Homemade Spaghetti O’s: The Sequel

Rather than be beaten down by my latest kitchen catastrophe, tonight I made a second attempt at making Homemade Spaghetti-O’s. Every sequel is better than the original, right? So my attempt today had to turn out better than my first.

You will be happy to know that it went much better this time (If you missed this post and didn’t notice the aftershock effects that originated from my kitchen, you can read my account here).

So… HERE is how to make Homemade Spaghetti’O's without causing self-induced trauma (adapted from the America’s Test Kitchen Healthy Family Cookbook).

First, combine 8 oz ground turkey, 2 Tbsp fresh chopped basil (2 tsp dry basil), 2 Tbsp olive oil, 1/4 cup grated parmesean, and 3 Tbsp dried breadcrumbs. And a bit of salt and pepper, to taste.

Kidding. Please don’t taste the raw meat.  Ick.

Pinch the meat into little bitty meatballs, put them on a plate or in a pan, cover and put them in the fridge while you whip everything else up.

Heat a couple tablespoons olive oil in a large pot or dutch oven over medium heat.

While that’s heating, coarsly chop 1 onion and 1 medium carrot:

Refill your fancy olive oil bottle.

Clean up the olive oil you dribbled all over your fancy bottle and counter.

*sigh*

Remove the battery from the smoke detector. Temporarily.

Dump veggies into smoking oil and cook until softened and onions start to brown, about 5 minutes.

One lump or two?

Two??? C’mon, people, this is hearty Italian Spaghetti-O’s we’re making! At least four cloves, please!

Thank you!

Cook for another minute, then add 1 28 oz. can diced tomatoes (juice and all) and 2 1/2 cups chicken broth. Bring to a simmer, then reduce to medium-low, cover, and let cook for another 15-20 minutes so that carrots can further soften.

Now, here is where it got messy for me last time. Hot liquid. Full Blender. Empty stomach that couldn’t wait for it to cool.

This time, I planned ahead.

Let the liquid cool for a little bit. Just enough so that it won’t burn you if a mini-catastrophe might occur.

Assemble all of the clean towels in your household. Just in case.

Hunt down the most patient person you know. In my case, Tyler.

Have them blend it for you:

1/3 at a time, stating on low speed (DO NOT PULSE!), removing the middle plastic top thing-y so that some of the steam can escape in order to prevent pressure build-up.

Cheer and fist-bump your blending-buddy for successfully blending your Spaghetti-O’s without any explosions!!!

Or, if this experience was more akin to my first attempt at making Spaghetti-O’s, comfort your patient husband or friend and kindly counsel them through the trauma while you clean the mess up for them.

Pour the blended mixture back into your freshly cleaned pot, bring to a simmer at medium heat and dump in meatballs and 1 cup of ditalini.

Or, if you prefer, alphabet pasta.

Which I do prefer, thank you very much.

Cook for 12 minutes, covered over medium heat, until pasta is al dente and meatballs are cooked through.

Finish with salt and pepper, a little brown sugar for some sweetness, parmesean, and a little basil, if so desired.

Make your husband suffer from hunger while you fiddle around with the camera to try to get some pretty food-pictures.

Scold your husband for leaving his watch and cell phone on the table right where you needed to take food-pictures. Darn hunger. Next time I’ll get started a little earlier so I can notice things like clutter in the background.

Apologize for scolding him and thank him profusely for helping out and for being SO patient during the 3 hours it took to make the Spaghetti-O’s, photograph them, and blog about them (Kidding, I didn’t really scold him or make him wait while I blogged about it. But taking pictures definitely did slow the process down a bit. How does the Pioneer Woman do it???).

*sigh*

And finallly, let the nostalgia sink in as you melt into your favorite cozy chair and savor the sweet flavors from your favorite childhood food. Mmmm.

And that, my friends, is how homemade Spaghetti O’s should be.

A Lesson in Home-making

Two posts in one day? Why ever would you do that? you ask?

Well… I learned an important lesson today, and I felt compelled to share it with you.

It all started when I signed my post “time to go make dinner” or some other lame food-related excuse for ending a blog post.

I began getting ingredients around to make meatloaf for Tyler. Not being a huge fan of meatloaf myself, I also started assembling a homemade spaghetti O’s soup for myself after having seen a picture of it in my America’s Test Kitchen Healthy Family Recipes Cookbook. So I turned the oven on for Tyler’s meatloaf.

