Domestic Blunders to Household Wonders:
Ground pork concoction: 4 ways
"Don't ask me what it tastes like or what I put in it. Just eat it, dammit."
--is how I would describe this dish. Not good. But this is about blunders to wonders, and so there is light at the end of this 3-day tunnel.
I combined ground pork, carrots, potatoes, and maybe one or more of the following: your typical soy sauce, Kikkoman soy sauce, Knorr seasoning, some button mushrooms, and miscellaneous herbs and spices. Had no idea what I was doing, so it ended up a bit weird. Lab experiment fail.
DAY 1
Lunch: We were hungry so it tasted OK.
Dinner: Hey. This is not as great as we first thought it was.
DAY 2
Breakfast: Made it into a SANDWICH. I put some ketchup and mayonnaise on a hot pandesal. I surprised myself! Yommy.
Lunch: Eureka! I made some into an omelette! Not bad.
Dinner: Blah. Getting tired of it. And so the nightmare continues.
DAY 3
Breakfast: I forgot about it. Intentionally.
Lunch: While still dreading to eat it, a brilliant idea saved me. I turned it into SOUP! Added onions, pork broth, salt and pepper. Surprisingly yommy!
Dinner: Soup still yommy. If not, better.
And so this seemingly never-ending saga finally ended, happily at that. I have observed that some of my cooking nightmares end up as wonderful realities by soup-ifying them.
Don't ruin my happy ending by asking how many kilos of ground pork I used for this dish.
photo credit
Raw photo by Metrophoto, edited by hubbywifeylife.
hubby wifey life. heads up on married life!
Monday, October 25, 2010
Ground pork concoction: the never-ending saga continues [DBHW]
Monday, October 4, 2010
My lips are dry [ISIH]
Dry, unkissable lips
In sickness and in health
In one of our visits to the bank, our account manager commented with a questioning look, "I always see the two of you carrying around a water bottle. Why is that?" This post is one of the explanations why Bee and I always lug around our conspicuous water containers (the Lock & Lock ones with a blue cap) no matter what the occasion. When I don't have my bottle with me, it makes me feel like something's missing in my life.
Ever heard of water therapy? I first heard of this from my sister--a dermatologist--and she swore she got well from a cold just by drinking a huge amount of soup and water in small, frequent doses. But not too much, of course. Please see the Mayo Clinic's take on the daily recommended amount of water intake.
If your lips are dry and it's not because of cold weather, then it's a sign you're not drinking enough water. Aside from cold and UTI prevention, it also keeps you from eating too much--very helpful when you're on a diet.
If your lips are still dry after knowing that you've been drinking enough water, then it's time to put some water (moisture) on your lips, then seal them with petroleum jelly. Chapstick's nice for kissing, but my dermatologist sister doesn't really recommend it. She mentioned that it can actually lead to further dryness. I'm guessing that's because it puts unnecessary chemicals on your lips.
How do you know if your lips are dry? Rub your lips together or touch them. It should feel completely soft and smooth. If you feel some roughness, then it's time to glug on some liquids. So if you see me rubbing my lips together or touching my lips with my finger, it could either mean that I'm checking if I'm dehydrated, or I'm feeling kinda sexy.
In sickness and in health
In one of our visits to the bank, our account manager commented with a questioning look, "I always see the two of you carrying around a water bottle. Why is that?" This post is one of the explanations why Bee and I always lug around our conspicuous water containers (the Lock & Lock ones with a blue cap) no matter what the occasion. When I don't have my bottle with me, it makes me feel like something's missing in my life.
Ever heard of water therapy? I first heard of this from my sister--a dermatologist--and she swore she got well from a cold just by drinking a huge amount of soup and water in small, frequent doses. But not too much, of course. Please see the Mayo Clinic's take on the daily recommended amount of water intake.
If your lips are dry and it's not because of cold weather, then it's a sign you're not drinking enough water. Aside from cold and UTI prevention, it also keeps you from eating too much--very helpful when you're on a diet.
If your lips are still dry after knowing that you've been drinking enough water, then it's time to put some water (moisture) on your lips, then seal them with petroleum jelly. Chapstick's nice for kissing, but my dermatologist sister doesn't really recommend it. She mentioned that it can actually lead to further dryness. I'm guessing that's because it puts unnecessary chemicals on your lips.
