smart phone or smart Jenna?!

Quick tip that I feel responsible to share considering the basic concept is not my own:

Dilemma:

The computer is in the living room and the kitchen is in the kitchen.
The recipe is on the computer.
You haven't upgraded to a laptop
Your computer desk is covered in black sharpe markers and no paper.

Possible solution A)
Write a short hand version of the recipe on your forearm like you used to with your assignments in Junior High because you thought self imposed graffiti was WAY cool.

Dilemma:
You're not 13.

Possible (and much better) solution B)
Take your crazy little telephonic device that has all kinds of functions and features that make you nervous every time you try to call your mom.
Take a picture of the screen.
Return to kitchen and cook delicious food,


Todays tip brought to you by Paleo Chicken Piccatta and Primal Smoked Paprika Creamed Leeks!!!

pantalones or no pantalones?

I enjoy cooking in my underwear.  Not scandalous, ”I’m a sexy cook” underwear … more like get home from grocery shopping, take off your pants and start dicing some onions. *   

So, more specifically, I enjoy cooking without any pants on – much to the chagrin of the tall dude who, in addition to reminding me that my knife wielding techniques are sub-par, must now grimace at my bare legs being accosted by a chance, normally innocuous, splash from the pan filled with boiling water or over-enthusiastic batch of bacon. 

More often than not, though, it’s not that I’ve purposefully removed my pants in advance of dinner preparations.  Instead, it’s more akin to an avoidance of fully committing to redressing after I shower -especially on a night when I get home late from coaching – pants just seem like a waste when I know I’m not venturing outside until the following morning.

So, I suppose, more specifically – I just don’t like putting on pants.  Inciting the tall dude to also remind me regularly to stay away from windows or make sure the blinds are closed. **

I can’t specifically place my finger on how this preference materialized—the nearest I can recall is that it all came about as a combined rebellious slash celebratory ***act of living aloneness.  The minute there was no roommate to judge – I’d slip through the door and out of work pants.  Like some people have a pair of rubber soled slippers near their door for quick jaunts outside, I had a pair of sweat pants.  My pants were shed with no trepidation because my only roommate was the fury dude and I didn’t have to worry about being judged for spending five hours in the kitchen for a dish that inspired a modest ‘egh’ or opting for sardines and popcorn for dinner.  He’d beg for scraps regardless of if I measured right, chilled long enough or had on pants.

 

And, while I look forward to crawling in bed with the tall dude, appreciate his ability to remove the battery from the smoke alarm without the assistance of a chair and love having someone to cook for – 

Sometimes, after a stressful day ,I need to remember what those days were like when I could leave my pile of clothes for another day, my dirty dishes to harden on the stove and curl up with my dinner, the fury dude and some Food Network.  

Sometimes, when the tall dude’s working excessively late, I need to pour myself an excessively large glass of wine, turn up Pandora and dance in the middle of the Kitchen.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling anxious, I need to take off my pants and cook …

And that's specifically how i cooked last night ...and made me some pineapple jerk chicken.

Paleo Jerk Pineapple Chicken
(Modified (barely) from Health-Bent)

GRAB IT

Leftover Bacon Fat (if you don’t have any leftover bacon fat, make some bacon … quick!)

1 large red onion, thinly sliced into half moons

1 fennel bulb, sliced

2 cloves of garlic

1/2 fresh pineapple, cut into bite-size chunks

2 bell peppers (any color), sliced into strips

A bunch of green onions – cut into ½ in slices

1 lb chicken breast, cut into bite-size chunks

¼ cup of water, broth, wine or cider

Handful of cheese and sour cream, to taste

Jerk Stuff:

1 teaspoon ground allspice

1 teaspoon ground cumin

1 teaspoon sugar  (the original recipe called for coconut sugar .. I have no idea what that is)

1/2 teaspoon ground sage

1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

salt and pepper, to taste

Do IT

Grab a bowl and combine the chicken with about 7/8 of the jerk seasoning and toss/shake to combine. Set aside to let the chicken marinate and come to room temperature. (This is a good time to hop in the shower and avoid putting your pants back on) 

In a large saute pan, heat a few tablespoons of fat over medium heat. Add in the onion, garlic, pineapple, fennel and the last little bit of the jerk seasoning you spared from the chicken. Occasionally stirring things around until the onions look soft and pineapple has started to develop a caramalized color – 15 minutes or so.