The smoke detector works, in case you were wondering.

Huh? What??? Sorry, I can’t hear you, you’ll have to speak up.

I think I lost 70% of my hearing just trying to figure out how to turn the darn thing off.

And then turning it off again.

And again.

And again.

And finally figuring out how to take the battery out of the stupid thing.

Pardon my language.

*SIGH*

AND THEN, as if that wasn’t annoying enough, I dropped an egg!!! Icky bacterial sliminess all over the kitchen counter, down the cabinets and on the floor.

Really? *sigh*

AND THEN I ran out of Lysol wipes! Me and Lysol wipes are co-dependents. Lysol would go out of business if it weren’t for me and I would go out of my mind if it weren’t for Lysol wipes. It’s not that I’m officially OCD. Just about raw meat and egg.

Unless it’s egg in cookie dough or brownie batter. Sugar and chocolate magically melt the bacteria away.

*clearing throat*

Anyway… why am I covered in tomatoes, you ask?

Well, it could be because I decided to have a food fight with my imaginary friend George.

Or, it could be because I got sprayed by a skunk on my way out to get the mail today.

Or, it could be my new home remedy spa therapy I was reading about last week.

But, sad to say, it is none of those things. It is my dinner. My homemade spaghetti O goodness. “Pour the [boiling hot] soup in a blender to puree carrots, onion, and tomatoes.” 

Hmmm I think to myself.  This blender sure is awfully full. Maybe I better pulse it, just in case it ends up starting to come out.

“Start to come out”? Phh, yeah, right. Try EXPLODE. In .0001 seconds, my kitchen became a major disaster area spread 3 feet wide, 2 feet deep, and 5 feet high. My counters, cabinets, blender, wall, floor, picture frame, vase, knives, knife block, refridgerator, and clothing all became victims of this tragic disaster.

Oh, and my appetite, I might add. Because splashes of messy, chunky tomato soup were splattered everywhere, creepily reminiscient of (vomit) <— highlight between the parenthesis if you’re not planning on eating anytime soon.

So, after weeping and throwing things and calling in FEMA, I tended to my scalded hand and proceeded to clean things up.

Round Two.

Oh yesss, friends. There was a Round Two.

Round Two commenced with me pouring out half of the soup, clearing the counters of anything other than the blender, and placing a towel over the blender lid.

Repeat results in smaller scale.

*weeping*

Really???

So here I am… spaghetti-O-less and soggy and delirious.

*sigh*

I just don’t know what to do next… the cereal calls me from the pantry. My magical comfort food that soothes my every sorrow.

Will I ever finish the soup???

(*Deeper, news-reporter voice*) Will the tomatoes come out of my clothes?

Will I crack if Tyler comes home and asks me what I did all day?

Tune in again next time to find the answers to all these questions and more on

CHEYENNE’S HOMEMAKING DISASTERS!

Home Sweet Home

I am now several books into my reading list for 2011, and this past week I was reading a children’s book in which a pig could fly.

If you will recall, in my last post I politely dismissed myself from all internet participation with the parting words of, “Until pigs fly   wireless.” Well, the flying pig in my book must have been a sign, a special  message from cyberspace telling me I am missed among the masses, because Tyler exhausted his resources and found a Verison “Hot Spot” contraption that has renewed our connection to the outside world.

No more roughin’ it for me, folks. Other than the whole no-dishwasher-thing. Which really hasn’t been too bad.

Yet.

So now we are paying the same we used to with AT&T, instead of double that like Hughes Net was trying to charge us. Our internet is a little slower and doesn’t load video very well, but that’s what McDonald’s is for, right?

Anyway, all that is to say…

I HAVE RETURNED!!!

And so I sit here on our couch in OUR living room of OUR HOUSE, basking in the sunlight pouring in through OUR window, gazing every so often at OUR trees and the beautiful shadows they cast on the otherwise sparkly snow in OUR yard.

*sigh*

Can you tell I am happy and at home here??? Because in case you missed that, I AM.

Please pardon a little nostalgia for a short bit while I gush over our cozy little home. First-time home-buyers, remember.

*clearing throat*

A house is so significant because it represents so many different things in life. First, because it’s a major purchase. You don’t spend that many thousands of dollars every day (At least I don’t, but I don’t know about you). It’s a pretty big deal.

It represents planting roots, establishing (semi)permanence in a community where you plan to live and work and grow.

