I know lots of my fans are vegetarians. (Seriously, I don't know how you do it). So, here is something I used as a side dish, but you might serve with a large salad and call it a meal. (I still don't understand HOW you don't crave a huge bacon-cheeseburger at least one a month. It's not normal). I served it with the Bourbon-Vanilla brined Pork Chops from this month's issue of Fine Cooking. They were ok. Next time I plan to use a pork loin. Bone it pork chops just aren't good. That's my opinion. Take it or get out.
These are fabulous, easy to make and super tasty. Indulge. Don't you dare use fat free cream cheese. It's not proper and offends the delicate nature of my being. In short, its crap.
Stuffed Portabello Mushrooms
(This recipe is courtesy of "Pure Flavor" by Kurt Beecher Demmeir with Laura Holmes Haddad)
Serves 6
Ingredients:
1/3 cup plus 3 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 garlic cloves, minced
6 large mushrooms, such as portabellos, stems and gills removed, caps wiped clean
3 medium zucchini, diced
1 medium red bell pepper, sliced
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 oz (6 tbs) cream cheese
3 tbs unsalted butter, softened
1 green onion (white and green parts), thinly sliced
1 oz Parmesan or other hard cheese, grated (1/4 cup)
2 tbs sliced drained sun-dried tomatoes in oil
1 tbs chopped fresh basil
1 tbs chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 tbs fresh bread crumbs
Plum tomatoes, cut into slices
4 oz semisoft cheese, grated (1 cup)
Preparation
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
To cook the mushrooms, combine 1/3 cup of the olive oil, 1/2 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp pepper and half the garlic in a large bowl. Using a pastry brush, coat the surface of the mushrooms, inside and out, with the oil mixture. Place the mushrooms on a baking sheet, domed side down. Bake for about 15 minutes, or until the centers of the mushrooms are tender. Drain the mushrooms on paper towels and set aside to cool. Keep the oven on.
To make the filling, in a large skillet, heat 2 tbs of the olive oil over high heat. When the oil is nearly smoking, add enough of the zucchini to make a single layer in the pan. Cook the zucchini without stirring until browned on one side, about 5 minutes. Stir the zucchini and cook for an additional 2 minutes, or until lightly browned on all sides. Remove to a medium bowl and repeat the remaining zucchini.
Add the bell pepper, onion, and remaining tbs of oil to the skillet, and cook, without stirring, for 5 minutes, or until browned. Stir the mixture and cook for an additional 2 minutes. Add the bell pepper mixture to the zucchini.
Season the vegetable mixture with 1/4 tsp salt and pepper to taste. Let it cool in the fridge while preparing the rest of the filling.
Combine the cream cheese and butter in a medium bowl. Fold in the green onions, Parmesan cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, basil, parsley, remaining garlic, bread crumbs, and 1/4 tsp each salt and pepper. Mix the cheese mixture into the vegetable mixture, combining thoroughly but gently.
Place the mushrooms, domed side down, on a baking sheet. Divide the filling evenly among the mushroom caps, mounding it slightly. Push the filling to the edges to fill the entire cap.
Top each with slices of tomato and sprinkle with the semisoft cheese mounding it high. Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the mushrooms are heated through and the cheese is melted and is beginning to brown.
Bon Appetit!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
The Case of the Missing Urge.
I've always wondered what sex would be like at 50. Would I still be having lots of sex? Would my sex life still be as crazy? I've often read articles about women in their 40's & 50's (I read Redbook and More Magazine) who say they don't want to have sex - that they just don't have the urge anymore. I've also read about women in their 20's, who don't want to have sex because they have kids. Men are always complaining about their wives frigid behavior. But, what do you do if you're in your early 30's, childless, married to a Sex God and suddenly stop feeling the urge?
Yes, I'm talking about me. Yes, I know this is a crushing blow to all of you. Imagine how I feel?
