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Food on Fridays with Ann

I found instructions for making Oatmeal Cottage Cheese Pancakes here. It sounded simple and healthy, requiring only four ingredients:

• ½ cup oatmeal
• ½ cup cottage cheese
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 4 egg whites

Intrigued by the simplicity, I decided to give them a whirl. Literally. I whirled them together in the blender and poured the mixture onto the griddle.

They turned out a little flatter than our usual pancakes, but what an outstanding option for people seeking a gluten-free, high-protein breakfast alternative!

They were quick to make, tasty, and filling.

Here’s the recipe in one place, but it really is that simple:

Oatmeal Cottage Cheese Pancakes

• ½ cup oatmeal
• ½ cup cottage cheese
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 4 egg whites

Whir together the ingredients in a blender and pour onto a hot griddle coated with cooking spray. Top with your favorite pancake toppings and enjoy!

:::

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I started a book called The Thinking Life: How to Thrive in the Age of Distraction. Lots of lines about slowing down. It’s a [...]]]> Each Wednesday I’ve been recording a Curiosity Journal to recap the previous week using these tag words: reading, playing, learning, reacting and writing.

:::

Reading

I started a book called The Thinking Life: How to Thrive in the Age of Distraction. Lots of lines about slowing down. It’s a secular book, but makes me very happy, seeing how much ties in with Not So Fast.

Aren’t a society’s competitiveness and its prospects for a better future rooted in more than sheer technology…When we’re all hyperconnected, will our families and communities be stronger? Will we build better organizations and lead more prosperous lives? Most important, can we accomplish any of these lofty goals if we continue devoting all our energy to eliminating the very thing we need most to achieve them in the first place–some space between tasks, respites, stopping places for the mind? (from pp. 1-2 of P.M. Forni’s The Thinking Life, quoting William Powers)

Now, I think technology can be a tool used for good and for offering respites (take, for example, Everyday Poems, delivering a poem a day into your inbox to read and reflect). But I agree that it can also be a distraction, and it requires tremendous self-control to maintain “some space between tasks” and “stopping places for the mind.”

I appreciated the interaction overheard between Mr. Obama and David Cameron during Obama’s campaign, when he was caught on a boom mic saying to Cameron, “…the most important thing you need to do is to have big chunks of time during the day when all you’re doing is thinking” (Forni 2).  Forni reflects, “Letting oneself be swept along by the tidal wave of busyness was one of the worst things a president could do. ‘You start making mistakes, or you lose the big picture,’ Mr. Obama observed…Good thinking, however, doesn’t just happen; it is the result of a personal commitment” (Forni 3).

Playing

Yesterday morning, my husband went around waking up all the kids. He greeting our middle daughter, and she responded, “No, why would I do that?”

He had said, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” but she thought he asked, “Have you been outside today?”

I know it’s one of those “you had to be there” moments, but at 6:30 in the morning, the misunderstanding seemed hilarious. We kept laughing about it, and when she came down for breakfast, we all looked up and asked in unison if she had been outside.

So now you know the inside joke that I’m sure will return year after year. We’ll be calling her the morning of February 14th when she’s in college just to ask if she’s been outside today.

Learning

Tuesday evening, our local news reported that the FDA released a report indicating the presence of lead in hundreds of lipsticks. Even though I use natural products like Burt’s Bees, I thought I’d scan the list anyway…after all, my daughters are starting to wear makeup.

Scrolling through, I noted lots of familiar companies like Revlon, Maybelline, L’Oréal, M.A.C., Avon, and Cover Girl.

Then…

Burt’s Bees.

My beloved Burt’s Bees lip shimmers that slide on so smoothly while providing a subtle hint of color are guilty. They made the list.

Several colors showed up with varying degrees of lead content, and while the numbers are small, there is no known safe level of lead intake.