And then I think about the memories that will be shared here. The joy, work, growth, love and healing that will all take place inside these walls. So much potential lies in what we make of this house.

My tendency is to get caught up in the aesthetics of the house. Straightening this, hiding away that, purchasing another thing to tie the room together. While all of that is fine to put effort into, my prayer is that I never neglect the purpose God has for the house in place of the appearance.

It’s the age-old Mary vs Martha mentality that really can be applied to any area of life.

I can go to church, and participate in every activity and volunteer for multiple church needs, but still not be accomplishing God’s purpose for me in the church. Sometimes it’s actually harder to be a brother or sister in Christ to an individual in need than it is to lead a group of enthusiastic youth in worship. It can require un-planned time, emotional vulnerablity, and honesty — none of which are easy to give.

I can get my morning routine down to a solid 30-minutes —  makeup on, hair in place, and finished with jewelry. But –

If I am constantly checking myself out in the mirror throughout the day, instead of checking that my attitude is reflecting Christ.

If I am more concerned that every outfit I own makes me look fat instead of concerned for my friend who is telling me about her recent struggles.

If I am more worried about what the weather will do to my hair than how homeless people will stay warm tonight –

I am missing so much of God’s purpose for me.

Likewise, I can miss seeing God’s purpose for me when I am too focused on maintaining an appearance of control and order and kindness: When I ask Tyler about his day, but don’t actually listen to his answer. When I tell someone I’ll pray for them, but hardly give a thought to their request again. When I let timidity rule my life because I am afraid of changing the dynamics of that relationship.

I really could go on and on, as I really have already done. But all of this is to say that as much of a blessing as this house is to us, my hope is that it would be a blessing to others as well.

Kind of sounds like a carte blanche invitation doesn’t it? Why not? Party at our place!!!  If you can make it over here and out by the time Tyler gets home…

No? Oh, well, okay, maybe some other time. Meanwhile I will just post a few pictures I’ve been getting hounded for…

OUR House

______________________________________________

OUR Kitchen

_________________________________________________

OUR Living Room

___________________________________________________

OUR Bedroom

_________________________________________________

 

A picture from OUR Front Yard 

*happy sigh*

Alright… time to go make dinner.

Plastic Cling Wrap Rap

Plastic Cling Wrap,

Why do you only stick to certain glass,

Or cer-a-mic,

Fan-tas-tic,

Won’t stick to plastic.

Every time I pull you out,

I wanna shout,

You will not rip or grip.

Give me a solution,

or you’ll get a contusion,

Please co-oper-ate, accomodate,

The food on my plate,

That needs to refridgerate,

To be ate on another date.

Why ya gotta be so moody? So choosey?

I just really wanna use ye,

You could be,

So sweet,

If you would cling to everything like a new fiancee to her ring,

I’m done singin,

Or rappin,

Don’t write back,

Til you live up to your name,

Instead of playin this same ol’ game with me,

Just sayin’

It’s not funny, give me back my money,

Or else I won’t stop rappin’,

About you, Plastic Cling Wrap.

Priceless

Well, now that we have selected a house and are in the process of purchasing it, I think it’s high time we do some shopping, don’t you?

First things first: getting a dishwasher into that kitchen. Becuase seriously, who can survive without a dishwasher?

Ok, ok… who can contentedly survive without a dishwasher? Tyler thought that rubber gloves would do. And although these are cute:

(from etsy) I just don’t think they will hold up against the messes for long.

Or maybe it’s just that I don’t think I will hold up against the messes for long.

So here’s the plan, Stan: we remove some cabinets to install a REAL dishwasher. Estimated cost: $1000.

But then we will have reduced our kitchen cabinetry space by 20%… so we get an island which not only adds cabinet space, but counter space too! Tyler said he’d like to try building it. Which is fine with me if he can do it. I think some version of this (sans sink) would be nice:

I don’t know if that’s possible, and I’m sure that this particular island is granite. So maybe we could just use laminate or something. Estimated cost: $500 (maybe cheaper if we can reuse the cabinets we would knock out for the dishwasher).

But then I was thinking about it and a dishwasher is usually only 24 inches, which means that’s about how much cabinetry we would be making into an island… which makes for a pretty dinky little island. Like Mackinak Island compared to Austrailia.

Ok, maybe not quite. Sorry, I do have a tendency to exaggerate.

You get the picture though, right? And if you’ve never heard of Mackinak… yeah, it’s that little.