I started noticing it a few months ago. Normally, I'm as randy as a high school boy on prom night. Six months ago, I would feel a twinge when my cell phone vibrated. This past month, VinDiesel could have been lying naked on my bed, oiled up, holding a plate of mozzarella sticks and I might not have the urge to do anything about it. Well, I'd have eaten the mozzy sticks. You can see why this troubling. Food before beefcake. Cheese before fantasy man. Was I becoming another person? I had read about early menopause. Was I a new case? This was freaking me out. Even gay porn wasn't doing it for me. I had lost my mojo!
I decided to chat it up with my Box Doctor. We had a date this past Tuesday for my annual check up. As I was sitting in the stirrups, trying to deal with a metal clamp thingy in my netherregions, she said to me
"So any problems"?
Usually my answer to this is, "Nope. All good". But today, determined to get to the bottom of my plunging libido, I forged ahead.
"I have no sex drive. Usually, I'm like a monkey on crack, but in the past 6 months I'm limp like a noodle"
I know. Not subtle. But, these are extreme times.
I'm sure the look on my face was utter desperation and panic. She glanced up over my sheet draped legs with look of understanding. "It's the pill", she said, with a snap of her rubber glove. "You've been on it so long your body is processing all the testosterone. It's putting a damper on your hormones."
Crap. I was become more of a whiny chick by the minute and now my testosterone was disappearing.
"I need to know how to fix this." I said. "Can I take testosterone. Is there cream? What are we going to do about this!" The pitch of my voice was starting to rise.
"Well, you could stop the pill and...." The look on my face stopped that one. There was no way I was returning to the land of rubber. No way, no how.
"Alright, " she said. "Why don't you try DHEA. It's a supplement and most people say it helps."
HALLELUJAH!!! HALLE LUUUUUUUUUUUUU JAH!!!!!!! Drugs for my lady bits! Help for my love button. Therapy for my VaJaJay!
Light at the end of my orgasmless tunnel. There is help for me. I will return to the land of naughty and heavy breathing.
I made the mistake of telling my mother about my problem and the solution. I had meant to horrify her with the news. After all, she gets embarrassed when I talk about sex, my sex life, my blog, my vagina or anything else having to do with an orgasm. But, she took this in stride. Today, she phoned me and said she wants to send me some books on sexual health.
EXCUSE ME?? Mom is sending me sex help books. Hell hath frozen over.
I told her I was all set. I was picking up my pills and they should kick in less than a day. She told me to start taking them immediately. If I didn't have lots of sex than she wouldn't have any grandchildren.
This has become my life, lovers. Hormones and sex talks with my mother. I'm officially in my 30's.
Yes, I'm talking about me. Yes, I know this is a crushing blow to all of you. Imagine how I feel?
I started noticing it a few months ago. Normally, I'm as randy as a high school boy on prom night. Six months ago, I would feel a twinge when my cell phone vibrated. This past month, VinDiesel could have been lying naked on my bed, oiled up, holding a plate of mozzarella sticks and I might not have the urge to do anything about it. Well, I'd have eaten the mozzy sticks. You can see why this troubling. Food before beefcake. Cheese before fantasy man. Was I becoming another person? I had read about early menopause. Was I a new case? This was freaking me out. Even gay porn wasn't doing it for me. I had lost my mojo!
I decided to chat it up with my Box Doctor. We had a date this past Tuesday for my annual check up. As I was sitting in the stirrups, trying to deal with a metal clamp thingy in my netherregions, she said to me
"So any problems"?
Usually my answer to this is, "Nope. All good". But today, determined to get to the bottom of my plunging libido, I forged ahead.
"I have no sex drive. Usually, I'm like a monkey on crack, but in the past 6 months I'm limp like a noodle"
I know. Not subtle. But, these are extreme times.
I'm sure the look on my face was utter desperation and panic. She glanced up over my sheet draped legs with look of understanding. "It's the pill", she said, with a snap of her rubber glove. "You've been on it so long your body is processing all the testosterone. It's putting a damper on your hormones."