Under a column labeled “Lead (Pb) (ppm),” I saw these Burt’s Bees lip shimmers: toffee (2.81), guava (2.24), raisin (0.43), Merlot (0.33), and champagne (0.76). They have lead in them. Lead that I smeared on my lips and likely ingested while eating oatmeal and sipping tea. Lead, in a brand that is positions itself as natural. Maybe they figure if it’s on the Periodic Table of Elements, it’s natural. Of course, so is uranium, but I don’t want to smear even a smidgen of that on my lips, thank you very much.

This list also revealed parent companies. Guess who owns Burt’s Bees? Clorox.

I don’t like getting snookered.

Forget Burt’s Bees.

I’ll just stir a little beet juice into some beeswax to make my own lip shimmer.

Reacting

Next to my mom’s laptop sits a framed photo of her parents. My grandma—old, but younger than I remember her—smiles sweetly at the camera; Grandpa leans toward his bride, head turned slightly toward the lens, a relaxed grin to match the twinkle in his eye. The portrait only shows their heads and shoulders, so I can’t be sure, but it looks like he’s slipped his right arm around her waist and reached to touch her hand with his left.

Grandpa died before I had a chance to lock in solid memories of the two of them together, but my mom says he teased Grandma in a tone that was undeniably filled with affection. Years later, when I inherited Grandma’s engagement ring, I hoped some of that would rub off. I hoped I would always smile as sweetly as the first girl who wore it, cherished by my own husband, who lovingly leans toward me to slip one arm around my waist and touch my hand with the other.

Writing

I’m enjoying my work editing the “I Do” series at The High Calling. Today’s post by Emily Wierenga is hard, but beautiful. And almost 60 people participated in our Community Writing Project hosted by Jennifer Dukes Lee at Getting Down With Jesus. It was a privilege to work with Jennifer to select some to highlight for a post that will go live today at noon ET.

* * * * *

Credits: All images by Ann Kroeker. All rights reserved.

Affiliate links included.

Forni, P. M. The Thinking Life: How to Thrive in the Age of Distraction. St. Martin’s Press: New York, 2011. Print.

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The night [...]]]> I drove last week to a meeting with someone I hadn’t seen in a while—someone known for reacting unpredictably. There were reasons the meeting could be tense, even volatile; or, it could go smoothly. I had no way of knowing how the interaction would unfold, nor could I control it.

The night before the meeting, I lay awake in bed and stared into the deep midnight-silence imagining worst-case scenarios and concocting a mental flow-chart of potential responses to those scenarios. By the time I awoke from what shallow rest I’d managed to secure in-between these restless planning sessions, I looked ragged and worn, like someone who stood outside a bar nervously dragging on a cigarette all night.

In the shower that morning, I remembered a verse I’d read a few days before, a verse that tries to adhere to my mind like press-on letters every time I encounter it. The morning I read it, I repeated it throughout the day, mentally tracing its words—its truths. I needed to cling to the words as they tried to cling to me.

But by the time I was gearing up for that dreaded meeting, I’d let the verse slip away. As it slipped away, so did its message, and I ended up wide awake on that troubled night when I welcomed worry instead of rest.

So after my shower, after breakfast, after loading the car, I drove to the meeting retracing the truth in my head and my heart, silently repeating it, owning it.

As it turned out, the meeting went about as well as it could have possibly gone.

Interactions were calm, uneventful.

Most of the time, I sat silent while the other talked. I listened, nodding, smiling serenely.

I needed only to be still.

When the meeting was over, I drove home, humbled.

Moses answered the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.” (Exodus 14:13-14, just before the parting of the Red Sea, as the Egyptians were bearing down on them)

* * * * *

Photo by Ann Kroeker, edited using Picnik.com. (Update 2/17/12: this photo image is replacing artwork that accompanied the post when it was first published; I couldn’t locate the original or the artist to credit, so I pulled it down.)

Writing in community at the following:

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For the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe. We’re pretty relaxed over here, and stories and photos are as welcome as menus and recipes. When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button to paste at the top of your post. It ties us together visually. Then fill in the boxes of this linky tool to join the fun!

