Short Story: (it's about a cookie)

Annie-Lynn tugged on my hand. "Momma, please may I have a cookie?"
"Let Mommy count her money."
five dollars.
enough for milk, cereal, and a cookie.
Walking out of the store, Annie-Lynn grinned happily with cookie safely tucked in bag.
Two feet away, a homeless man sat. Annie-Lynn gave him the cookie.
That's my daughter.

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Operation: Grilled Cheese

I'm not much of a cook. I'd rather bake, eat someone else's food, or read a book - no, seriously.

Also, have you ever noticed that if you get a bunch of women into the kitchen and they all like to cook that a strange tension occurs because they all want to contribute something? Suddenly, you've got a bunch of women fighting over one oven and limited counter space. It's a turn off. Therefore, I steer clear of the kitchen and cooking and lots of women in small spaces.

Anywho. I recently discovered that I like experimenting (in empty kitchens without many women about). I'll take a normal recipe and funk it up (I like doing that with clothing and outfits, too).

Yesterday, I discovered a new favorite cooking experimentation. It includes the following ingredients: onion, garlic, egg, bread, cheddar cheese, butter, and tomato.

Basically, I make a gourmet grilled cheese sandwhich. Saute up the onion and garlic. Drop an egg in the pan with the onion and garlic. Cook it. Remove from the pan.

Then, do the normal grilled cheese deal (I had never made grilled cheese before this time) which means a buttered piece bread with butter side down on the pan and cheese melting on the other side. Once the cheese is sufficiently melted and the bread is wonderfully browned, scoop the bread off the pan. Place sliced tomato on the cheese and then cram the egg mess that you made before on top of this bread-cheese-tomato-conglomeration. Then, put another bread lid onto it. AND SHHHHhhh-bam, you've got a delicous, filling, and semi-healthy meal waiting to be eaten.

So I'm not much of a cook. But, this sandwhich really makes me happy. So you should probably try it or experiment with your own. You know...somebody has probably already created this sandwhich before.

I can only think of Food.

My new craving: carrots and humus. I cannot stop talking about carrots and humus (my poor roommates).

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My mom makes the best spaghetti sauce. No one makes it like she does. I just want to go home and eat her spaghetti, tomato sauce, italian bread, and meatballs.

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This afternoon for lunch, I went to a frozen yogurt place called Let's Spoon. I loved it. I think I went into a food coma.

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All I want from life is food. I could go for some rice and beans, pineapple, raisin bran, pancakes and waffles, taco bell (YES, taco bell. i know), and a mini DQ blizzard. Hopefully, this blog post has calmed my food craving.

Operation: Strawberry Chicken

dancing chickens found here

Strawberries are my favorite fruit. If I could, I would eat them for breakfast, in class, for lunch, for snack, during exercise, in place of water, while showering, for dinner, for dessert, and for a midnight snack. It just so happens that I have enough strawberries to pull this off at least for about 24 hours.

I also like (dancing) chicken.

In a college dorm, ingredients are limited.

However, I wanted chicken with strawberries. I endeavored to find myself a recipe. I came up with a recipe from Cooks.com.

Unfortunately, I had neither ginger nor strawberry jam. I rooted about my ingredient cabinet for a while and found cloves. I smelled it and tried to imagine the taste of strawberries mixed with it. The taste in my head seemed promising. I gathered all the ingredients that I had or wanted to add.

2 frozen chicken tenders
6 fresh strawberries diced
1/2 tbs butter
a dollop of olive oil
a pinch of cloves
a pinch of cinnamon

Pulling out my handy dandy frying pan, I tossed the butter, oil, and chicken in the pan. After chicken cooked, I swapped the chicken out for the strawberries. As the sweet aroma of strawberries permeated the air, I gently sprinkled in cloves. The cinnamon came as an afterthought as I carefully combined the taste of cinnamon with the perfume that I was smelling from the pan. I decided to add a bit of cinnamon. As the strawberries softened and the ingredients mixed, I re-added the chicken to the mix. I allowed the chicken to soak in the mixture for a while as it regained its warm temperature. Finally, I removed the frying pan from the burner and dumped its contents into a waiting bowl.

I imagine that this combination could possibly taste good with some plain rice. Also, I feel like some more experimentation might be called for to created a more pristine and signature flavor. However, I am contented with this recipe for the time being because it satisfied my craving for a lunch of strawberries and chicken.

The Life of a Frozen Pea

The first thing I recall is being poured into this sizzling black circular object. As soon as I landed in this thing with all of my look-alikes, the icy layer that had kept me unmoving for a long time began to disappear. For a moment, I hoped that I was back in the lush greenery of my growing up days. No such luck. As the ice melted, I became aware of an uncomfortable sensation that was totally different than my previous state. Previously, I was unmoving and swollen to the biggest size that I can ever recall being. Now, my skin was slowly imploding inward. It wrinkled and browned when I was left too long on that side.

