Maple Butter Carrots

               Maple Butter Carrots By G-Money

 

       Have a grown-up help you! 

       Caution: Carrots will be hot and Crazy Good!

Feeling a bit whisked

It happens when you least expect it.  It's like when you look in the mirror to see if you have any pieces of black beans stuck in your teeth and instead find a gray nose hair sticking an inch and a half out of your left nostril.  

Where the EFF is a referee when you need one?!?

When did this happen?  Why didn't I catch this at a third or even three quarters of an inch?  Am I so blind to my aging process that I somehow missed an inch and a half?  Where are my priorities in life?

Fortunately this happened to me two some odd years ago and I had completely recovered from this traumatic event until tonight.

Tonight I felt myself aging again.  So a big 'Thank You!' to kickball for snapping me out my youthful reverie (read: denial... Duh!) long enough to realize that I am not as young as I think I am.  Now, don't get me wrong, denial can be an incredible ally in life and in some instances an absolute necessity tantamount to water but not when it comes to your knees.

Not when it comes to your knees.

I felt young on the ground, young in the air, not quite as young mid air as the bright red kickball sailed well over my outstretched fingers, and really really effing old as I landed back to earth.  My last tour jeté was eighteen thousand times more graceful than the way in which my knees ceased to function and my feet begrudgingly accepted the gift of gravity.  

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

True, but I gotta tell you, there is a gift in looking into an empty refrigerator and seeing possibility instead of seeing abso-effing-lutely NOTHING to feed your boys for breakfast.  I had a bottle of TJ's Midnight Moo, some chocolate chunks, one egg, and a small amount of whipping cream that didn't smell as bad as it should have.

Always stop to smell the cream.

But if it stinks, you should open up the other end and smell it again (it might just be the spout that's bad).  

Then again, when it doubt, throw it out.  Words to stitch on a taupe colored throw pillow and live by.  This only applies to food, and not family members.  Or future family members (unless you want them to elope just so they can 'stick it to you').

Are you even allowed to have that kind of punctuation all lumped together?  Unless it's part of your Facebook password, but of course!

My powers of denial enabled me to see those three ingredients for what they could be--a sugar high filled better do it while your mom is away chocolate chocolate chip monster pancake with whipped cream binge!!!

You don't need my super power of denial to make these at home, just make sure you have plausible deniability when the kiddos ask for this again!  I add 1/4 cup of frozen semi-sweet chocolate chunks (frozen) to the finished batter for every cup of flour used.  You then can set about the task of making the face--start with the eyes and nose,

or throwing in a fanged mouth in lieu of a nose.  Wait until the air bubbles remain open and then ladle in some more batter all around it.

You can throw in some horns up top too if you'd like.  Wait for the bubbles to pop and remain open before you flip it.  Unfortunately I forgot to take the next picture, the boys had discovered the whisk with whipped cream, and they helped remind me that you're only as old as the amount of ice cubes and minutes it takes to ice down your knee/shoulder/all over after playing kickball...

Sharing some whipped cream helps too.

Stop and smell the flour!

Yes, it's a difficult thing to do every now and then, especially when you're allergic to it... but these weeks turn into months and before I know it, our youngest is looking like W in my profile picture--though I don't think G has ever actually been that small.

EVER.

G is my excuse for exercise when I go the doctor's office and get the "Do you exercise" routine.  "I have a 45 pound solid as a rock three year old does that count?"
Judging by his reaction, I guess not--but it sure feels like it counts.
He's three...
So is this blog, ugh.

Don't worry, I know I know, I promise I have paid way more attention to him than this blog, so put down the phone.

It's not like I let my boys fight with waffle 'swords' and wear masks at the breakfast table... 

...while their mother is a way at a work conference. 

  

Put down the phone, she'll be back soon. But not too soon because I must clean--but after. After I put this all together in a nice little package.  This entry could be as long as the pile of clean laundry staring me down is high. I am thoroughly tempted to just make them prospect for underwear and shorts each morning and then just throw the unworn items in the dirty laundry basket. A technique that I have never used.

EVER.

I have been known to take my boys grocery shopping at 7 am on a school day with their lunch boxes in hand, it's like a this is your lunch meets let's make a deal meets shop till you drop, and the best part is they think they're making their lunch all by their lonesome! I have taken to applying this to other aspects when I am single dadding it (How the EFF do you single parents out there do it?!?!?)