Add in the bell pepper strips and green onion and let them cook for a bit. – 7 minutes or so

Remove veggies to a bowl.

Add a few more tablespoons of fat to the pan, and crank up the heat to medium-high. Plop in the chicken. 

Don’t touch it or move it around, we want to develop a nice brown crust on the outside of the chicken. Once that’s happened, then, you’re allowed to flip it over to cook on the other side.

Once caramelized take your ¼ c of liquid and stir in quickly to deglaze the pan and get all those yumblies up.

 Let simmer for a minute or two, if necessary, to boil off the excess liquid 

Add the chicken to the onions, peppers and pineapple. Stir to combine.

.

Top with cheese and sourcream … love it!

*all things considered, that sounds like a misguided euphemism.

** Let’s reiterate here – tshirt and grunderpants, not brassiere and panties.

*** I chose to spelled out ‘slash’ so that you had to say it rather than just glossing over it and reading "rebellious celebratory" without the obligatory emphasis on the "slash"?

I'm not in a meeting - it's a reminder to check the new arrivals at Saks

If ever you decide to get married to a tall dude that you’re living with* and, one day, you look at each other and say, in perfect unison, ‘screw the standard wedding.  Let’s go alternative.’

There are some things you must consider…

If ever you think to yourself, ‘white dresses be damned, I want a kick-ass cocktail dress that I’ll wear again.’

Be warned …

If ever you , the tall dude, and your mother gather ‘round a dinner table with a bottle of wine** and noodle over the prospect of a backyard pig-roast complete with lawn games, mason jar glasses and aluminum buckets filled with ice and bottled cider.

You. Are. Toast.

As preliminary as these nuptial plans may be, my cup runeth over with things the whimsical ‘indie’ wedding blogs don’t tell you about these ‘alternative affairs:’

ONE

Most unmarried 28 year old girls have at least 20 years of imagining and refining their ideal wedding dress.  Whether or not they intend a traditional wedding, they all know if they prefer strapless or not, lace or silk, white or off-white – if they tell you they’ve never pondered these design option they are full of shit.  And with that – they’ve already narrowed down what they’re looking for at the service-heavy, item specific bridal stores.

OH!!!!! But how fun to have only started considering your ‘alternative’ dress a few months ago, have no design specification other than, ‘probably not white,’ and have access to no less than four constantly changing major department store websites, multiple boutiques and a suspected set of underground stores where my gem is probably hiding. 

Etsy makes me nervous because I’m convinced that someone else is finding a treasure, from which, I’m but one click away***.  The tall dude makes fun of my compulsive, year-round apartment searching even after we’ve just signed a lease.  I’ve learned to avoid overpacked sale racks because the potential of a missed deal is almost too much anxiety for me to overcome.

I am the epitome of ‘post purchase cognitive dissonance’ ****.  The prospect of buyer’s remorse makes me manic.

Now – find that ambiguously envisioned dress and picture yourself wearing it on the night where you, in a fit of genius delirium, decided to combine New Year’s Eve with, what some tout as, one of the most important days of your life.  And embrace the freedom that you can always return it if you find something better. Go ahead ... find your perfect dress and feel completely settled when you find one you’re happy with.

21 dresses later, you’re thinking, ‘Piss off, cocktail dress.’

TWO
 ‘What!?!?!?’ you think, ‘$2,000 just to reserve that hall in the Holiday Inn Atrium ??!?!  You’re outta your mind.  I’m just going to throw this party in my parents’ backyard.  That’ll show you, Excessive-Wedding-Spending god.’

That god is laughing his ass off.