Food on Fridays with Ann

Romano’s Macaroni Grill sent me an e-mail alert that my favorite item, Butternut Asiago Tortellaci—considered a winter dish—was about to be plucked from the menu in favor of more springtime dishes.

Butternut Asiago Tortellaci: four-cheese stuffed pasta, roasted butternut squash, crispy prosciutto, truffle cream, and pumpkin seeds.

I’d only had it once, but after one bite realized I loved it more than life itself. And now they were telling me I only had until mid-February, and then, no more.

[insert primal scream]

So I pleaded with the Belgian Wonder to get me there before it disappears. He sensed desperation, so one evening this past week, we headed to the restaurant for a splurge, a treat, a final taste of winter: soft cheeses wrapped in thin, delicate pasta…sweet cubes of butternut squash…salty strips of prosciutto fried crisp…the unexpected nutty crunch of the pumpkin seeds.

[insert satisfied sigh]

Already I can’t find it on their website.

I only wish I’d recommended it earlier, so everyone could have had a bite, before it’s gone.

:::

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:::

As you may recall, last week I announced that I didn’t have time to read Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, so I [...]]]> Each Wednesday I’ve been recording a Curiosity Journal to recap the previous week using these tag words: reading, playing, learning, reacting and writing.

:::

Reading

As you may recall, last week I announced that I didn’t have time to read Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, so I returned my borrowed copy to the library.

On Sunday, the pastor announced that the missions team recommends that in preparation for our annual missions conference, which is focused on Europe, we read one specific book. One very thick book. One familiar book.

He held it up for all to see:

Bonhoeffer.

D’oh!

Playing

When I was a little girl, I pestered my big brother, four years older, nonstop as he was heading off doing stuff with his friends.

“Play a game with me, please? Please? Pretty please? Please play a game with me, just one game, just this once…”

From time to time I’d wear him down (or Mom would tire of hearing my pleas and order him to play a game just to shut me up). He’d relent and play a round of Hands Down or Operation with me. When we were older, the game might be Stratego or Scrabble. He beat me at everything, and still I’d come back for more.

The other day my teenage daughter asked if I wanted to play Words with Friends, which is basically Scrabble, on her phone.

She asked me to play a game with her! What joy to find a way to enter into my daughter’s world in which a private soundtrack pipes into her head through ever-present earbuds. Of course I said yes!

So she set it up to pass back and forth and we played a game. And then another. And another.

And then, after the third game, she got kind of bored, you know, playing word games with her mom.

Next thing you know, I started to pester her, “Play a game with me, please? Please? Pretty please?”

I downloaded the Words with Friends app and sent her my username. “Would you play Words with Friends?” I pleaded, playfully and childlike, to keep it light. “Just one game…please?”

She relented. We launched a game and played a couple of rounds, but then she had to take off for youth group. Next day was a school day, so homework kept her too busy to play games with Mom. She made a move, but let a day pass before making another.

I started a game against myself, and let me tell you, playing Words with Friends by yourself is pretty pathetic (though I do win every time).

I don’t mind too much, as I’m an introvert by nature, but I do kind of wish my daughter would make another move.

Learning

After working with my friend and The High Calling colleague Tina on an article called “The Grocery Drop,” I poked around on the NAMI link she provided, to learn about various disorders and diseases. It provides easy-to-understand explanations of different kinds of mental illness. I appreciate their dedication to “building better lives for the millions of Americans affected by mental illness” and “raising awareness and building a community of hope for all of those in need.”

I’m learning more in order to better understand—to better love—those who are struggling.

Reacting

I saw this and clicked “share” on Facebook, but added that writing is also a profession for introverts who are continually interrupted: “writing is a profession for those who are interrupted a lot…writers get a chance to finish their stories.”

If I may briefly elaborate…I can’t tell you how gratifying it feels, when writing anything from a blog post to an e-mail, to actually finish a thought. I can even build up to a punchline, knowing the reader is either with me or has clicked away (and I’ll never know).