You can use any waffle mix, and this could totally work with pancakes, but waffles have that sturdiness to them and seem to not mold as quickly when you've forgotten to remove them from the back seat of your car. I use Pamela's all purpose gluten-free baking mix and shockingly follow the recipe to a T--unless you count adding in a little brown sugar and cinnamon not really following the directions at all...
I really do beat the egg whites and all. 

 
Once you have the batter ready and the waffle iron hot, ask your kids to throw in other breakfasty items, we have done well with chopped cooked bacon, maple syrup, and sprinkles. Put down the phone, I don't always use bacon, and then cook it until its golden brown.

I have started to teach W about ratios and that sometimes you cook by ratio instead of by recipe. He loves figuring out the other items based upon how much of the first item he has. The maple butter is plain and simple and uses a 1:1 ratio unlike our family which is A 1 amazing wife:3 boys who never act their age ratio. So the maple butter is equal parts salted butter and maple syrup. You'll soften the butter in the microwave for about 7-10 seconds per tablespoon (35 seconds max but if you're making that much at once you've got bigger issues) and then stir in a tablespoon of maple syrup for every tablespoon of butter that you used. If the butter is a bit too melted put it in the freezer and let it set up a bit. Sometimes W goes a little crazy and puts a shake or 8 of cinnamon into it, but I think the cinnamon is better in the batter.

It'll make you stop and smell...

All I smell is the friggin dryer sheet in this heap of clean clothes--gotta go. 

Stop and smell the flour.

Yes, it's a difficult thing to do every now and then, especially when you're allergic to it... but these weeks turn into months and before I know it, our youngest is looking like W in my profile picture--though I don't think G has ever actually been that small. EVER. G is my excuse for exercise when I go the doctor's office and get the "Do you exercise" routine. "I have a 45 pound solid as a rock three year old does that count?" Judging by his reaction, I guess not--but it sure feels like it counts. He's three... So is this blog, ugh. Don't worry, I know I know, I promise I have paid way more attention to him than this blog, so put down the phone. It's not like I let my boys fight with waffle 'swords' and wear masks at the breakfast table... The moment has passed, as I cannot for the life of me how to insert a friggin' picture of my two boys waffle sword fighting in masks at their breakfast table while their mother is a way at a work conference. Put down the phone, she'll be back soon. But not too soon because I must clean--but after. After I put this all together in a nice little package. This entry could be as long as the pile of clean laundry staring me down is high. I am thoroughly tempted to just make them prospect for underwear and shorts each morning and then just throw the unworn items in the dirty laundry basket. A technique that I have never used. EVER. I have been known to take my boys grocery shopping at 7 am on a school day with their lunch boxes in hand, it's like a this is your lunch meets let's make a deal meets shop till you drop, and the best part is they think they're making their lunch all by their lonesome! I have taken to applying this to other aspects when I am single dadding it (How the EFF do you single parents out there do it?!?!?) You can use any waffle mix, and this could totally work with pancakes, but waffles have that sturdiness to them and seem to not mold as quickly when you've forgotten to remove them from the back seat of your car. I use Pamela's all purpose gluten-free baking mix and shockingly follow the recipe to a T--unless you count adding in a little brown sugar and cinnamon not really following the directions at all... I really do beat the egg whites and all. Once you have the batter ready and the waffle iron hot, ask your kids to throw in other breakfasty items, we have done well with chopped cooked bacon, maple syrup, and sprinkles. Put down the phone, I don't always use bacon, and then cook it until its golden brown. I have started to teach W about ratios and that sometimes you cook by ratio instead of by recipe. He loves figuring out the other items based upon how much of the first item he has. The maple butter is plain and simple and uses a 1:1 ratio unlike our family which is A 1 amazing wife:3 boys who never act their age ratio. So the maple butter is equal parts salted butter and maple syrup. You'll soften the butter in the microwave for about 7-10 seconds per tablespoon (35 seconds max but if you're making that much at once you've got bigger issues) and then stir in a tablespoon of maple syrup for every tablespoon of butter that you used. If the butter is a bit too melted put it in the freezer and let it sit up a bit. Sometimes W goes a little crazy and puts a shake or 8 of cinnamon into it, but I think the cinnamon is better in the batter. It'll make you stop and smell... All I smell is the friggin dryer sheet in this heap of clean clothes. Gotta go.

Lady and the Tramp.

Really?

Puh-LeEez!

I was NOT referring to myself in the title, nor was I eluding to my inner trampy stripper.

Oh c'mon, s/he's in all of us. You can deny it all you want, but when your 'jam' comes on, that inner stripper comes on out!!!