But then there’s the problem of not having space in the kitchen for a table and an island, even if we manage to build an island like the one in the previous picture. I mean, I love the breakfast bar, but it’s just not practical for having family dinners. At the most you could fit 3 and they had better be positioned correctly if there are any lefties, because there would be no bumping elbows at this bar. You’d just be tightly wedged next to each other and forced to lean over and eat like a dog.

Not happenin in my kitchen. So should we go with this plan, Lefties, BEWARE! 

Or….

  We could get a breakfast nook! I LOVE breakfast nooks! What do you think of this one?

Don’t they look so inviting? I think I would want to buy/make (????!!!) some padding for the seats so that it would be more comfortable for everyone. (The question marks and exclamation points elude to the fact that I am a TERRIBLE seamstress and would probably need some hands-on mentorship for any kind of project that I had any sort of standard for. I can cut up an old shirt and make one mean rag… but give me a needle and all I know is poking people). Estimated cost of breakfst nook: $1000 (for a good one).

But then, we could go in another direction that might actually be more practical and affordable. I found this online yesterday:

Nice, right? Love the cupboards, the size, the spacious overhang on 3/4 sides, and the raised tiled top that could definitely be used as counter space for food prep! The island itself costs $750, with the bar stools, $1135. But I feel like we could find barstools for cheaper somewhere and paint them black. If we did this, we would still really only have space for 4. But I think that would be okay for a while. It’s bad, but we don’t actually eat at the table much anyway.

So… Dishwasher/Island/Nook = $2500.

Dishwasher/Island = $1750. 

What’s that you say???

You say I am getting ahead of myself again??? Me? The Planner-who-planned-on-being-in-a-house-by-Thanksgiving-and-is-right-so-far? The Planner-who-has-a-timeline-for-the-next-fifteen-years?

Oh… I see your point.

But let me just say this: in all of my crazy planning and scheming, I understand that more than anything, I am thankful for NOW. God is so good to us, and as long as we are in the center of His will, “now” is better than any of my proposed “then’s.” Even if “now” becomes more months in this apartment because the house inspection falls through. Sure, sometimes “now” is more easy to appreciate when life is going well. But being here in “now” with Tyler, and looking together towards the Lord for guidance and provision… that is priceless.

Remember Me?

Hi friends! Remember me???

No? Well, why ever not?

Oh… because I’ve been mute for so long you say?

Alright, alright, it’s true. So sorry for the long break from blogging. It was unintentional, I promise.

But to refresh your memory: *clearing throat*

Hi, my name is Cheyenne and I am a tall cereal addict who destroys kitchen gadgets,  sheds hair like an English sheep dog, and has a bird phobia.

There, now that we all know each other (Well, actually, now that YOU know ME), let’s move on to more important matters.

Like what I did last week. I promise to spare you all the dry details and hum-drum.

Last week I was making dinner, chicken something or other to be exact. Well, maybe not so exact, but last week was a long time ago. And after trimming the chicken of the icky fat, I took off my latex glove –

Oh, sorry, did I confuse you? What, you don’t use latex gloves when touching raw meat? GROSS! What kind of person ARE you???

Actually, I use one glove, so long as I am careful that my un-gloved hand only cuts the chicken with the knife and doesn’t get involved in any of the messy bacteria-infested business.

*clearing throat* So as I was saying…

I took my glove off and threw it away and pulled out the Lysol wipes to wipe off the cutting board and my knife before putting them in the dishwasher (because you don’t want them to contaminate the dishwasher. Or the sink, espeically). As I ran my wipe down the blade of the knife, suddenly I felt a sharp sting…

ACK!!! I JUST CUT MY FINGER WITH A BACTERIA-LADEN KNIFE!!!!

And what did I do next? Well, me being the smart person who works with blood every day and knows just how to stop someone from bleeding…

I dropped the knife and the wipe and lunged for the sink and soap and thoroughly scrubbed the cut as well as I could until it felt like every lil’ bacteria bug was out. And it kept bleeding.

And bleeding.

And bleeding.

And then I remembered… Oh yeah, if I want it to stop bleeding I should put pressure on it. So I grabbed a papertowel, wadded it up, and taped it around my finger.

Shooo.

And THAT, my friends, is why from now on, I shall only ever clean my raw-chicken, bacteria-infested knife while wearing industrial-strength dish-washing gloves.

Ok, ok, you caught me, I don’t even know if there is such a thing. But “industrial-strength” just always makes everything sound so impressive.