Roughly, my cohorts and I were rolled onto another circular object that already had a bed of long wiggly things that I have never seen before. Next to these strange things was one big mass of dense stuff. It was odd because it wasn’t separated in any way. As we were all reclining in this weird noodle pool, a huge wad of slimy melty stuff landed on top of all the stuff. The entire object was moved by a grand hand to another resting place. A giant prong came down and lifted some noodles and cohorts away. I tried to see where they went. I couldn’t. The prong came down again and grabbed more. Suddenly, I knew that I couldn’t stay.

When the prong came for me, I took a rolling jump off of it and bounced away. I rolled under a huge mass. It was dark and I felt save. However, I couldn’t move. My momentum was gone. There I sat until the mass moved. A gigantic moving thing with five moving things connected to it picked me up. It felt like flying except there was a lot of squeezing involved. Abruptly, I was dropped into a big container with lots of other things. I haven’t moved since, but I am the only one of my kind here. There are some weird noodle things, but they are only bits and pieces. It’s mostly quiet here unless something else gets thrown in.

To Die Dreaming

One of the unique and delicious things about the Dominican Republic is the food. Of course, there may be people who believe that if they have had ‘la bandera’ then they have had it all. ‘La bandera’ consists of a Dominican’s most eaten meal. It is rice, beans, chicken, and avocado. Lunch is certain to be some rendition of ‘la bandera’ which also means ‘the flag’ in Spanish. It is a delicious combination. Yet, my favorite food or drink is entitled ‘Morir Sonando.’ The translation of this name is ‘To Die Dreaming.’

Morir Sonando is scrumptious. I practically foam at the mouth when I think of Morir Sonando. This drink is the perfect combination of milk, orange juice, and ice. I would never have thought that this combination could be so heart-stoppingly good. The first time that my Mami made it for me, I demanded to know what it was. It is like eating ice cream in the form of a drink. Not only is the drink delicious but so is the title of the drink excellently chosen. Who would not want ‘to die dreaming’?

Which brings me to the thought of ‘to die dreaming,’ I definitely like dreams. Of course, I am not sure if I would like the concept of dying in the midst of dreams for real. Generally, dreams are good things and one has many good thoughts wrapped up in these ideas of dreams. Yet, what if one were to die in the midst of an nightmare? I would dislike that a lot. I hate the thought of dying the midst of a pleasing dream, though. I think that would be worse than dying in a nightmare because you would not be able to fully enjoy the entire dream and then still enjoy it upon waking.

Well, to say the least, I love ‘to die dreaming’ and I would have ‘to die dreaming’ probably everyday if I could. If your travels ever take you to the Dominican Republic, put ‘Morir Sonando’ on your list of foods to try and don’t miss ‘La bandera.’ Now, don’t die during an especially extraordinary dream. I need someone to read my blogs.

Oatmeal Chocolate Oozing Goodness

It's truly a spectacular thing that my roommate motivates me to run about 2.5 miles every day of the week. That's why today at the base...I allowed myself to eat 4. Yes, four scrum-diddle-E-umptious oatmeal chocolate creations. Hey! I need the oatmeal anyways why shouldn't I get it in the form of something sweet.

My main complaint against the Dominican culture is that there is not enough "sweetness" to go around. I thrive on sugary goodness. No dessert after lunch or dinner. Of course, you might have an afternoon snack of fruit. Overall, this is probably healthier for a person.

I find that, in fact, it is anything but healthier for me because when I find myself being offered a tray full of cookies, I'm all the more likely to stuff my face. And what more! I've actually been slowly training my stomach to have this ability to eat more because the Dominicans forever encourage you to eat more. Therefore, stuffing my face and stomach with sweets is easy. Way too easy.

I expect that I've gained a couple starch pounds here and when I return to the United States, I'll probably gain a couple of sweet pounds. On the bright side, they are sweet.

Disaster Hits!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The chickens were in uproar. From up in their tree, they screamed and yelled. Below their tree in the yard lay a dead sister. Its days of finding food among the filth of the yard were over. Its clucking had come to a brutal and abrupt end. In the shadows of the tree, there was a bit movement as something dark and menacing slowly and silently ate a killing. In the depth of the shadow, the lank body of a killer could be seen. Although a young dog, it was a big dog. It was made all the more menacing by the fact that from its collar hung a broken chain.

The dog moved with a slow confidence in his might. The barking of the dogs of the house caused him no extra worry. It did not even acknowledge their yaps or the outraged cries of the sisters of the chickens that had been murdered for sport. The puppy on the porch whimpered. The large dog heard and stepped almost with sleepy interest towards the porch. The dog suddenly became engrossed in his breakfast again. Momentarily, the yard had fallen silent while the dogs had barked the chickens had quieted. As soon as the dog returned to his breakfast, the chickens took up their mournful wail.