1901 by Phoenix does it for me--"folded, folded, folded, folded!"--and there goes my nice family oriented post--right out the sunroof.

William loves Lady and the Tramp dinner night--but he is quick to point out that this isn't a traditional Lady and the Tramp dinner as they didn't eat garlic bread on their date night. I wasn't about to cover the specifics as to why they skipped the garlic bread on that one.

So William rocks this great garlic toast that he does all by himself except the cutting of the bread. It's a great way to get the kids involved regardless of age. I asked William if I could write about his famous garlic toast, and after careful consideration of all possible outcomes, he said yes. I was relieved because I have been so busy that I can't even think about my next post let alone write one. So a big THANK YOU!!! shout out to Dub K for chippin' in on this one.

Has it really come to this?

Yes, yes it has.

Now, in true William fashion, he did have one caveat--"Be sure they use the dinner rolls from Pavilions, Dad!". Yes, I reassured him that I was already planning on sharing that anecdote of making an out of the way stop just for those rolls.

I love his use of the word "they." He automatically assumes that more than one person will read this post!

William's Famous Garlic Toast
2 Tbsp cold salted butter
1 tsp pressed/minced/or frozen crushed garlic
a shake of salt
a small glug of olive oil
3 French dinner rolls (from Pavilions/Safeway/Vons) cut in half

Put the tsp of garlic and 2 Tbsp butter in a microwave safe ramekin or small bowl.

Heat them on high for 15-20 seconds, don't worry if the butter melts completely, you can set it up in the freezer if need be.

Remove it from the microwave, add a shake of salt, a quick swirl of olive oil, and mix it all up. If it's a bit loose put the ramekin in the freezer for 3-5 minutes until it firms up a tad.

Cut the rolls in half and spread the garlic butter on nice and thick.

Toast in a toaster oven buttered side up using the 'medium' toaster setting. Once that's done switch it to broil and let it broil for 2-3 minutes until they brown nicely on top.

These are best when served with Spaghetti and Meatballs, and it's not a true Lady and the Tramp Dinner, until you split a spaghetti noodle with a loved one.

Preferably done before eating the garlic toast!!!

Executing Dinner

No good could possibly come of this...

alt + f4

"When possible, make a U-Turn..."

This isn't even one of those "Do as I say, not as I do!!!" moments, because, in all honesty, it is a "Don't do as I say, or as I do (did!!!)"

To put this in perspective, if this were an episode of Top Chef, you would have broken free from that cocoon-like couch of yours and screamed at me, "What are you thinking Alvarado!!!!" as I fumbled and punted my way through this self-imposed quickfire challenge.

Disaster of epic proportions, steakicide, or palate cleansing, cannot even begin to describe this culinary catastrophe.

I would have been packing my knives even before Padma sashayed out and gave everyone their elimination challenge--cook a Tomahawk Steak over a Bunsen Burner using only an eyelash curler.

It all started with a phone call from my wife, Sara, and a seemingly innocuous sale at Fresh and Easy.

I should have known, I sent her there to grab zucchini and fresh tomatoes.

NY steaks were on sale, and they looked too good to pass up.

me: "NY steaks?"

Sara: "NY steaks!"

me: "Where's the zucchini?"

Now, it's not too late to quit right now. Switch to a more reputable blog like Chez Pim, Orangette, or SmittenKitchen.



SO there sat a value pack of NY Strip Steaks in the refrigerator. A ticking time bomb if you will.

Each day they sat there the sell by date just glaring at me each time I opened the refrigerator door. "Cook me, cook me, COOOOOooOOOoOOoOoOoOOOoooooooOOok me...."

Finally, I set a date to cook the steaks. Two days after the sell by date said I should, but we sometimes live dangerously here in Casa Alvarado.

I got home by 5pm and Sara would be home around 5:45/6 with the kids. I took a look in the pantry and somehow against all better judgment and wisdom (what little I have) I start on a quick marinade.

Not a dry or wet rub, but a marinade--stone cold sober, I made my go to quick marinade. A lean cut of meat IMHO should always be cooked with a flavorful rub at a high temp for a short amount of time. Where was my humble opinion then?

In go the steaks into my tamari marinade, where the marinade is going exactly is beyond me, seeing as these steaks had very little marbling on them, and I had to get those puppies on the grill by 5:25--the grill which has no gas...

*multiple loud expletives*

(Relax, relax, the kiddos were not home yet.)

