In the kitchen with 'tader salad

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.

The birthday in the Big Apple that just kept giving

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.   

Confessions of a compulsive baker

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.

An Easter suprise

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.  

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

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).