I suspect that people who experience a lifetime being interrupted learn to clam up and live in their own little world; talk really fast; or revert to the classic inverted pyramid journalism training when conveying information verbally so that the most important facts have a chance to be heard.

Or, they write.

Writing

Seems like I’ve been making a lot of lists lately. And recording more personal thoughts in less public venues.

* * * * *

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My brother, who had stopped by for a few minutes, asked, “You’re baking a cake?”

“Yes! I was invited to my very first Superbowl party, and I’m [...]]]> “This may be the ugliest cake I have ever made,” my mom exclaimed while spreading icing over the big chocolate sheet cake she baked on Sunday afternoon.

My brother, who had stopped by for a few minutes, asked, “You’re baking a cake?”

“Yes! I was invited to my very first Superbowl party, and I’m taking Grandma’s sheet cake,” Mom replied.

Growing up, our family followed a few college teams, especially my parents’ alma mater, but we didn’t pay attention to professional sports at all. We would only take note of headlines so that we could converse with the outside world. So when Mom made that comment about her first-ever invitation, I thought back and realized we never attended a Superbowl party as a family. In fact, I don’t remember attending or hosting parties of any kind.

I walked over to examine the cake. “It looks terrific, Mom!”

“Oh, it’s okay, I guess. I just wanted it to look smoother.”

“It looks delicious,” I assured her. “Besides, no matter how fancy you make something, it gets admired for no more than a second or two, and then it’s sliced and eaten pretty fast.”

We covered it with foil to protect it during transport, loaded up some cheese and crackers and hummus, 2-liter bottles of pop, and drove to our friends’ house.

After introductions were made, as some of the party-goers had not yet met my mom, we unveiled the cake and set out the snacks.

As it turned out, my mom brought the only sweet treat.

We didn’t watch much of the game. The diehard football fans headed to the basement where it was projected onto a huge screen and piped through speakers in stereo. Upstairs, a few of us gathered on easy chairs to follow the game on a smaller screen. A few little pods of people sat at the kitchen table, away from the game and close to the snacks, where we chatted and messed around with Bananagram tiles.

After the half-time show, people came upstairs craving sweets and at first only saw the spread of savory dips and chips and crackers. But then we directed them to Mom’s cake. Soon, people were digging in, literally, with whatever utensil was handy—a knife, spatula, fork, or even fingers—to snag a piece. They snarfed it down. They raved about it. They thanked her profusely for bringing it.

After the game, we helped straighten up, thanked our friends for their hospitality, said good-bye to the other guests, and gathered our things. About two servings of cake remained, so we covered it with the huge piece of foil that had originally protected the entire pan. As we headed out the door, Mom turned to the host and remarked, “This was the best Superbowl party I have ever been to!”

We all laughed and walked out under the clear sky to our cars.

On the way home, Mom said, “As you know, I was disappointed with how the cake turned out. But I’m so glad I decided to make it.”

I smiled. “Can you believe it was the only sweet? Where would we have been without you?”

We wove through the neighborhood, and I thought about the evening, about my mom’s first-ever Superbowl party (which was possibly my 18th or 19th), and the cake, and my friends, and the Bananagrams tiles, and I thought, I think this was the best Superbowl party I’ve ever been to, as well.

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Food on Fridays with Ann

One of our daughters enjoyed her first Egg McMuffin a few weeks ago and loved it. She asked if we could try making knock-offs, so we worked together to create homemade breakfast sandwiches.

The Belgian Wonder fried up some turkey bacon as I hunted for some kind of gadget to contain the eggs. I found a heart-shaped pancake form.

Cute, eh?

Tip: coat the gadget thoroughly with nonstick spray.

The Belgian Wonder set the heart-egg on his English muffin and pointed. “Photo op?” My daughter ran for her camera and snapped some shots. She had to work fast, though, because he was eager to add the bacon while the egg was still warm.