So just to recap here what exactly went wrong here? a) Sara bought the steaks, b) they sat for 5 days in the fridge, c) I marinated them for all of 5 minutes, d) No reputable source of heat for these steaks, e) all of the above.

For those of you playing at home, e it is, and oh no, we are not even cooking yet!

Steaks in a marinade and no gas... I bust out my griddler, pop on the grill plates, and set it to sear. The green light comes on after 10 minutes and I supposedly am ready to sear. I put the steaks on and nada, nuffin', a big ol' goose egged zero. I take half of the steaks off and drop the top on to the steaks. Double the heat and half the time can't be a bad thing right? Well maybe if I had done a nice rub, but with some of that marinade still on the steaks, I essentially start to steam the sh!t of them.

Fantastic.

I turn on the broiler and yank the rack out of my toaster oven thinking I might be able to save these poor souls.

I can't even begin to tell you how the side dishes were going. It's hard enough rehashing the steaks alone. Maybe I should have done just that at that point. Chop up 'em up and make hash.

Or lemonade?

So in go the the steaks under the broiler and there in just under 10 minutes, half turned to shoe leather on the outside, and remained raw in the center, and for the other half they were well done throughout.

I look up from the sizzling steaks turned gristle in time to see Sara pull up in the van and start to unload the kiddos.

A cold sweat pours over me--I have been caught in the act.

It's too late to hide the corpses and order Poquito Mas, but it's never too late to whip up some steak sauce to cover up the horrific and brutal murder that lies beneath.

Now why didn't I think of that?!?

I just spent the entire dinner apologizing for the steaks, and telling the boys that they couldn't have steak, because if they did, they would never want to eat it again.

"Forever daddy?" asks William.

"Forever-ever." I reply.

"Daddy?" William is formulating a phrase, perhaps an all absolving sentence as he so aptly and often does. This is a deep one too. The stress of it all will soon be over with one sweet utterance out of my older boy's mouth, and only from his.

Sara and Gavin are too busy chewing the F out of their "steaks" as he looks me sweetly in eyes. God, that just makes my day, y'know?

"What buddy?" I smile in kind.

"Maybe mommy should cook the frozen pizza tomorrow night for sleepover?" he shrugs.

Hmm...

Ouch.

Damn, he's smart.

Making scents of it all...

"The thing is... is that's what it smells like all the time. You can't smell it until there is moisture to carry the scent into your nose."

These are the thing my mom and I speak of when we start drinking tequila.

btw for all you Tucsonans out there, Blanco has Happy Hour from 4-6pm, and this is now on my list of positives for living in Burbank. Otherwise I would never make it home without having a blood orange margarita.

There is a smell that is somewhere between spraying water on dirt with a little bit of fresh cut grass thrown in here and there when it begins to rain in Tucson that is essentially akin to the Sonoran Desert making an "ahhh" sound after drinking a really nice beer after a really long day at work. Way different than Geoffrey Holder and a can o' 7-Up, but you're on the right track. The Sonoran Desert never seemed to have that deep of a voice, or laugh for that matter. Sigh yes, but laugh? No.

Then again, maybe 109 degrees in the shade is it's laughter?

Ha.

Ain't nothing funny about driving around the mall for an hour just so you can park in the shade of a mesquite tree which provides about as much shade as a sundial, yet somehow manages to move faster than one.

Smells transport us. Bean curd and diesel fumes scream Bangkok to me, roofing tar makes me think of my Tata, and just before the rain hits in Tucson--that smell takes me home.

Speaking of transporting smells, I wandered into the Spice Station this past weekend and fell in love. I happened across a new chile pepper while grabbing some Indian spices for a work project, and I paired it with Durango Hickory Smoked Salt, Olive Oil, Fresh Garlic, and Rosemary to make a wet rub for some bone-in rib eyes to throw on the grill for Father's Day.

Urfa Biber, I love you, you raisiny, tiny kick o'heat, sweet thang you! I'm not gonna lie to you. I even put a little bit of bacon drippings into this rub. It was an amazing way to add flavor and fat to an already flavorful and well marbled cut of beef.

Extreme behavior?

I remember a time when I was eating a bunch of Tangelos and drinking whiskey, and I just kept missing my Grandpa so much... and then it finally dawned on me that I was missing him so much because I smelled like him. Sometimes I'll scratch a Minneola Tangelo at the grocery store just to say hi.

I put it right back on the pile when I am done. Maybe it's kinda like setting a place for Elijah, or is it just a cup?

Happy Father's Day Grandpa.