Tales from Goshen: November 2008

On top of the maladies of pink eye and common cold which have been plaguing our clan the past few weeks, last night as I was easing my weary body into a scalding bath, I noticed some odd bumps dotting my calves. No, not my baby cows. My LEGS!

Upon closer examination, I identified the bumps as a rash. Well, hop on board! Let there be no end to the problems we're having! Throw in a pox while we're at it!

There was also a rashy patch on my inner right wrist. How weird. Now, I am prone to rashes. I have extremely sensitive skin and have always had to exercise extreme caution when applying new lotions, creams, makeup, etc. I have broken out in hives many, many times. So cautious am I that I rarely DO try new stuff. I've never had a facial for fear of walking out looking like the elephant man, instead of rejuvanated, fresh and dewy.

I racked my brain trying to think of an instance where I could have exposed just my lower legs and inner wrist to something that I could be allergic to. Nada. Complete blank. Then, it occurred to me. Right before Bible study on Wednesday night, Kyle and I had gone to the gym (Week 3 of P90X) to do shoulders and arms and I had noticed my pasty, white legs looking awfully flaky. Winter dry skin has reared its scaly head. I made a mental note to borrow some lotion from my mom prior to starting the lesson. I had about 2 minutes to do this as I dashed in the house, handed off my bebe's to her, scrounged for about half a second in her bathroom cabinets for some lotion, slathered it on my lower legs and scrambled down the stairs to co-lead the night's study. (Topic: Islam).

Since I knew I'd be doing a long, sweaty yoga workout on Thursday, I decided to forego a shower after Bible study Wed night. I was also just tired. So, my first real look at my legs was as they were lowering themselves into the steaming bath I'd just prepared. And the rash.

Adding that to my red, running nose, my dry skin, my chapped lips and my pinkish eyes, I look just about gorgeous right now. Truly beautiful.

After our workout tonite (legs and back), Kyle and I ran by my mom and dad's to borrow a movie. Dinner was all worked out - I'd thrown veggies and some stew meat into my crockpot at about 10 am and it should all be just about ready to dig into by the time we got home. Perfect for a cold fall night.

As I lounged against the door frame to the "toy room" at my mom's, watching my dad and brother Michael play monster with Brooklyn, I was lamenting to my mom my new ailment. That, and telling her about August's NEW bout of pink eye. Oh yes. 24/7 fun on Goshen. My mom expressed surprise that I had had an allergic reaction to her lotion, but then she knows my sensitive skin. She just asked, oh, which one did you use?

I opened the cabinet in her bathroom, glanced around, spotted the one I'd used Wednesday night, held it up in my hand....and as I did, noticed what it was. Cucumber Melon Body Wash.

I had slathered body wash on my legs and left it there for about 24 hours. No wonder I had a rash. As my voice trailed off and the lightbulb went off in my head, the entire room erupted in laughter. Ah, well, I guess I deserved that, I thought, as my hand trailed to scratch my itchy calf. At least the mystery is solved.

Fridge Familiarity

7:40 PM

I have a theory that the intimacy or closeness of a relationship is directly proportional to the level of your familiarity with an individual's refrigerator.

This is one of the many random thoughts that popped into my head the other night as I lay with my head on my pillow, waiting for my thoughts to quiet down enough so I could fall asleep. This is the type of thought that often pops into my head when I'm trying to sleep. I even have a notebook beside my bed just for instances where the thought happens to be something profound. However, I rarely have a pen attached to that notebook, thereby rendering the notebook almost pointless. That, and the little fact that I never have my contacts in when these thoughts start rumbling, and will be forced to hold the little notebook and pen directly against my nose in order to see my writings. Or ramblings. But it is there just in case.

So back to my theory. I'm really quite sure about this one. And I'm not sure why it's so, but it seems to be. For some reason, there's something kind of intimate about the insides of a person's refrigerator. It's rather telling. Is it filled with junk food? Is it empty? Stacked with takeout boxes? Tupperware containers of leftovers? Moldy stuff? What type of milk do they drink? Do they have beer in there? Cokes? Organic stuff? Are the shelves clean? Who are these people? There really is so much you can tell by the contents of a fridge, just like you can tell things about people by the clothes they wear.

The minute I walk into my parents' house, WITHOUT fail, I immediately walk to the fridge, open it, peruse the contents and then close it. Periodically I help myself to something that strikes my fancy. It's like a ritual! And I think just about all my siblings do the same, even though none of us lives there anymore and really shouldn't be helping ourselves to the fridge's contents. But since we're so close to our family, we have no qualms about checking it out. Or the freezer. Which is guaranteed to contain some type of ice cream. This is because most of my brothers LOVE ice cream. I could care less about ice cream. But my brothers will, almost without pausing, grab a pint, a spoon and just dig right in. A bowl would just be superfluous.

My best friend in high school, I was quite comfortable going through her fridge. Her mom always made interesting food, so it was always kind of exciting seeing what was inside. Seriously, I find that I know I've really hit that optimal comfort level with a friend when they either tell me to go grab something from their fridge, they help themselves to something from mine or it's just understood that the fridge is fair game. Because it's even more personal than opening your home to someone. It's opening your fridge! The nucleus of your kitchen! On the same token, when someone I don't feel close to goes and swings open my fridge door, sometimes it gets my hackles up! Woah!!! We don't know each other that well!