And the cheese, too, so it would melt.

There you have it: homemade breakfast sandwiches.

We’re lovin’ it.

:::

Photo credit: Photos by Sophie Marie. All rights reserved.

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:::

I gave up on Bonhoeffer—Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, that is—and returned it to the library. Too thick for me to get through at [...]]]> Each Wednesday I’ve been recording a Curiosity Journal to recap the previous week using these tag words: reading, playing, learning, reacting and writing.

:::

Reading

I gave up on Bonhoeffer—Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, that is—and returned it to the library. Too thick for me to get through at the moment.

Playing

We had pizza with friends. That was fun.

Learning

One afternoon I was at Kroger with my youngest daughter. The two of us were browsing eye shadow, looking for a neutral color combination that I could try. I don’t wear much makeup, and she doesn’t wear any, so it was one of those blind leading the blind moments.

I pulled out a little container that showed three colors together. “How can I know which color goes where?” I wondered aloud.

My daughter shrugged. We moved down the line and found another pack that had instructions. On the back were diagrams of an eye that indicated where each color would be applied, one, two, three; base, lid, crease. On the colors themselves—on the actual makeup—the company had stamped the words “base,” “lid,” and “crease.”

“Look!” I exclaimed. My daughter raced over. “Look how simple they made it,” I continued, pointing to the diagrams and markings. “Step one, two, and three. It’s all labeled and everything.”

She flipped it to the back and then to the front. Then she looked up with a huge grin and exclaimed, “Idiot-proof makeup!”

I laughed out loud. “Perfect!”

Reacting

On Sunday, our pastor reminded us of the beautiful reality that Jesus made it possible for us to have His Father as our Father. Through Jesus, we’re adopted into the family of God and can be called children of God.

We are precious, so precious. “See,” God says to His people, “I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”

Seth Irby wrote a song that we sang that morning. Part of the chorus says:

You were not ashamed to call us Your brothers
Giving us Your Father as our own.
Your mercy is enough for us to sing Your praise,
But You give so much more. You give so much more.

And from the bridge:

You did not leave us orphaned, Lord, cleansed of sin and nothing more.
You called us “children of the King,” gave to us the family ring.
And that same power that raised You up lives in us and fills us up,
Teaching us to cry out “Abba Father!”

As the pastor spoke, I scribbled a quick drawing of a hand in my notebook—an open hand, palm up. On it, in very small print, I slowly wrote the three letters of my first name…a shy reminder of my Father’s love.

Writing

Hm…not much to report.

* * * * *

Credits: All images by Ann Kroeker. All rights reserved.

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For the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe. We’re pretty relaxed over here, and stories and photos are as welcome as menus and [...]]]>

(smaller button below)

For the Food on Fridays carnival, any post remotely related to food is welcome—though we love to try new dishes, your post doesn’t have to be a recipe. We’re pretty relaxed over here, and stories and photos are as welcome as menus and recipes. When your Food on Fridays contribution is ready, just grab the broccoli button to paste at the top of your post. It ties us together visually. Then fill in the boxes of this linky tool to join the fun!

Food on Fridays with Ann

Not long ago, some friends and I had brunch at Bloomington’s Scholars Inn. We sat on an enclosed porch surrounded by windows, basking in the richness of friendship, conversation, and food.

I ordered “Eggs Michelle”: smoked salmon, asparagus, and a poached egg arranged on a toasted English muffin and covered with Béarnaise sauce.

Big wooden letters tacked above the windows spelled out, “Quickly, bring me a beaker of wine, so that I may wet my mind and say something clever. Aristophanes c. 450 – 385.”

From where I was sitting, the main words I could see were “say something clever.”

We relaxed as shafts of morning light warmed our sweaters and hair, and the few times I glanced at those words, I thought how freeing it is to sit with friends so trusted, so close, so safe, that any urge to be clever flows not from a need to amuse or entertain, but from the ease and delight of simply hearing each other laugh.

:::

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