Happy new year!

Get excited, people.

We were a bit intimidated, but it totally worked. (Google Alton Brown’s food network recipe, and get down to business.) Key ingredients for use turned out to be the kitchenaid mixer, parchment paper and some perseverance.

I won’t go through the details, cause it was exactly as the recipe suggested – although the dough was a bit tough for me to roll into logs for which I am blaming too much oil as it rose – so lets jut stick with the goods.

Absolute perfection. Soft in the right spots and just the right amount of salt.

So good, in fact, that I considered slapping some nutella on these puppies and screwing the dinner that was almost ready. AJ, being the more level-headed one, convinced me to have the chili. Can’t say I was disappointed, especially since we served the chili over macaroni and cheese and a side of pretzel. Surprise!

My super fancy, heavily measured chili recipe, which I can actually recommend and look forward to having for lunch this week:

1. Cook 4 cloves of garlic in olive oil (start with big saucepan)

2. Add about 1.5 pounds of ground beef. Get impatient after 6 minutes and add 1/3 cup of chili powder. (seriously). Add some other stuff in, like cayenne pepper and whatever else strikes your fancy. Stir for a few more minutes.

3. Add a giant can of stewed tomatoes (with juice) that you bought on a whim from Penn Mac. Smush up the tomatoes a bit with your wooden spoon. Really precisely.

4. Rinse a can of red kidney beans and add ‘em in the pot. Stir some more.

5. Decide to ignore the recipe you’ve kind of been following, and add a can if beer to the put instead of the beef stock it suggests. Get sassy and throw some water in there too. After all, the worst thing is to have chili that’s too dry. Bring to a boil (I watched it, and it took FOREVER), reduce heat and let it cook or about 45 minutes. Stir every so often, and continuously call someone else into the kitchen and force them to compliment you on how good it smells.

6. Bake pretzels. Feel cocky about your cooking abilities, and add 1/3 up of crunchy peanut butter to the chili. (nope, not kidding, and nope, not an accident.)

7. Decide that the chili smells and tastes delicious, but is a bit watery. Regret adding in too much water in step 5. Pout a little bit, until someone suggests serving it over pasta. (you can also suggest this yourself, but then you’d miss the part where your lovingly cooked meal would be referred to as “poor mans skyline chili.”)

8. Make kraft mac and cheese, because you don’t want to “waste” the buffalo chicken mac and cheese you cooked from scratch last night.

9. Spoon some into a bowl, ladle some chili on top, and dunk in a soft pretzel.

10. Eat and smile.

11. Blog that shit.

*no picture here. Turns out, chili night was so good that it didn’t even occur to me. You’ll have to try this one yourself!

After cleaning out our basement this afternoon – readying a huge pile of stuff we no longer need to be donated – AJ and I went to the grocery store armed with a shiny new recipe from Smitten Kitchen. In our cart full of BOGO meat specialties (shout out to Giant Eagle) was bacon, shallots, a dozen eggs and mozzarella and parmesan cheeses.

I cheated by using a pizza shell purchased on a whim at Penn Mac (shout out to buying local), and got ready to boogie in the kitchen. This wouldn’t take long.

After 15 minutes on the pizza stone, we ate. It was damn good. I pat myself on the back, and started thinking about dessert. Remembering that AJ had said he didn’t like the brand of ice cream we had in the freezer because it was “too creamy,” my culinary lightbulb went off. (What an annoying metaphor. I’m really sorry, but that’s kind of what happened.)

“Ice cream cupcakes,” I said, randomly.

“Really? You can do that?,” he replied.

“I dunno, but I’m gonna try.”

“Right now?!?”

Yup. Right now. I took a simple yellow batter cupcake recipe and figured that two cups of melted cookie dough ice cream with flour, eggs and baking powder would be about right. I mixed it up, added a bit of milk to get the right batter consistency, and put the muffin tin to work.

After just 10 minutes in the oven, they looked FANTASTIC. I could tell by the way they smelled they weren’t going to be too sweet, so I figured we’d need some frosting. Kitchenaid mixer to the rescue, for sure. Some butter, powdered sugar and milk was enough to impress AJ (and frankly, myself. I freaking love that mixer. A fantastic investment.)

At this point I still wasn’t sure about the way they would taste, so as soon as I could pop them into my hot little hands, I globbed on some frosting, which immediately melted, and took a big bite.

Damn, you guys. They were good. A bit muffin-like in texture, I must admit, but the chocolate bits melted nicely. The super sweet frosting was balanced nicely.

I gave AJ the second half, which left him with only one thing to say.

“You turned ice cream into cupcakes. … WITCH!”

I had planned to make a pork tenderloin – which, as we purchased it pre-marinated, turned out to be a bad idea (but that’s another story) – and thought I’d wing it for the side dishes. Seeing as back in his solo grocery buying days, AJ had an affinity for frozen foods, I knew there’d be some carry over to choose from.

I grabbed frozen french cut green beans for no reason other than they were the first thing I saw. Keep in mind that while I’m a pretty good cook, vegetables are not my strong suit. I had basically no idea what I would do with them other than evacuate the bag from our stuffed ice box.

When I opened the bag, an ice encrusted block of nothingthatresembledfood came out. Not wanting to admit defeat, and considering that the slushiness surrounding my beans was essentially just water, I paid this no mind. Threw ‘em in a big frying pan, broke up the mass into smaller chunks and forged ahead.

Hungry yet? I know. Suck it, Emeril.

With the heat on high, the ice melted quickly, so I tossed on some olive oil and stuck a lid on it. Then – this is where the real magic comes in – I walked away. Probably spent some time talking to George and removing Oscar from suffocating my face. Don’t really remember, but the point is I cooked the shit out of these beans. I walked back into the kitchen every so often (technical chef’s term) to stir and make sure I hadn’t started a fire, until perhaps 10, maybe 15, minutes into it I realize I should probably add some damn flavor. You know, “cook” instead of “heat.”