Crap. I was become more of a whiny chick by the minute and now my testosterone was disappearing.
"I need to know how to fix this." I said. "Can I take testosterone. Is there cream? What are we going to do about this!" The pitch of my voice was starting to rise.
"Well, you could stop the pill and...." The look on my face stopped that one. There was no way I was returning to the land of rubber. No way, no how.
"Alright, " she said. "Why don't you try DHEA. It's a supplement and most people say it helps."
HALLELUJAH!!! HALLE LUUUUUUUUUUUUU JAH!!!!!!! Drugs for my lady bits! Help for my love button. Therapy for my VaJaJay!
Light at the end of my orgasmless tunnel. There is help for me. I will return to the land of naughty and heavy breathing.
I made the mistake of telling my mother about my problem and the solution. I had meant to horrify her with the news. After all, she gets embarrassed when I talk about sex, my sex life, my blog, my vagina or anything else having to do with an orgasm. But, she took this in stride. Today, she phoned me and said she wants to send me some books on sexual health.
EXCUSE ME?? Mom is sending me sex help books. Hell hath frozen over.
I told her I was all set. I was picking up my pills and they should kick in less than a day. She told me to start taking them immediately. If I didn't have lots of sex than she wouldn't have any grandchildren.
This has become my life, lovers. Hormones and sex talks with my mother. I'm officially in my 30's.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Shying Away From the Spotlight
The other day, I read an article about Hollywood stars who shy away from the spotlight. In other words, they don't put themselves up for display (Ahem, Tori Spelling you dirty whore) by frequenting the places where the paparazzi (Ahem, Kim Kardashian you mind-numbingly vapid fame slut) and other media types hang out. They're not attention whores. (I'm looking at you Denise Richards, you no talent living off Charlie Sheens crazy ass behavior while you have so much plastic surgery you can barely blink).
Maybe that's what I've been up to lately. Hanging back from the spotlight. I've gained a few pounds (READ: 10) and I'm not feeling as perky as I have been. It's a shame. A damn shame. After my exit from Satan's workshop, I have been wallowing in my misery as I work tirelessly and miserably at the new job. I miss everything about the hellhole I use to work at. If I could have it all back, I would clean Partner #3's private bathroom with a toothbrush every day. Yes, lovers. The new job is worse than cleaning Lucifers skid marks.
The real wake up was this past weekend. I was in my funk, feeling sorry for myself and having a pity party. Just me and a fabulous plate of truffle oil Parmesan french fries. (Grease and I have become best buddies these past couple of months.) Gawd they were good! Truffle oil makes everything yummy. I was trolling Facebook and came across a photo of myself taken at a road race. (Yes, I was able to run a road race with my new found fat. I jiggled a bit, but I cross the finish line). The photo bitched slapped me across the face and called me Kirstie Alley (before Dancing with the Stars). There I was....puffy, pale and sad. A huge change from my cute, perk self only a year ago when I ran the same race.
So, Lovers, I pledge to you, myself and VinDiesel (for he is going to be my second husband and I can't bear the thought of being a fat, sad wife to him) - these things:
1). I shall renew my formerly fabulous figure.
2). I shall stop neglecting you....all 6 of you....who consistently write me and say "Where the fuck are you?"
3.) I shall give you more recipes. I've been eating all this shit, I might as well make you fat too.
4.) I shall bring back the kink, the naughty, the nice, the twisted and the sauciness I desperately miss.
5). I will stop wearing panties. I'm so ashamed of myself.
6.) I can't think of anything else right now, but we can think of some thing later for #6.
Later, lovers. Thanks for listening and being there for me. My love handles thank you too.