How do you know if your lips are dry? Rub your lips together or touch them. It should feel completely soft and smooth. If you feel some roughness, then it's time to glug on some liquids. So if you see me rubbing my lips together or touching my lips with my finger, it could either mean that I'm checking if I'm dehydrated, or I'm feeling kinda sexy.
Labels:
dehydration,
dry lips,
ISIH,
UTI,
water therapy
Sunday, October 3, 2010
How I started out as a housewifey [WIT]
Wifey's "Intelligent" Thoughts:
Starting out as an undomesticated housewifey
I learned how to cook rice only after the wedding. I learned a gazillion other stuff AFTER the wedding--the type of stuff you'd probably want to know before getting married or before living on your own when someone else has been doing all the chores for you since you were a kid. If you can already manage on your own, good for you! But I didn't. Hence, this blog.
I've been cooking consistently for about a year now, but I'm not particularly passionate about spending tons of time and effort for a dish that could be gobbled up in seconds anyway.
In one of our breakfast get-togethers (just like a 5-year-old, I'm proud to declare that I was the one who prepared breakfast that time), a friend remarked that cooking seemed to come naturally for me--perhaps it was because of the way I had carried myself, looking quite poised in the kitchen. Seriously now, I was surprised at his comment, since I'd never seen myself as a "natural cook". After some thought, I replied that maybe it's because I'd been watching a lot of cooking shows and I hung out in the kitchen occasionally while I was growing up, observing household help prepare the veggies. I'd sometimes help in slicing tomatoes or removing the ends of green bean pods. And so another friend asked, "So that's all it took for you to learn how to cook?" Yeah, I think so, I replied. I started out fumbling, and then I just sort of got used to it. When you're already starving, you have no choice but to survive through the cooking.
What I didn't tell them, though, was that sometimes when I'm cooking alone, I'd say the ingredients and each step aloud and pretend I'm on a cooking show talking to my audience. "Next, we add two tablespoons of salt to our ground pork mixture, and allow it to simmer in the pot for 5 minutes until it becomes tender and has wonderfully absorbed all the flavors..."
Several weeks after that incident, I realized that although I didn't come from a family of cooks and had no formal training whatsoever, hey, I've had a lot more "education" in cooking than I'd thought! Watching what my mom watched on TV, my exposure to cooking shows started when I was very little, with a consistent dose of Wok with Yan--I fondly remember Stephen Yan exclaiming "wondah powdah!" And this Chinese woman's show. She was probably in her late 50's and I couldn't understand a thing she said (but I still remember the music played right after each dish is done--it's a variation of "Popcorn" by Gershon Kingsley). Later on, during summer breaks, apart from Jem and the Holograms, I'd find myself watching Jacques Pepin, quite amused how he'd say the word "orange" in his French accent ("aw-RAHNZH"). When I'm not watching TV, mom would occasionally encourage me to learn how to cook, so I'd go down to the kitchen to just stir all the ingredients together in a pan, at our household cook's direction, after she had prepared everything else. In high school, we had one semester of cooking and baking--although my groupmate did most of the cooking, while baking was kind of unmemorable. In the summer before freshman year in college, I took a mini-job as a server/ kitchen assistant in a Mediterranean restaurant, even though most of the time I was mainly a waitress and all I ever did in the kitchen was tear lettuce leaves apart and peel garlic while chatting with the cooks. I took another summer job the following year as a barista in one of the popular cafés in town and it was kinda cool hollering out people's names after preparing the concoctions. My first corporate job after graduation entailed me to learn how to make (ultra-fattening, as I found out) donuts, and to teach new employees how to make them. And thanks to all these years of being couch potato, I've watched dozens of cooking shows hosted by likes of Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson, Bob Blumer, Giada de Laurentiis, Wolfgang Puck, Mario Batali, Bobby Flay, Kylie Kwong, Rachel Ray, and then other shows like Iron Chef (both the Japanese and American versions), Top Chef, and yes, even Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (the part with Ted Allen, the food and wine guy, and oh, he's also hosting another reality show called Chopped). And when I finally got married, my mom-in-law stayed with us for around a month and a half, and so I used all that time to observe her intently as she cooks, getting some practical tips and new ideas. And whenever my best friend would come over my place, I'd gain a few indispensable tips from her since she took up a course in culinary school.
