Would You Like Fries with That?

I try really hard not to eat too much fast food, but on certain days of the week when I am running from work to grocery store to home (to drop off the groceries) to meeting to rehearsal; I break down and grab a burger.  If I am really weak, I order "fries with that".  I long ago learned what a really good fry tastes like...and if I order them, my deal with myself is this:  If they don't taste excellent enough to risk losing 5 minutes of my life, I just won't eat them.

I used to work fast food.  That is how I earned my spending money in college - I night managed a place famous for it's specialty drinks that, unlike many of its counterparts, had a grill and deep frier.  I also had a boss who was very particular about his french fries.

To make a good fry:
1)  Do NOT use old grease.  Even STRAINED old grease.  The fries will get too brown before they are done cooking and people will complain that their fries are "burned".  Of course they will complain when their fries are perfect looking but not completely cooked; but if they are using a drive through, they are usually long gone when they figure this out, so what the heck.
2)  Get your grease HOT enough - otherwise the fries will be soggy and greasy beyond belief.
3)  DO NOT put fries and fish into the same oil.  JUST DON'T.
4)  Cook the fries LONG enough.  It takes around 5 minutes to cook a shoestring fry if you are using new grease that is the proper temperature...cutting down on the time to increase the volume of fries produced and served will not do anything for customer satisfaction.

To conclude: A Perfect Fry - one that makes me willing to take the risk of early death - is light golden brown.  Perfectly crisp on the outside and hot and soft of the inside, it stays hot until the end of the meal and tastes ONLY like potato without a hint of grease and with just a hint of sea or seasoned salt. Anything else just goes into the trash.

The fast food chain at which I "dined" last night - the same one that has been advertising their "new tastier fries" - completely missed the boat.  The "new tasty fries" were wrong on all counts - greasy, soggy, undercooked and within a minute, cold as well - all but two of them are now in the trash...

Rays of Sunshine on the Horizon

Things are looking up.  The weather is cooling (as much as it ever does here) so sleeping is better.  Two weeks of additional SSRIs have readjusted the neurotransmitters.

There are other things as well:  I have increased the frequency and duration of my morning exercise and I am attempting to cut most junk food out of my life - Doritos, Tootsie Rolls, Cookies, Ice Cream...

Junk food does not include Ice Cream, you say?  There is actual food value in Ice Cream, you say?  Well, nothing says, "I don't care, just leave me alone to get fat" like a carton of Blue Bunny "Kneedeep in Chocolate" or Ben and Jerry's "Stephen Colbert's AmeriCone Dream" - both of which I can finish off in one sitting.  And if there was a second carton around, I would go for that too.

I have little to no resistance to ice cream of any variety - Pumpkin: perfect for Fall.  Strawberry: memories of summer.  Vanilla with Carmel Sauce and topped with apple chunks (McDonald's): celebrates the harvest.  I could go on and on.

But I won't.  I'm feeling immensely better.  So much so that I can almost believe that my family was mistaken in noticing the tell tale signs of depression.  Except that they weren't.

Here's hoping that the changes in medication and lifestyle lead to a productive fall and winter and a joyous holiday season.


thanks, Roses!

Flake, multi-grain

Cereal.
Me.  Eating.  Cereal.

I'm not really certain how  this came about.  After my formative years filled with, "Breakfast is either Cornflakes or Cheerios."  I swore to never eat cereal again...especially oatmeal...except in cookies.  And here I am with a box of Special K and a bowl in my desk and a pint of  milk in the office  refrigerator.

Getting old is hell.

Food O'Clock (credit for title to Darby Conley of "Get Fuzzy")

As the kitties have gotten larger they have, as most kitties will, begun to take issue with the manufacturer's recommendations for daily food allowance.  Unfortunately for us, they begin to take issue at 3 AM.  Their usual time for expressing their displeasure used to be 4 AM which is the time that we get up anyway so it wasn't a problem, but now that their rumbling little tummies wake them earlier, the game is on.

First they began to play "attack that toe".  A game that I taught them when they were cute little monsters and I was suitably armored in layers of blankets.  Now that Summer approaches, that game has quickly lost it's appeal for me as the layers of protection have diminished.  When they attacked HIS feet, my husband unceremoniously dumped them off of the bed.  Then they began to race across the bed playing the "thundering herd of elephants" game of Psychokitty fame.  After a few mighty slams into the bedroom wall, The Bearded One ejected them from the bedroom.  Unfortunately for us, Kimiko is aware that our doors do not fit the doorjams tightly and has learned how to "knock" on the door by throwing her furry little 9 pound body into it...
I think that we're going to lose this battle.

He Likes Ice Cream

Strawberry Ice  Cream to be exact.  To be even more "exacter":  Blue Bunny Double Strawberry - No Sugar Added, Lower Fat Ice Cream sweetened with Splenda.

Yes, our loveable but dense tuxedo cat, Rufus, is an ice cream lover and a serious mooch.
If someone (say, for the sake of argument, ME) is sitting with a bowl (or the entire carton) of the treat, Mr. Cat will approach looking hopeful.  Of course nothing is forthcoming so he gets vocal about the kitty abuse that you are perpetrating.  After a few reproachful howls, he will leap into your lap and approach your face (the better to lick your lips for any lingering traces of frozen goodness).

He then tries to stick his head into carton or bowl, whichever is handy.  Last night I went to push him off my lap and on his way down he made it a point to land his right front paw directly in the carton,

"Yeah Lady, you KNOW I've been in the litter box!  Enjoy your ice cream."

Well, I figured I have a good immune system so I kept eating.  He got me though.  I had left the lid to the carton on the kitchen counter and when I went to put the carton back into the freezer, he was calmly polishing off the melted ice cream on the inside of the lid.

Dang Cat!

It's In The Bag

Disclaimer: This is one that I wrote some time ago and then completely forgot about until I stumbled across it in a directory that it was not supposed to be in. It is only about 3 months old…

For those of you who may have missed the (good) news: Santa Clara County (California) has banned toys in high calorie Happy Meals. Read all about it in this LA Times article.

To the gentleman quoted as saying, “If you can’t control your 3 year old…”
I say, “HA!” If you are trying to get errands run on a Saturday, the last thing you need is a full blown tantrum from the car seat set. And being denied that Happy Meal can bring one on faster than a cat comes running at the sound of the can opener.

Stubble was a Happy Meal Expert. He knew from TV which toys were at which franchise and he always managed to be “Hungry Mom, Hungry,” right in the middle of the Operation Saturday.
At first we were unsuspecting, it was late and we still had to get to Target, Home Depot and the grocery store. Of COURSE we picked up something for him to eat. We quickly caught on to his ploy when he would take two bites of the hamburger, eat three fries and spend the rest of the time playing with whatever toy was in the bag.

Our first step was to withhold the toy until the food was finished or until we were home, whichever came first. He would wait and wait and wait. The burger would grow stale and cold and the fries soggy and limp and still he held out. On the way into the driveway it was, “Toy! Now!”

The day that The Bearded One bought just a burger and drink and fries but no meal complete with toy was not one I really care to remember; except that I do remember it - in excruciating detail.

So our little one didn’t get obese, but his room was filled with cheap plastic toys and he loved each and every one of them even when they were identical. You could not get rid of ANY of them for ANY reason. They were his and they were precious. They were in boxes and gallon zip lock bags. They were under his bed and under his pillow. They multiplied like rabbits. Finally when he was about 8, he allowed me to box them all up and take them to a charity thrift shop where they sold bags of the toys for 25 cents each.

And the real irony of the situation is this: Now that Stubble is all grown up, he can’t eat fast food burgers because of stomach issues.