Because, unless your parents have some sort of new-agey backyard that the Ruffled blog hasn’t profiled yet, your new wedding site is devoid of some necessities that somehow flew under the radar as this idea was materializing. Namely, little things, like:

a. Plumbing – until a few dozen cocktails are downed, people are NOT apt to drop trow and mark a tree … at least most people

b. Electricity – unless, of course, you want to run power strips and extension cords from the double outlet in the garage … I’m sure the neighborhood won’t mind if you blow out some transformer down the line

c. Standard structural elements – floor, walls, ceiling

d. Places to sit and eat that don’t pose a risk of grass stains, soggy bottoms and arthritic flair ups
 
Someone built that hall with years of experience building crap. You’re half building something in a backyard that needs to be taken away 24 hours later … maybe you should consult the Burning Man people.

MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST GET MARRIED AT BURNING MAN!!! (Careful Jenna, sarcasm doesn’t always translate and it’d be a shame to have to talk down the tall dude after you put that idea in his brain.)

Examples 1 and 2 seem like they’ll suffice for now … but trust me, they are but the tip of the ice berg.   And, while the project planner in me is excited at the prospect of spreadsheets full of color-coded schedules, assignments and ideas.  And the competitor in me can’t wait to pull off the blog ideas I’ve assembled.  And the meeting organizer in me looks forward to weekly dinner debriefs with the tall dude where he can sit and quietly thinking, ‘God!  Thank the lord she’s so good at this … I’m so impressed with the tenacity of my future wife.’

The nervous, neurotic mess in me needs to sit down, write this crap out and then laugh at the ridiculousness around the evolution of our ‘low budget, low maintenance’ wedding strategy.

*more specifically if you tell him that you will be husband and wife before the year’s end with or without a ring on your finger

** more like 3

*** I’m at a loss as to where that comma belongs … but my original sentence ended with ‘from’ and that made my guts hurt more than a misplaced comma.

**** I’m going to pretend that my four-year marketing degree made it simple to remember that term … and that Wikipedia isn’t a better source of education than a 500 person lecture.

The End of the Civil War Was Near, When Quite Accidentally

When I was little, Mumma-Jenna let us sleep downstairs occasionally on weekends and during the summer.  With three siblings (and the occasional injection of cousins) that simple allowance made it feel like we were being treated to an impromptu birthday party sleep-over – and instead of having 12 screaming kids over, my mom was treated to a ‘party’ of her own kids who were inherently terrified of the, ‘it takes a long time to build my trust back up ’ speech.

That simple allowance ALSO gave us a chance to pile into a single sleeping bag and “slide” down the stairs*; build elaborate, long-standing tents with blankets, brooms, yard sticks and mounds of books; and stay up late watching TV. 

Those. Were. The. Days.

Then, at some point our insistence died down;  we outgrew the sleeping bags and the tent assembly seemed too tedious for our waning interest and increasingly busy summers.  The impromptu ”weekend sleep over” appeal seemed to disintegrate at the same rate as did our set bed-times.

And while my mother likely mourned the gradual disappearance of her brood’s giddy, childish excitement, we, by no means, abandoned the notion of sleeping downstairs.  I remember at least one entire summer **when my brother and I partook in the benefits of watching nick-at-night for as late as we wanted without having to wake up blearly-eyed at bartime to stumble upstairs, brush our teeth and crawl into bed.  Our beds remained made and unused with the exception of the occasional determination by Mumma-Jenna that the late nights were growing excessive or an upcoming event had prompted an exceptionally intense round of cleaning.

My brother’s fortitude in late night tv is perfectly exemplified by his current ability to flawlessly recite the lyrics of the F-Troop theme song, where I’m just able to stumble through the words of Green Acres.  Luckily for the both of us, Get Smart was on early enough that we had just settled in and, even if dozing earlier in the evening, the transformation of couches to beds, teeth brushing and pajama changing meant we were wide awake and ready for the night to come.