Notice that I've just been rambling about cooking. What about other household chores? Like cleaning? Organizing stuff? Laundry? House maintenance? Pest control? Managing expenses? Let's just say that among all the household chores, cooking is the least of a burden for me. For the rest of the chores, I hate and I disappoint. I dread doing them almost as much as I dread writing about them
Going back to cooking, you may now be thinking that I'm not such a bad cook. Well, "Anyone can cook!" as Chef Auguste Gusteau said in the movie Ratatouille. Hubby even tells me I have talent. Then again, maybe he just says that to make me feel better. This blog, together with a dozen burnt sausages, proves that sometimes when I cook, I terribly suck.
Starting out as an undomesticated housewifey
I learned how to cook rice only after the wedding. I learned a gazillion other stuff AFTER the wedding--the type of stuff you'd probably want to know before getting married or before living on your own when someone else has been doing all the chores for you since you were a kid. If you can already manage on your own, good for you! But I didn't. Hence, this blog.
I've been cooking consistently for about a year now, but I'm not particularly passionate about spending tons of time and effort for a dish that could be gobbled up in seconds anyway.
In one of our breakfast get-togethers (just like a 5-year-old, I'm proud to declare that I was the one who prepared breakfast that time), a friend remarked that cooking seemed to come naturally for me--perhaps it was because of the way I had carried myself, looking quite poised in the kitchen. Seriously now, I was surprised at his comment, since I'd never seen myself as a "natural cook". After some thought, I replied that maybe it's because I'd been watching a lot of cooking shows and I hung out in the kitchen occasionally while I was growing up, observing household help prepare the veggies. I'd sometimes help in slicing tomatoes or removing the ends of green bean pods. And so another friend asked, "So that's all it took for you to learn how to cook?" Yeah, I think so, I replied. I started out fumbling, and then I just sort of got used to it. When you're already starving, you have no choice but to survive through the cooking.
What I didn't tell them, though, was that sometimes when I'm cooking alone, I'd say the ingredients and each step aloud and pretend I'm on a cooking show talking to my audience. "Next, we add two tablespoons of salt to our ground pork mixture, and allow it to simmer in the pot for 5 minutes until it becomes tender and has wonderfully absorbed all the flavors..."
Several weeks after that incident, I realized that although I didn't come from a family of cooks and had no formal training whatsoever, hey, I've had a lot more "education" in cooking than I'd thought! Watching what my mom watched on TV, my exposure to cooking shows started when I was very little, with a consistent dose of Wok with Yan--I fondly remember Stephen Yan exclaiming "wondah powdah!" And this Chinese woman's show. She was probably in her late 50's and I couldn't understand a thing she said (but I still remember the music played right after each dish is done--it's a variation of "Popcorn" by Gershon Kingsley). Later on, during summer breaks, apart from Jem and the Holograms, I'd find myself watching Jacques Pepin, quite amused how he'd say the word "orange" in his French accent ("aw-RAHNZH"). When I'm not watching TV, mom would occasionally encourage me to learn how to cook, so I'd go down to the kitchen to just stir all the ingredients together in a pan, at our household cook's direction, after she had prepared everything else. In high school, we had one semester of cooking and baking--although my groupmate did most of the cooking, while baking was kind of unmemorable. In the summer before freshman year in college, I took a mini-job as a server/ kitchen assistant in a Mediterranean restaurant, even though most of the time I was mainly a waitress and all I ever did in the kitchen was tear lettuce leaves apart and peel garlic while chatting with the cooks. I took another summer job the following year as a barista in one of the popular cafés in town and it was kinda cool hollering out people's names after preparing the concoctions. My first corporate job after graduation entailed me to learn how to make (ultra-fattening, as I found out) donuts, and to teach new employees how to make them. And thanks to all these years of being couch potato, I've watched dozens of cooking shows hosted by likes of Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson, Bob Blumer, Giada de Laurentiis, Wolfgang Puck, Mario Batali, Bobby Flay, Kylie Kwong, Rachel Ray, and then other shows like Iron Chef (both the Japanese and American versions), Top Chef, and yes, even Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (the part with Ted Allen, the food and wine guy, and oh, he's also hosting another reality show called Chopped). And when I finally got married, my mom-in-law stayed with us for around a month and a half, and so I used all that time to observe her intently as she cooks, getting some practical tips and new ideas. And whenever my best friend would come over my place, I'd gain a few indispensable tips from her since she took up a course in culinary school.
