How many friends do I need to help me make dinner? Three.
A few weeks ago, Jean mentioned Goya Bitter Orange marinade. Since Canada Dry Bitter Lemon is my FAVORITE soft drink on the planet, I was really receptive to the idea of Bitter Orange anything.
Goya is a pretty common brand around here. So I went to WallyWorld. They didn't carry it. Grrr. I went to my local grocery. THEY didn't have it!! Whhaaa???? No Goya in East Cupcake? I could not believe it.
That's when I got serious. I asked Enid, because I know she goes for Latin specialties in a big way. She said HER local grocer had it. Michelle got wind of my search, and she checked her grocery. She could get it too. Mind you, we all shop at the same chain, and live within 50 miles of each other.
Today, I went to Lackland. They had a LOT of Goya, but still no Bitter Orange. I found Mojo Criollo, which is orange, lemon, garlic and onion. Sounded pretty good to me. On the way home, I stopped into a different branch of my local grocer. Finally, Bitter Orange. I called DH, and told him to pull a package of chicken out of the freezer. I got home, tossed a coin, and put the chicken in Mojo Criollo for about 40 minutes, then sauteed it.
It was delicious. Not too spicy, no cilantro (DH is such a cilantro whiner), not too salty, not too hot.
I'm happy to wander the Asian aisle. The Brits-well, they just aren't know for more than Worchestershire and tea, so there wasn't a whole lot to build on from my dad's side. I understand what DH's Italian food needs to taste like, and I learned a lot living in Germany. I've walked past the Goya displays for years! And it tastes THAT good?
Today, my friends helped me out of a culinary closet!
I think I've figured out an optimal dosage of tapazole. It's far, far, far from the 15 mg the VA quack put me on.
I'm trying to eat better. A few weeks ago I tried quinoa salad. It was pretty good, so I tromped thru Whole Foods looking for quinoa. I found the flakes, and thought "oh, I'll try these." I cracked open the cereal this morning, and made it according to directions. Ugghhh. I think if you peeled and pureed zucchini, it would taste just like this. I like zucchini a lot. But not for breakfast. So this might end up in meatloaf. Or somewhere other than my cereal bowl.
I've had some trouble at the grocery lately. Sunday, I went to the grocery, and parked in the same area I've been parking in for the past 12 years. The driver's door faced the street. I ran in and got my stuffs, and a big ole bag of old lady dog food, came back out, and threw it in the back. I didn't see that someone tried to break into my car. They tried to pop the lock on the passenger side. Aside from feeling a little vulnerable, I am pissed. The repair estimate is 300.00, for no good reason, just because someone thought they were going to paw thru a pile of road-maps and a bag of bras I have to take back to Ross Dress for Less. That would have been a winning haul for a thief, don'tcha think?
I've been working on DD's cape here and there. Still making progress on it. Don't know that it's going to get done in time for her birthday, which is next week. Why? Because I have been working on knitting-that-must-not-be-named swatches.
I got a wild hair this weekend. The dye-go-round has been spinning around and around, going faster and faster. There's a lot of grey these days. I decided to fake it out. I decided I should frost my hair in an effort to hide the grey. DH and I sat down in front of a movie yesterday afternoon, and he made fun of me "She's got a hemmet on!" and pulled my hair thru a frosting cap. Meh. It hides the grey nicely. I just don't look good with light hair. Never have, and I figured that out in high school, where a Clairol hair-painting experience had me sobbing in the bathroom. Nothing's changed, I am just better as a brunette.
As my hair dried, the phone rang. Guess what? It was the orchestrator of my highlighted experience in high school. I hadn't talked to her in fourteen years. Not because of hair, just because that's how life is.
It's funny talking to someone you've known that long. "Did you really think your husband and his brother had the same daddy?" "When did you figure out you needed to get the hell out of that marriage?" "How many grandkids do you have?"
Holy shit, we could write a book. Life turns on a dime, and I understand the bumps in the road that got her there. And she knows mine. How there's no way you could date the guy next door in high school (EEEEWWWWW!!!!) and how you felt when so and so died, and the other rabid dust bunnies we kicked under the bed years ago. The ones that creep out and attack, the ones that need to stay there because the damage they could cause is unimaginable.
It was like finding your favorite pair of shoes, the old ones buried in the bottom of the closet. Comforting.
The exact opposite of standing in front of the mirror, understanding your hair looks good, but would look much better....on someone else. And that the idea was another rabid dust bunny that should have stayed under the bed.