MR. PRETZEL

I made pretzels this weekend with my Mom. After the intial difficulty, kneading, rolling and shaping the dough got to be pretty fun! While making the pretzels, I thought of Johann Tetzel (Tetzel=Pretzel. They are the same in my head.).

F.Y.I. : Johann Tetzel was a Dominican preacher who sold indulgences way back in the 1400s in order to get some "DOUGH" to pay for the construction of St. Peter's Basilica.

Just another fun fact for ya.

Holy Cannoli!

I was surprised to discover this Sicilian delight in the quaint Cuban bakery across from my house.

Blanketed in a snowy mountain of confectioner's sugar, the cannoli has always reserved a special place in my heart.

When I was in elementary school, I was the girl with a speech problem, a New York accent to be more specific. To many of my peers surprise, I never lived there. They thought I was a liar, but I vehemently proclaimed I was telling the truth. My fellow first graders thought this because of my speech problem. I had extreme difficulty pronouncing the letter "R" correctly.

After a series of school speech pathology, the kind counselor suggested to my mother to seek a private teacher to fix my accent. At the time, I thought nothing of it. I actually enjoyed my distinct drawl as it marked me as unique and strange.

All the kids questioned and snickered that I was adopted or got switched at birth.

Within a few weeks after the received suggestion, Mom began taking me to speech therapy. I hated it. I felt the speech teacher was trying take away MY one special "something".

Before driving back home, Mom would always stop by the little bakery and allow me to get one small treat for a hard day's work. My favorites included the napoleon, eclair and strawberry tart, however, nothing rivaled the glory and perfection of the flaky cannoli. With a mouthful of the creamy goodness, I questioned her if what I considered a "gift" was really a serious problem. She reassuringly said she loved my New York accent and would still love me without it. Mom told me not to care what others think, but to enjoy the person God made me to be. While I finished off my gigantic cannoli, I digested her maternal arduous words of wisdom.

Devil's food.

Have you ever wondered why they called are called "Deviled Eggs"? Well I have and decided to do a little research to uncover the mystery.

Before I post the reason, why do you think they were given this name?

Grillin'

Grilling isn't limited to cooking hot dogs or flipping patties. One of my favorite ways to eat veggies is over the open flame.

Tonight, my neighbor Jeannie and Colin came over from a little BBQ in the backyard. Even though they live right behind us, we rarely get to enjoy a night out together because we always are too busy. It is nice to take a break from the fast pace and just basque in good company this evening.

Jeannie brought some fish and Mom and I made my favorite veggie kabobs from zucchini, squash, tomatoes, and purple onion. Together, the three of us painted up the sticks with olive oil spice and herb blend we crafted from the seasoning cabinet. From there, the kabobs where transported from the kitchen to the grill rack where the tongues of fire licked the delicious fresh vegetables.

Another interesting treat that will change your perception of the outdoor cooking method is grilled peach melba. I'll post my recipe for that soon.

Muscadine grapes

FACT: Muscadine grapes are considered "superfruits". They are loaded with antioxidants that help fight and prevent damage caused by those pesky free radicals. Additonally, they have more fiber than Oat Bran and are the only type of grape to have ellagic acid. Plus, they're yummy and on-sale.

Late Night with Mr. Pizza

A common side effect with eating right for dinner is the late-night snacking sessions, or that's what I have learned.

I scoured the kitchen for a snack, anything but those damn Wasa crackers! I wanted something substantial, something warm, something with punch of flavor. I wanted pizza.

I allocated two wraps, mozzarella cheese sticks, some basil from the pot in the kitchen window, a Parmesan shake 'em can, tomato paste, an onion, and some frozen veggies. I was determined to make this work.

I slathered the tomato paste from corner to corner on the low-cal wrap, sprinkled some cheese and topped it off with some sliced onion, basil and mixed vegetables. Then in it went into a preheated oven directly on the rack at 350 degrees for about 10 minutes.

When the "ding" chimed, I ran and began to salivate like Pavlov's dog. It smelt great! I opened the oven and tried to take it out. Problem: toppings and cheese were too heavy for the thin wrap to hold so the make-shift pizza started to crack and slip through the rack.

With the help of my Mom, we managed to salvage the remnants of the pizza. Unfortunately, the mushy consistency of the wrap base ruined any bit of enjoyment in that fourth meal. Karma, I guess.

Conquering Tomato Soup

I was always chicken noodle type of gal. I'd occasionally enjoy a good lentil or minestrone, but tomato? No way, Jose!


In psychology, I learned about phobias and how people over come them. The method to shake the fear is known as "systematic desensitization", a process in which the individual is taught how to relax and then conquer their
fear in different magnitudes.

While I never had a fear of tomato soup, I never found it very settling- so I conducted a small psychology experiment on myself using this technique.

First, I had to get comfortable around the essential element of the soup-- tomatoes. Easy. No fear in that. Next, I decided to sample a few slices of the red fruit peppered and salted. Ambrosial! I decided it was time to take a bigger step, so I fashioned myself a little tomato juice cocktail (nonalcoholic, guys) with lots of dill on the rocks. Surprising it wasn't too bad after all. This was clearly working out, I was still alive and kicking! Nothing could stop me now. I had one final showdown with a can named Campbell's and I was ready to conquer.

I plated myself up a bowl of the bright red soup and added some cracked sea salt and pepper to taste. I sat down with my spoon in hand ready to eat up. Staring pensively at the soup, I saw my reflection in the bright red liquid taunting and jeering me on. It was in that instant that I marred and quited the abrasive reflection by swallowing a large spoonful of soup.

Victory. Sweet tasty tomato soup victory.