“Luckily” because, in addition to Get Smart being an exemplar instance of pure television magic, we were both actively watching the fateful episode where Max walked away from a food vendor with a delicious looking hotdog  in hand.  “Luckily” because we both had the same thought and sprang into action nuking hot dogs in the microwave, preparing buns and taking out ketchup and mustard to adorn our brilliant late night snack.***

“Luckily” because that single event turned itself into a summer-long tradition – sometimes nuked, sometimes cold, sometimes carb-free or not – a hot dog with Get Smart became our popcorn with a movie.  Although we may have stopped pretending that we were at someone’s birthday party,  we had created a new tradition reminiscent of my favorite part of a trip to the ballpark.

Between Get Smart and, I swear, a genetic predisposition towards strange, processed meat-like foods ****, there was no chance for me to get out of a fairly profound propensity towards a good hot dog piled high with all kinds of garnish and condiments. 

And, not surprisingly, I recently had a craving for a good, solid chili cheese dog.  And this is how a paleo(ish) does a chili cheese dog... Or maybe it’s just how white trash does chili …

Hot Dog Chili with Jalepeno Slaw (modified from HealthBent.com)

Chili Ingredients*****

• 1 lb. ground chicken
• 1 package hot dogs, chopped
• 1 can Rotel tomatoes, chopped small (the original called to drain the tomatoes, I missed that)
• 1 c tomato sauce
• 2 chipolte peppers in adobe sauce, chopped finely
• 1 T garlic powder (originally 1 t)
• 1 T cumin powder (originally 1 t)

Jenna Adds:

• 1 crap-load of pepper – 10ish turns on the pepper mill
• 1 T of stock concentrate (if you drain your tomatoes, add ¼ ish C of water, too)
• Extra adobe sauce
• 3 T of tomato paste (because I had it)
• I sprinkled both servings with shredded cheese after I piled everything into a bowl.  Delish!

Slaw Ingredients

• 1 red cabbage, sliced thinly (The cabbage should quite small–weighing about 1 lb., you won’t need more than that)
• 1/2 c mayo
• 1/2 red onion, sliced
• 3 T pickled jalapenos, finely chopped (I had pickled banana peppers – that seemed to work)
• 5 T pickled jalapeno juice (Ditto)
• 1 T yellow mustard

I halved the recipe and had enough for the tall dude and I to have a fairly hefty serviing, and have about a half serving left for lunch today

DO IT

In a medium sauce pan, cook the ground meat all the way through and then add the cut up hot dogs. Throw the rest of the ingredients in the pot and let it simmer while you make the slaw.

For the slaw, get out a large bowl and add all the ingredients, except the cabbage, and whisk to combine. Add the cabbage to the slaw base and mix to combine.

To serve, place the chili on the bottom of the bowl, then add some slaw and top with whatever hot dog fixings you like. I added yellow mustard, the tall dude opted out.  

* though I’m convinced it had to have been closer to a tumble than a slide.

** or perhaps I’m muddying multiple summers into one single glorious three month span

*** I suspect mustard is my own liberty in recalling this story – I love the stuff now, but I’ve met very few youngins who appreciate this specific goo

**** read: hotdogs, bologna and, most painfully, a big ol slab of braunshwiegger

*****I literally had a jar of queso cheese and hormel chili in hand at the grocery store … and a devious plan in my brain.  I couldn’t bring myself to fill us with that much sold and ‘modified soy vegetable protein.’  *sigh*

God's Magic Baker

There are a lot of reasons why I’m convinced a semi-Paleo lifestyle is a better choice than any of my former dietary portfolios.  ‘Ease of baking’ is one of the less advertised advantages - and rightfully so, considering it spits in the face of most typical ‘why paleo?’ discussions *. 

That said, pretty much everything that I fail at in baking**is slightly less important in paleo treatery.  I suspect, and multiple scientific studies support my hypothesis, that measuring and timing factors become obsolete when magic occurs in your oven.  When I put nuts and eggs in a pan, there’s no other plausible explanation as to how bread comes out.  God himself enters your oven, sees your paleo treats and rewards you for this tedious undertaking – he can only nod approvingly at the similarities within a nuts:bread :: water:wine ACT question. ***

And evidence of this fact is only a single failure in paleo baking in almost 5 months of experimentation ****.  Naysayers like to point out that all of my recipes, with the exception of that single failure, are retrieved by my very favorite blog for treats and some very Jenna-esque ramblings - this one. 