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout…

Or in my case, the shower wall. Normally, I would be kind of freaked out by spiders. Those big hairy black ones that move so fast — Yikes!!! Those ones I enlist my brave hubby to take care of. But this lil guy just seems so nice and reclusive. No pun intended.

What am I talking about? Of course the pun was intended. C’mon you should know that by now.

I was taking my shower two mornings ago and I hadn’t put my contacts in yet. While I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair I looked up and saw a fuzzy little hair clump hanging from the ceiling where it meets the wall. Once the suds were out, I reached up to grab the fuzz to put it in it’s proper shower wall-spot so I wouldn’t miss it when I wiped the hair off the wall after my shower. Only, this fuzz moved!!!

I squinted my eyes, trying to focus on this little blur that suddenly got skitterish and realized it was a spider! “Ick” was my first reaction. But I decided to leave him there and hope he would go away and crawl down the water spout, never to be seen again.

That was not the case. The next morning, there he was again. I’m not sure if I had gotten a good night’s rest or what, but I must have been in a particularly charitable mood, because I decided I would keep him. And by keep him, I mean let him live in our shower.

So this morning during my shower I was trying to figure out a name for my new pet shower spider. The first name that came to be was George, but then I thought about it and wondered what people might think if I told them I saw George in the shower this morning. Thank goodness I don’t know any other Georges!

So then I thought Harry, because that was originally what I thought he was — hair. But I ruled that out for the same reason as George and decided I had to figure out a more suitable pet-like name.

Pooh came to mind as a nickname for “Shampoo.” (Fun fact for you: for the longest time I thought Shamu from Sea World was actually “Shampoo.” I should add this to my list of words I have been accused of saying incorrectly). But I think people would still raise eyebrows if I told them Pooh was in the shower.

So I decided on Bubbles. Bubbles the Shower Spider.

Oh, by the way, my husband just informed me a “water spout” is actually eaves trough. Huh… who knew? Apparently he did I guess.

Another Hairy Day

Recently something has come to my attention… something I have been dreading, aware of the inevitable fate looming in the distance, unsure of just how distant that fate was and how much longer I had before I would have to face reality.

Friends, it has come to my attention that the shower drain is stopped up.

And we all know what that means.

Yeesh!

And on top of that, the vaccuum cleaner brush has a tightly woven hair-coating too. Ick!

So as soon as I am done here, I must rummage around for a wire hangar and (with my brute strength) form it into a shower de-clogging tool and purge the nasty hair monster from our drain!!! Whaaa haa haa haaaaa!!!

Ok, so maybe I am slightly embelishing the true rush of excitement pulsing through my veins.

Or dramatically embelishing. I’ll let you figure it out.

Yes, indeed, my life is glamorous, let me tell ya.

Why, just the other day, my dear hubby recommended that I wear a shower cap when I’m inside so that I don’t shed so much. Apparently he was shocked that my hair could embed itself into the threading of our big comfy chair.

I dunno how it did it. I promise I don’t sit around all zen-like, trying to invent ways to become one with our home. I mean, our apartment’s nice and all. But I really don’t feel the need to bond with it.

And while I would appreciate not having to wipe the bathroom counter off every time I go in the bathroom and not having to pick hairs out of the clean laundry and I would really REALLY appreciate not having to saw off the thick  coating of hair that gets wrapped around the vaccuum brush, I would still have to wash my hair and thus clean out the shower drain. So all things being considered, wearing a shower cap is just not worth it to me.

And I really think Tyler would get kind of sick of it too. I mean, shower caps can be kinda noisy and not the least bit attractive (please forgive me if I am offending anyone).

So I decided to take the plunge and cut my hair off!

Okay, not really “off.” But I would say I got a good 8 inches cut! I actually didn’t intend on going that short. But you know how haircuts go. They just never look like the picture do they?

But I actually like it. And, hey, I think my hair is probably 1/3 shorter now, so that means 1/3 less hair to shed, right?

And 1/3 more time before the next time I need to unclog the shower drain and saw the hair off of the vaccuum brush. Right???

I don’t hear a very affirmative response from you, thank you very much.

Ho-hum… guess I better just get to it then.

Friends, if this is the last time you hear from me, you will know I struck down and defeated by the Hairy Shower Monster and the Fuzzy Vaccum Fiend. But just know that I will not go down without a fight.

To the death!!!