It's an interesting phenomenon. Fridge familiarity. What does mine say about me? Well, I hate to clean the shelves. There's always something on them. I only use real butter. Usually unsalted butter. No margarine to be found. I like organic stuff, milk in particular, but I don't go crazy over it. I always have leftovers of some kind, since I cook a lot. Lots of soups. I usually have 2 cartons of eggs, free range or organic. I use a lot of eggs. I have a lot of interesting ingredients for my more interesting cooking adventures, things like wasabi paste, anchovy paste, lemon curd, black olive tapenade, flax seed meal, wheat germ... I keep my bread in the fridge, along with bagels and flour tortillas. Hidden under my veggies in my veggie drawer is a Hershey's bar. In case I ever get an urge for a S'more. I like to have a full fridge. When the shelves get too empty, it means we've reached the end of the week and it's time for me to create next week's menu. So, there you go. Some random fridge disclosure.

Pink is my Least Favorite Color

7:38 PM

If you're the slightest bit hungry

1:23 PM

From Where I Sit

1:21 PM

All Day Daddy Day

1:19 PM

Dinner for Cold Nights

1:13 PM

Saturday Night

1:09 PM

Fall from My Perspective

1:00 PM

Expelled

8:44 PM

My Turn AGAIN!?!

8:41 PM

Thigh Highs

8:53 PM

Lean to the Left

8:35 PM

You Never Know

Cooking 8:10 PM

As I mentioned in my post the other day, I made an apple spiced bundt cake. It is yet another recipe from the world's greatest cookbook, Once Upon a Tart. I can't begin to describe the deliciousness that is just waiting to be experienced within its pages. Every time I make something out of it, Kyle takes a bite, sighs and groans in pleasure and then opens his eyes questioningly. 9 times out of 10, the answer to his unspoken question is, yes - it's from Once Upon a Tart.

It is not a cookbook for those who adhere to the 5 & under ingredients. It does require you to actually cook. But in my personal experience, the difference in taste from 5 ingredients to 10 or whatever, is NOTICEABLE! And oh so worth it. And the ingredients are rarely totally obscure. They are things you can and will find in your local Kroger or whatever your grocer of choice. And as a point in its favor for the Floyd household, this book is basically vegetarian. It's not a true veggie cookbook, as it includes chicken and some other meats in its sandwich section, but most of the stuff is veggies, fruits, etc.

I'm getting to my point here...I promise. As I flipped through it the other day, feeling rather fall-ish and spicy, the recipe for the Apple Spiced Bundt Cake jumped out at me. And I knew it was a recipe that would need to be shared with others. I have no business making a cake of any kind and leaving it to be consumed by just me and Kyle. Disaster. Since Bible study was that evening, I felt it was a perfect excuse. So the baking began. And I will confess - it went less than smoothly. Putting it together wasn't hard, but for some reason, the minute the thing hit the oven, it began to overflow the sides of the bundt pan.

I had to put a sheet pan underneath it to catch the drippings, which began to accumulate like big apple-y bisquits. I actually scraped them off intermittently and ate them like a scone. Quite yummy! Jerome and Frank (the authors of the cookbook and owners of the Once Upon a Tart shop in NYC) said the cake would need to cook for 50 -60 minutes or until a knife inserted comes out clean. Hm. Well, at that point in MY world, the top was nicely brown, but the center was just completely goozy. I kept stabbing, licking the knife and sliding it back in and adding more time to the timer. I actually don't even know how long the thing ended up baking. MUCH longer than prescribed. And I have no idea what went wrong. I checked and rechecked every ingredient and I had done everything right! Was it cause it was rainy?? Who knows!

But then came the fun part. Rather than use a regular, smooth sided bundt pan, I had used (erroneously) a rose patterned "fancy" bundt pan. It's worked for me before on other stuff! Well. This was disastrous. And yes, I buttered and floured the mold. I turned the thing upside down onto my cake tray and lifted. AAARRGH! Half the thing settled onto the tray while the other half stayed neatly wedged into the Bundt mold. No good. I poked and prodded with my knifes, spoons, forks, anything I could find to dislodge the stubborn apples and dough. By the time I was through and the odd bits of pieces had been added to the tray, it looked absolutely horrific. And smelled totally divine. And TASTED totally divine. But looks-wise, it was winning NO prizes. I was so disappointed. Mortified, actually. And I call myself a baker!

About this time, Kyle walked in the door and commented on how good everything smelled. I eyed him with the face of one who's just wrestled a badger and lost. Defeat oozed out my pores. When he looked at the mound of apple spiced cake splonked onto the cake tray, he laughed out loud. I expected that and yet, it still made me wail! He said, Ash, seriously, it looks like it's one of those monkey bread things that is meant to be pulled apart. Take it to Bible study. It's fine. So, left with the option of staring at it glumly for the next day or so, I took his advice and brought it with us.

Folks, there was something about that cake. Maybe because it was so homely you just knew it had to taste good...and the smell was just tantalizing. People walked by and snatched a little bit, then a bit more, till there was a crowd of people standing around my unsightly cake, just digging right in with their forks, no plates or anything. And by the time the night was over, there was not a crumb left on that plate. It was gone. I was truly surprised. And relieved! So, that just goes to show you that you never know. Looks can certainly be deceiving. I should have taken a picture to include with this post, but at the time, memorializing the mess on that plate was the last thing on my mind. Maybe next time.