictures, Opening Session – Mike Rowe – surprise! Back to trade show. See long-lost-friend [R}. Yay!

Peruse trade show, fall in love (pottery), friends with bartender, trade show closed, Durty Nelly’s, early night, SLEEP.

Thursday – Breakfast meetings, lots-o-coffee, trade show, shop – fall. in. love. again (purse). More meetings, more coffee, meeting – coffee – meeting. SLEEP.

Friday – breakfast meeting, committee meeting, trade show, LPC – lunch. Ice cream hunt, shop, trade show, trade show closes – booth packed – booth shipped. Sleep? NO! See [A] and [D]:

{[d], [a], [me], circa Jan. 2010}

SLEEP.

PLANE. EARLY. COFFEE. Home. Move roomie in. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Some thing are better left untouched...

2010-02-03T08:58:00.002-05:00

...like this commentary by Mike Barnett of the Texas Farm Bureau. I've got nothing to add or further commentary to make on it. That doesn't happen very often. I always have something to say. Not today.

Here's an excerpt:

"Hope for agriculture, I’m here to tell you, is not lost. The bad news is these activist groups are strong, well funded, very vocal and successful in promoting their agenda. The good news is they're ultimately doomed to fail."

He addresses the strengths and weaknesses of the animal rights movement, "industrial ag" nay-sayers, GMO protestors and climate changers. And here's the bottom line we've all known since before those folks started developing thier anti-ag agruments: the facts are on our side.

Read his blog at "Texas Agriculture Talks" for the full story.

*And that's all I have to say about that*

I < 3 Beef

2010-02-01T21:26:00.006-05:00

No, I don’t think I am less than three, or that there is something greater than beef. I “heart” beef. As in, I love beef. Which is especially convenient this first day of February, since today marks the beginning of Heart Health Month.

I “heart” beef because I love ranchers, I love cattle, I love the beef industry, and I love a heart-healthy diet of lean beef. And I love that the Beef Checkoff thinks of catchy promo campaigns like this:

So tonight, after an hour of flailing around in ZUMBA!, my new roomie and our friend are having a winter-time grill-out. Roomie just brought our Certified Angus Beef® flat iron steak (only the best will do) off the grill. YUM! We made a delicious concoction of diced potatoes, onions, garlic and jalapenos and piled it into some tin foil and threw it on the grill, too.

And now it’s time for me to eat this tasty little feast.

Oh. My. Delicious.

Did I mention beef is a great source of lean protein and an important part of a heart-healthy diet? Well it is. More than 80 percent of registered dietitians surveyed agree that lean beef can fit in a healthy diet (Technomic, 2007). In addition, a 3-ounce serving of lean beef offers the most protein with the fewest calories when compared to plant proteins such as peanut butter, black beans and tofu. AND, a 3-ounce serving of lean beef is about180 calories. You would have to eat 670 calories of peanut butter (more than 7 tablespoons) to get the same amount of protein (beefitswhatsfordinner.com ).

Thanks for joining me for a lesson of Beef Nutrition 101. Rest assured, I will share more on that topic in the future.

Back to the task at hand. This is what is still to come in our evening meal:

It's right out of the box from the freezor section. So what. We're grilling with snow on the deck. I dance to Shakira songs at the YMCA. Crazier things have happened. Key Lime pie is amazing, anyway you serve it up.

But again, I digress. You know why else I heart beef? Because I love working for the beef industry. Once we demolish that key-lime pie and properly digest our steak dinner, I’ll start telling you about my week in San Antonio!

Saddle up to San Antonio!

2010-01-25T13:19:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow morning, I will leave my home at the crack of dawn. Actually, before the crack of dawn. I’m talking about the REAL crack of dawn here, not the Laura-version-of-anything-before-double-digits-kind of crack of dawn. And I am ecstatic about it.

Why, you ask? Because I’ll be boarding a 7 a.m. flight for San Antonio to attend the 2010 Cattle Industry Convention!

The Cattle Industry Convention is to conferences what the glorious Cheyenne Frontier Days is to western celebrations – the daddy of em’ all. It’s a week full of education, sharing, meetings, entertainment and camaraderie for cattlemen across the nation. And it’s epically fun.

Five years ago, I attended my first NCBA convention as a National Beef Ambassador. It was an incredible eye-opening experience for a first-time-convention-goer who was just getting my foot in the door of the beef industry. It was, without a doubt, the experience that made up my mind – I would forever work in the beef industry. Preferably in a job that would take me back to NCBA Convention and other gatherings of the like.

Two years ago, I went as an NCBA intern – it was an amazing experience, professionally and personally. I worked with a group of wonderful friends who I still love dearly. I also made a connection with the folks at the Certified Angus Beef trade show booth. They told me to apply for an internship with them. I did. After my internship, they told me to apply for a full time job. I did. Now they are sending me back to NCBA convention as their employee – I can’t wait!

It will be a busy week – the kind where you run on absolutely ZERO sleep and thrive on it. Meetings start at 7 a.m., end at 9 p.m., then re-convene during social hours that usually last late into the night. My head will likely be exploding with information, and I will do my best to let some of it overflow here!