Maybe that's what I've been up to lately. Hanging back from the spotlight. I've gained a few pounds (READ: 10) and I'm not feeling as perky as I have been. It's a shame. A damn shame. After my exit from Satan's workshop, I have been wallowing in my misery as I work tirelessly and miserably at the new job. I miss everything about the hellhole I use to work at. If I could have it all back, I would clean Partner #3's private bathroom with a toothbrush every day. Yes, lovers. The new job is worse than cleaning Lucifers skid marks.
The real wake up was this past weekend. I was in my funk, feeling sorry for myself and having a pity party. Just me and a fabulous plate of truffle oil Parmesan french fries. (Grease and I have become best buddies these past couple of months.) Gawd they were good! Truffle oil makes everything yummy. I was trolling Facebook and came across a photo of myself taken at a road race. (Yes, I was able to run a road race with my new found fat. I jiggled a bit, but I cross the finish line). The photo bitched slapped me across the face and called me Kirstie Alley (before Dancing with the Stars). There I was....puffy, pale and sad. A huge change from my cute, perk self only a year ago when I ran the same race.
So, Lovers, I pledge to you, myself and VinDiesel (for he is going to be my second husband and I can't bear the thought of being a fat, sad wife to him) - these things:
1). I shall renew my formerly fabulous figure.
2). I shall stop neglecting you....all 6 of you....who consistently write me and say "Where the fuck are you?"
3.) I shall give you more recipes. I've been eating all this shit, I might as well make you fat too.
4.) I shall bring back the kink, the naughty, the nice, the twisted and the sauciness I desperately miss.
5). I will stop wearing panties. I'm so ashamed of myself.
6.) I can't think of anything else right now, but we can think of some thing later for #6.
Later, lovers. Thanks for listening and being there for me. My love handles thank you too.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Tuesday Tidbits - Celebrity Obessions and Hospital Corners
The world has ended. Nick Lachey is engaged and soon to be married. I'm having a pity party on Saturday night at 5:30 if anyone wants to come.
Now that I'm working 70+ hours a week, I finally broke down and hired a cleaning lady to come in every other week and spruce up the Sinful household. It was getting mangy. I'm a control freak by nature, but I soon realized I was spending my minute amount of free time cleaning. The Husband is a slob and I cannot follow him around with a dust buster. I have my sanity to think of. I love this women to pieces and she does a great job. During the initial walk around, I told her she didn't have to change the sheets or do any of those "maid" type things. Just clean. I'm not entirely helpless. I just can't clean toilets and scrub floors during my precious 2-3 hours off a month. After a few weeks, I came to realize she was re-making our bed. She's obsessed. I make the bed every morning and I think its good enough. Nope. Not for her. She remakes the entire things, with hospital corners and everything. I love her for doing it, but it gives me the creepies thinking about it. She doesn't know what happened in that bed the night before or even that morning. The poor woman.
Jessica Simpson is engaged too. She's not going to let Nick upstage her. Sure, she's only been dating the guy for 7 months. She's right to grab him now and have a quicky wedding before he realizes what a psycho she is. I give it less than a year. Who's with me?
Many thanks to Firecrotch for her thoughtful voicemail. Remember I called her after my stalking episode? She called me back and told me only an abnormal person wouldn't have stalked her lovers ex-girlfriend. We are the normal ones. Love you, girl! Thank you for understanding and loving me despite my flaws.
Jennifer Aniston was put on this earth to make women feel bad about themselves. Everytime I see her I want to gorge on Cheetos then throw myself off the nearest tall building.
Does anyone really care the McRib has returned to McDonalds? I was reading this article the other day and even the author refers to it as "mysterious". Mysterious indeed. Mysterious meat.
Later lovers.