Naysayers can kiss my butt.  God is all around … so is love according to Hugh Grant*****.  So that makes the entire statement true.

Unfortunately, where my treats are being looked after and sprinkled with fairy dust as they bake – the same luck isn’t applied to my ventures in the grocery store.  Medjool dates are laughably difficult to find and I swear I get a, ‘are you wunna dem strange hippies from da east side?’ look every time I ask about UNsweeteened coconut flakes.

That is, until I found the mecca for strange east side hipsters – Outpost.  For years I’ve complained about their laughable prices and reminisced about how their $14 log of marzipan sent me skidding to the Whole Foods in a snow storm ******.  And while their prices still remain absurd, they reeled me in with one word.  Bulk.  Then five more.  Medjool Dates and Unsweetened coconut.

And then came the fateful day that I decided we were eating too much junk food******.

There my lovely new ingredients sat … waiting for their time.  Sing-songedly chanting, ‘jenna, you know that goo you tried to make with regular old Sunkist dates??  I can redeem that goo into something unforgettable.’

Pint after pint of Purple Door Icecream, I remained steadfast in my resolve to banish treats from the house.  Cheat day donut after cheat day candy bar, I thought it ridiculous to have a go at a junk food “wanna-be” when the real thing was in my grasp.  Even the hypocrisy of evenings full of sugary sweet cider couldn’t incite even the tiniest waiver in my decree.

Until, that is, mumma Jenna announced that she was making Juli’s Fudge for our north woods labor day retreat.  And, somehow, my beliefs were muddied and my resolve diminished.  Vanilla Bean Carmelitas here I come.

Vanilla Bean Carmelitas – a PaleOMG recipe

FYI – I’m prepping and making this jazz at the cottage … recipe is modified as such

CRUST

1 c of almond butter (or 1.5ish cups of almonds, turned into almond butter.)*********

¼ c unsweetened shredded coconut (or, you know, however much you accidently throw in the bowl)

2 eggs

1 T cinnamon

½ t baking soda

½ t baking powder

Pinch of salt

TOPPING

12 dates

5 tablespoons canned coconut milk

3 tablespoons water

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 vanilla bean pod, cut in half lengthwise, seeds scraped out with a knife

1 cup roasted, unsalted cashews

1/4 cup unsweetened shredded coconut

2 tablespoons raw honey

1 tablespoon cinnamon

pinch of salt

1/2 cup dark chocolate chips

Instructions

1.     Place dates in a bowl of water to soak and soften for 30 minutes.

2.     While your dates soak, make your almond butter (if necessary) than plunk everything but the eggs in a tupperware container.

3.     Seal and ‘fridgerate.

4.     De-pit your dates and toss ‘em in the food processor and pulse until dates have broken down  - if your food processor is anything like mine, it’ll do a little dance and make a little noise.

5.     Then add your coconut milk tablespoon by tablespoon to the dates while the food processor is still running. Then add your water as well.

6.     Add your vanilla extract, cinnamon, vanilla beans, and pinch of salt and mix together. Food process for 30 seconds – 1 minute.

7.     Once the caramel is done in the food processor, use a spoon to scoop it out and place in a new Tupperware container.

8.     Pulse your cashews until they’re crunched up. Then add your shredded coconut, honey, cinnamon, and a pinch of salt and pulse down once more.

9.     Once everything has begun to combine, use a spoon to scoop out of the food processor, place in the same container with your caramel. 

Note:  Mixing probably isn’t necessary – but if the mood strikes you, and your Tupperware container is too small because you didn’t read the recipe to know that you were putting two things into the bowl, your finger makes an excellent poking device … and it’s never a disappointment when you have to lick ‘em clean.