The girl human who had just come out of the house was met with the chorus of chickens. She looked into the tangle of greenery and barbed wire fence underneath the chicken tree and shuddered. The dog was huge and black. Bravely, she stepped towards it trying desperately to be threatening. It had no fear. This struck fear into the girl’s heart. When the dog came into the yard again, the girl ran and vaulted over the porch railing. It stood there declaring his morning reign upon the courtyard. All was in chaos and confusion.

Now, hours after the chicken massacre, four stiff corpses are piled on a cement block. Corn is still scattered on the ground because the chickens’ lost their appetite. The roosters have lost some of their pluck. The courtyard seems to be mourning the loss of four confused chickens who never knew when it was a good hour to start chattering about their coming eggs. The courtyard has become more hushed. Perhaps, I will sleep better tonight.

(If you would like a different perspective on this grand event, I have it on good authority that this blogger will be posting a similar story to mine – a more serious one. http://www.adriennesearer.blogspot.com/)

Fruit Salad

I fancy myself a connoisseur of fruit. It is not only that I love to snack on fruit all throughout the day it is also the fact that I can slice or dice the fruit in a manner of seconds. There is probably not a fruit that you can find that I do not like. Well, unless you happen to stick your thumb into a pie and pull out a plum or a cherry or a grapefruit. Admittedly, not all fruit is to my liking but that does not change the reality that I am a connoisseur of fruit.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. People have been testing the validity of this statement for years. Is it true? I claimed to be a fruit connoisseur not a scientist. Yet, I do know that apples are a delectable delicacy. Of course, I think that Americans sometimes forget how wonderful apples are just because ‘they are as American as apple pie.’ Apples have become too familiar. That’s exactly why we must encourage children to create fun snacks out of apples. For example, apples make great lady bugs. Just use some toothpicks to attach raisins onto their red skin. My most recent favorite way to munch on this scrump-diddle-y-umptious treat is to dribble honey across the creamy white of the apple. There are so many ways to incorporate this sweet crunch into one’s day. I say,

“An apple a day keeps the summer munchies away!”

One fruit that I adore and have dubbed its flavor to be ‘what the sun would taste like if it had a flavor’ is pineapple. Only a couple of summers ago, I could not enjoy this strangely textured and acidy sweet fruit. I even had traveled to Panama and had foregone eating this mouth watering goodness. I was happily content to watch my friends greedily gobble the pineapple down. Only days after returning, I attended a baby shower. The only thing there that I would even consider eating was pineapple. After painfully swallowing the last bite of this horrid fruit, I thought my misery was over. It figures that somehow over that hour my tongue decided to acquire a liking towards pineapple. Now, pineapple and I are good friends. We are such good friends that while in college I got sent a pineapple in the mail. It was definitely a unique gift to give to a fruit-deprived college student. Unfortunately, all I had to cut the pineapple with was a knife blade that was about as long as my pinky. It took some time, but I finally got my little bit of sunshine and shared it with all the girls because nothing was getting between me and eating that pineapple.

As to the fruit that I am not especially fond of, I should probably explain to the best of my ability. First of all, I really cannot explain my dislike of plums because I have not quite figured it out myself. Perhaps it is the texture or maybe it is the flavor. You never know I might surprise myself and suddenly acquire a liking of the plum and then I will be begging that you pull a plum out with your thumb. Cherries on the other hand are a fruit that I have had a deep seated loathing for since I was a child. Blame it on the cherry flavored medicine. Yes, I know. Everyone cries,

“Fresh cherries are nothing like the medicine.”

Prove it. No, I will not try a tasting test. Ask my father about my abhorrence of cherry medication. When I was a baby, he had to give me medicine while screening his body with a shower curtain because I would show my dislike of the medicine by throwing it back up. Cherries and I are not friends. Grapefruit is something all together different. Oranges I like. Grapefruit are just much to tart for me and I know sugar will sweeten them up. Yet, I believe in enjoying the true flavor of a fruit. I thought it would be in my best interest to explain my odd aversion to these considered delectable fruits by some.

Fruit is the candy of the natural world. I can think of nothing as divine as sitting in a forest glade with strawberry juice dripping down one’s chin while bugs hum by on their little business missions. Not only does the fruit flavor categorize as the candy of the world but it also can claim to be the natural gems of the world. I have never seen anything so pretty as the deep ruby red of a cherry (I may dislike cherries but their color is fantastic) or the dark violet blue of a blueberry. No food group in the world shares the rainbow of colors as fruit do. Fruit should be admired for more than just its taste but also for its color. Therefore, I claim the title fruit connoisseur.