Now that I'm working 70+ hours a week, I finally broke down and hired a cleaning lady to come in every other week and spruce up the Sinful household. It was getting mangy. I'm a control freak by nature, but I soon realized I was spending my minute amount of free time cleaning. The Husband is a slob and I cannot follow him around with a dust buster. I have my sanity to think of. I love this women to pieces and she does a great job. During the initial walk around, I told her she didn't have to change the sheets or do any of those "maid" type things. Just clean. I'm not entirely helpless. I just can't clean toilets and scrub floors during my precious 2-3 hours off a month. After a few weeks, I came to realize she was re-making our bed. She's obsessed. I make the bed every morning and I think its good enough. Nope. Not for her. She remakes the entire things, with hospital corners and everything. I love her for doing it, but it gives me the creepies thinking about it. She doesn't know what happened in that bed the night before or even that morning. The poor woman.
Jessica Simpson is engaged too. She's not going to let Nick upstage her. Sure, she's only been dating the guy for 7 months. She's right to grab him now and have a quicky wedding before he realizes what a psycho she is. I give it less than a year. Who's with me?
Many thanks to Firecrotch for her thoughtful voicemail. Remember I called her after my stalking episode? She called me back and told me only an abnormal person wouldn't have stalked her lovers ex-girlfriend. We are the normal ones. Love you, girl! Thank you for understanding and loving me despite my flaws.
Jennifer Aniston was put on this earth to make women feel bad about themselves. Everytime I see her I want to gorge on Cheetos then throw myself off the nearest tall building.
Does anyone really care the McRib has returned to McDonalds? I was reading this article the other day and even the author refers to it as "mysterious". Mysterious indeed. Mysterious meat.
Later lovers.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Dear Microsoft, Thanks for the Little Things
Does it show how desperate I am for a laugh when checking my Junk Mail box thrills me:
If you don't get it, you need a laugh more than me.
Happy Monday, Lovers. May your printer give you as much joy as mine apparently should.
Happy Monday, Lovers. May your printer give you as much joy as mine apparently should.
Friday, November 12, 2010
StalkHer Ex
Women are curious beasts. Even after 13 years of conjugal bliss, the green eyed monster still hangs out in the corners of my mind.
I was driving down the highway when I saw her. Well, at least I thought it was her. The name on the car was the company she worked for. Adrenaline trickled down my spine when I saw the amber glow of a cigarette scissored between the fingers holding the steering wheel as I cruised by in the passing lane. It was dark and I could only see a silhouette of a woman with short hair. Could it be her? She'd had short hair and had smoked for as long as I remembered. I felt the tingles of hatred as I drove ahead and eased into the travel lane ahead of her. It had been at least 7 years since I saw her in person. Even though she is no threat to me, I still harbor ill-will.
I turned off the exit and felt panicked as I watched her mirror my move and her headlights follow me on the ramp. I drove toward the mall and she was right behind me. Not close enough I could see inside the car. The suspense was killing me. Was it her? Was this whole dramatic episode in my head?
The 5 minute drive from the highway seemed to take hours. As I sat at red light, I strained to see in my rearview mirror. My rear window was fogged with rain and mist so I was only able to make out the soft flame as she dragged on her cigarette. We navigated the rotary and entered the road to the mall. I slowed to turn and she took a hard right into the complex across the street. I craned my neck to see her drive towards the parking area infront of Target.
I sat at a red light waiting to make the turn into the mall parking lot. It was killing me. I knew she would be sliding into a parking space any moment, exiting her car and going into the store. In 30 seconds I would lose her. I would never find out if it was her.
With a sigh, I took a quick glance behind me, turned the wheel and shot my car over 2 lanes of traffic and into the Target parking lot. (Don't tisk tisk. I drove safe. There wasn't anyone around). With exaggerated stealth, I parked my car 2 rows over and waited for her to exit the car. Of course, at that very moment, an SUV of mammoth proportions blocked my view of her exit. Not to be thwarted, I threw my car into reverse and crawled up to the front of the store in time to get the money shot.
It was her. The Husbands ex-girlfriend. The woman who nearly ended my relationship with him before it even began.