I went to my trusty friend, garlic. Too lazy to mince, I pulled out three cloves of garlic, cut each into fourths and introduced them to the party. I probably ground a bit of salt in there too, but not enough that I think it mattered. Kept the heat on high, cause, well, just cause.

AJ was computering at the time, so after stirring in the garlic, I probably let these cook a few minutes longer. By the time I had set the table and gotten back to these bad boys, the beans were just starting to get a little brown in spots and the garlic was smelling oh so good.

I’ll be damned if those weren’t the best green beans I’ve ever had. (Save for the ones I had in Alabama that took me three servings to realize they had been cooked in bacon grease, but, whatever.) A little sweet from the olive oil and a nice garlic punch almost made me forget I was eating something healthy.

While we’ve decided to make an effort to shop farmer’s markets for fresh veggies, I’ll gladly sneak these on the table every so often.

And that, my friends, is cooking with Abby.

{end scene}

If I could go back in time to my younger self and give her a glimpse of what my day was like today, she would have passed out from sheer joy and incredulity.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Medically I am capable. My knees bend (most of the time) all the way, and everything is (thanks to the surgeon) in the right spot. Physically, it hurts like the dickens. All. The. Time. Sitting hurts, lying down hurts, standing is akin to eating razor blades, and don’t even get me started on my weather prediction capabilities.

I figure that if I’m going to hurt, I should at least have something to show for it. So, here we go. I’m about to get suited up for what will either be the best or worst decision I’ve ever made.

I’ll settle for somewhere in the middle; average is looking pretty good these days. Besides, slow and steady wins the race, right?

• move in with AJ (done);
• finish my last day at current job (four hours left);
• fly to Paris (tomorrow); and
• see my friend get married in Bavaria (Saturday).

Kind of a lot, wouldn’t ya say? All of it good, so no worries there. However, as I was falling asleep last night, completely bummed that George was still at the old house, I completely lost it. At first I thought I felt guilty for leaving George alone, but I know he’s safer and calmer in his territory while we get settled in the new place. He’ll soon get a big dose of HOLYCRAP when we introduce him to his new canine brother, Oscar, so it’s better to wait until we’re back from vacation and have more time to hang out. (Sorry, buddy!) I realized, however, that I wasn’t really sad for George, I was sad for me. Overwhelmed, more likely.

Last night it hit me like a ton of bricks. I got a new job AND was fully moved in to a new house in less than two weeks, and hadn’t given myself time to properly process these (seriously major) changes. Not only that — I hadn’t properly talked to George about our new lives yet. It’s not that I’m a crazy cat person, per se, it’s that I’m a George person. George is my people. I talk to him like I would anybody else; he’s my sounding board. (OK, maybe I am a crazy cat person, but I don’t really mind. George is cool.)

AJ, being the completely reasonable and kindhearted soul that he is, let me cry (uncontrollably) about my cat for 20 minutes or so. I was laughing in between my sobs because I knew how ridiculous I must have looked, but he didn’t chide me or dismiss my feelings in any way. This coming from a self-proclaimed anti-cat person, by the way. George is that awesome, and he knows it. 

Over the years, I’ve turned into something of a swallow-my-feelings sort of gal, but AJ will.not.have.it. Which is exactly what I need. He gives me space to think about what’s going on, and won’t walk away until I can verbalize it. There’s no pressure to say anything I don’t want to say, but it’s nice to feel that I don’t have to deal with things on my own (or with a cat) anymore. Really nice, actually. So, he encouraged me to talk about George and I slowly realized what my brain was (poorly) trying to tell me.

You see, I got George at a time in my life when Things Sucked. He was my buddy, and I knew he would always* be around. We were A Team. By nature, he’s not a lap cat, but when I’m upset or sad he’ll throw me a bone and snuggle up with me. When he no longer nudges his way into my lap, I know that I’m going to be OK. I’ve made it through the worst part. (Man, I do sound like a crazy cat lady. OK, fine. I am. So be it.) I couldn’t think of a better analogy last night, and I still can’t now: Three years ago, I brought George home and my wolf pack grew by one. When AJ and Oscar came into my life, I thought “wait a second, could it be?” And now I know for sure, I just added two more guys to my wolf pack.

So there you have it. The idiotic speech** Zach Galifiniakis gives pre-Las Vegas bachelor party in the movie “The Hangover” has verbalized what it took me an hour of crying about my cat to realize. My wolf pack has doubled yet again, and it’s awesome.

———

* Yes, I know not “always,” but for A Long Time. Don’t sass me.

**just the middle bits. Not the part about strippers and cocaine, clearly.

Monday:

Hopefully full of furniture. And us.

::sticks tongue out::

The first half of 2010 has ended splendidly. It began with a visit from best buddy Alissa — and my nemesis #flumageddon, but that’s another story — and is closing up with a bunch of welcome changes. Next week’s visit to Paris with a stop in Germany for the wedding of best buddy Emily certainly doesn’t hurt, either.

So that I don’t make any of you barf with any mushy gushy thisyearisawesome sort of text, let me just stop here and brain dump.

1. In recognition of my current life awesomeness, I’m looking for ways to pay it forward. Suggestions are welcomed.
2. Souvenir requests from Paris will be read, enjoyed and considered. Feel free to leave them below.
3. As we will soon be combining households that include a mother-loving sassy cat and a face-smothering dopey dog, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the best way to avoid a tiny cat meltdown.
4. Uh, anybody want to help us move? Or, you know, pack my crap?