It DOES strangely resemble puke.  I apologize.

10.  Fridgerate that too.

11.  Put something you need to bring with you tomorrow in the fridge with your Tupperware, eggs and chocolate chips.  I apologize if you spend 15 minutes running around trying to think where you put said item – but you won’t forget your treat ingredients!!

Tucked away and ready to go to Nanna's!

* ooooooo .. so just cuz they’re paleo doesn’t mean I can eat the entire plate of brownies?

** accurate measuring, using measuring utensils, timing, not eating all of the batter before I put the cake in the oven …

*** How many times must I compare miracles performed by God’s only son to my own kitchen ventures before I am irrefutably banished to hell?

****I should have known that a paleo blogger who decides eggs aren’t necessary in his chocolate chip cookies is probably not a blogger my parents would be keen on my being friends with.

*****yes, an allusion to Love Actually.  And yes, I know that quote is not an original Hugh Grant.

******oh petite fores – how I rue the day you entered my life!!!

*******see how wifey I am already – deciding by myself the errors in our lifestyle and rectifying them as I see fit.

********it really is amazing that I didn’t end up some slutty, drug-crazed thief in college with a mind as malleable as mine.

*********you fools eating natural peanut butter garbage.  At some point I convinced myself that I preferred the unsweetened variety of peanut butter.  That was about the same time I through light ranch tasted like the real thing ... or maybe the time I thought vegan lunch meat tasted OK.  Spend the extra $2 bucks and actually ENJOY unsweetened almond butter.  It will change your life … and you will lick out the food processor bowl, if you make it yourself, like the fury dude going at the Styrofoam containers that held your raw steak.

You'd never guess I had an extra 3 or 4 TBS of almond butter, would ya?

 

I'd be back.

... good thing I never did cuz otherwise you'd have missed me.

You know that time you decided to go to your cousin’s wedding in Minnesota and drunkenly agreed to carpool with her best friend? Who* you’ve never met but didn’t seem so bad with 3 cocktails and 4 shots of whiskey in both your bellies?  And then as soon as you get in the car and you get through the 5 minutes of laughs, you realize you’ve run out of things to say?

That’s what we’re going with. I decided that listening to ‘Click and Clack’ and figuring out what’s causing that annoying clinking in Betty Sue’s 2007 Nissan was a better option than forced, unwitty banter.

And, while , that’s partially true.  It’s mostly not.  

 If I were being self deprecating, I’d say I’m lazy and I throw myself too heavily into little projects and then grow bored when they don’t show immediate results.

But now, I’m turning down NPR** and talking your ear off.  Because, quite frankly, things are different.

       a)      I’m, again, one of those fools that is buying into the schpeel that gluten’s bad for you – and that high fructose corn syrup, dairy, other grains and beans ain’t so great either.  Right now, I’m gnawing on a fatty salad of steak, cabbage, toasted almonds, caramelized onions, avocado, a slew of veggies and some random dressing I whipped up.  Beware, I’m definitely going to try to convince you that my cauliflower mashed potatoes taste like the real thing. 

 

       b)      I’m a future bride. And if you’ve ever been around me when event planning opportunities arise, you’ll know this is pretty much on my brain non-stop.  ‘Oh, but it’s a year away,’ you say, smugly.  “OH!” I respond, “Somehow a slab of undercooked steak ended up on you face.”***.  E*f you – I’m going to start thinking about centerpieces and guests lists with or without your support.  And since the tall dude is actively seeking a role as, ‘tell me what we’re doing, don’t make me guess what you’re thinking’ groom, I’m sure wedding talk will abound.

      c)       I’m newly a student.  Some folks like to pretend that being in school makes you busier.  If history holds any truth in my tenaciousness as a student – the closer a final looms, the more likely I’ll be looking for late night movies, impromptu games of Pictionary and new blog entries to write.

You know the office episode where they talk about the perfect storm?  Or the actual movie, that I’ve never seen?  Well, this is it.  Let’s talk about my life.