She took the last drag from her cigarette, flicked it to the ground and crushed it under her cloven hoof before entering the store. I sat still for a moment, pondering my next move. Then, I took my foot off the brake, turned the wheel and made my way out of the parking lot and towards my intended destination - the mall. I fought every urge I had to go back, park my car and cruise the store aisles hoping to catch a glimpse of her close up. I forced myself to continue on my errands and forget the woman who was just across the street. I called my friend Firecrotch and babbled into her voicemail about my craziness. I knew she would get a laugh at my psychotic behavior and not hold this little break in sanity against me. She would understand the importance of a quick stalk. She gets it. She gets me.
It's amazing how you hold onto things that really shouldn't matter anymore. He married me. Not her. She's a miserable bitch who smells like an ashtray and is at least 35 lbs overweight. I'm the one sleeping next to the sexiest man alive night after night. Yet, I still wasted 10 minutes of my life obsessing about her. Alright....3 hours if you count getting home, racing to the computer and writing about it. Tomorrow, I may have a fleeting thought....or two.
Jealousy. Ain't it a bitch.
I was driving down the highway when I saw her. Well, at least I thought it was her. The name on the car was the company she worked for. Adrenaline trickled down my spine when I saw the amber glow of a cigarette scissored between the fingers holding the steering wheel as I cruised by in the passing lane. It was dark and I could only see a silhouette of a woman with short hair. Could it be her? She'd had short hair and had smoked for as long as I remembered. I felt the tingles of hatred as I drove ahead and eased into the travel lane ahead of her. It had been at least 7 years since I saw her in person. Even though she is no threat to me, I still harbor ill-will.
I turned off the exit and felt panicked as I watched her mirror my move and her headlights follow me on the ramp. I drove toward the mall and she was right behind me. Not close enough I could see inside the car. The suspense was killing me. Was it her? Was this whole dramatic episode in my head?
The 5 minute drive from the highway seemed to take hours. As I sat at red light, I strained to see in my rearview mirror. My rear window was fogged with rain and mist so I was only able to make out the soft flame as she dragged on her cigarette. We navigated the rotary and entered the road to the mall. I slowed to turn and she took a hard right into the complex across the street. I craned my neck to see her drive towards the parking area infront of Target.
I sat at a red light waiting to make the turn into the mall parking lot. It was killing me. I knew she would be sliding into a parking space any moment, exiting her car and going into the store. In 30 seconds I would lose her. I would never find out if it was her.
With a sigh, I took a quick glance behind me, turned the wheel and shot my car over 2 lanes of traffic and into the Target parking lot. (Don't tisk tisk. I drove safe. There wasn't anyone around). With exaggerated stealth, I parked my car 2 rows over and waited for her to exit the car. Of course, at that very moment, an SUV of mammoth proportions blocked my view of her exit. Not to be thwarted, I threw my car into reverse and crawled up to the front of the store in time to get the money shot.
It was her. The Husbands ex-girlfriend. The woman who nearly ended my relationship with him before it even began.
She took the last drag from her cigarette, flicked it to the ground and crushed it under her cloven hoof before entering the store. I sat still for a moment, pondering my next move. Then, I took my foot off the brake, turned the wheel and made my way out of the parking lot and towards my intended destination - the mall. I fought every urge I had to go back, park my car and cruise the store aisles hoping to catch a glimpse of her close up. I forced myself to continue on my errands and forget the woman who was just across the street. I called my friend Firecrotch and babbled into her voicemail about my craziness. I knew she would get a laugh at my psychotic behavior and not hold this little break in sanity against me. She would understand the importance of a quick stalk. She gets it. She gets me.
It's amazing how you hold onto things that really shouldn't matter anymore. He married me. Not her. She's a miserable bitch who smells like an ashtray and is at least 35 lbs overweight. I'm the one sleeping next to the sexiest man alive night after night. Yet, I still wasted 10 minutes of my life obsessing about her. Alright....3 hours if you count getting home, racing to the computer and writing about it. Tomorrow, I may have a fleeting thought....or two.
Jealousy. Ain't it a bitch.
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