Notice that I've just been rambling about cooking. What about other household chores? Like cleaning? Organizing stuff? Laundry? House maintenance? Pest control? Managing expenses? Let's just say that among all the household chores, cooking is the least of a burden for me. For the rest of the chores, I hate and I disappoint. I dread doing them almost as much as I dread writing about them
Going back to cooking, you may now be thinking that I'm not such a bad cook. Well, "Anyone can cook!" as Chef Auguste Gusteau said in the movie Ratatouille. Hubby even tells me I have talent. Then again, maybe he just says that to make me feel better. This blog, together with a dozen burnt sausages, proves that sometimes when I cook, I terribly suck.
Labels:
cooking,
cooking shows,
housekeeping,
marriage preparation,
wifey,
WIT
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
I have married a nerd so I need a nerd handbook [OMB]
On My Beehalf:
How to understand nerds
This confirms that, yes, I have married a nerd. Behold hubby, my lovable encyclopedia-airport-airplane-travel-map-geogra
So I've stumbled upon a nerd handbook which shed some light on his endearing geeky ways. The handbook's author, Rands In Repose, has also written an interesting book entitled Being Geek, which seems to focus more on computer geeks. Although hubby loves to travel (thank God!) and isn't much into computers, he's a certified nerd alright--just replace all computer-related terms with telescope-related terms, or terms from the areas of study and interests mentioned above, and expect all travel itineraries to include conversation about the history of those areas of interest as well. If you're still not convinced that my hub's a nerd, well, get ready for this: who else on earth would animatedly talk about English royalty (we live in the Philippines), read a dusty encyclopedia while eating lunch (sometimes while I'm eating with him), and draw maps of countries (with corresponding division of provinces or states, quite accurately!!) as a relaxing hobby??
I'm reposting the Nerd Handbook below, so you too can figure out the darling nerds in your life. (Words highlighted are mine to emphasize what struck me regarding my hub.)
How to understand nerds
This confirms that, yes, I have married a nerd. Behold hubby, my lovable encyclopedia-airport-airplane-travel-map-geogra phy-royalty-history-economics-math-astronomy (but not really a computer) nerd.
I'm reposting the Nerd Handbook below, so you too can figure out the darling nerds in your life. (Words highlighted are mine to emphasize what struck me regarding my hub.)
The Nerd Handbook
A nerd needs a project because a nerd builds stuff. All the time. Those lulls in the conversation over dinner? That’s the nerd working on his project in his head.
It’s unlikely that this project is a nerd’s day job because his opinion regarding his job is, “Been there, done that”. We’ll explore the consequences of this seemingly short attention span in a bit, but for now this project is the other big thing your nerd is building and I’ve no idea what is, but you should.
At some point, you, the nerd’s companion, were the project. You were showered with the fire hose of attention because you were the bright and shiny new development in your nerd’s life. There is also a chance that you’re lucky and you are currently your nerd’s project. Congrats. Don’t get too comfortable because he’ll move on, and, when that happens, you’ll be wondering what happened to all the attention. This handbook might help.
Regarding gender: for this piece, my prototypical nerd is a he as a convenience. There are plenty of she nerds out there for which these observations equally apply.
Garlic. Icky hands. [DBHW]
Domestic Blunders to Household Wonders:
Garli-icky hands
Mmmmm garlic. It smells great on a hot pan, but it's dizzyingly deadly when you smell it on someone's hands or breath. And you wouldn't really want to get Edward Cullen unconscious, unless you have other plans--if you know what I mean, *wink*wink*. (If you don't, that's great! I'll have him all to myself.)
ANYWAY. Since I use garlic quite often in my dishes, I had grown to like the garlicky smell on my fingers, because I'm weird and I drool over garlic. But thank God my better senses took over and now, I'm just annoyed by the smell of garli-icky hands.
After washing my hands vigorously with soap and water, lo and behold, garlic smell was still there. Two days have passed of washing hands and taking showers... Still there. Water and soap for the gazillionth time will probably NOT even do it, and in any case, dry skin ain't cool, man. Perfumed lotion, nope. Nails cut, nope. Rubbing alcohol didn't work either. I didn't realize garlic smell was this stubborn!
Luckily, a couple of friends gave me a tip to use STAINLESS STEEL! How ingenious is that? Just rub your hands on anything made of stainless steel (spoon, ladle, pot, knife, whatever is handy) with some running water and a bit of salt should work too.
Did a bit of research, a.k.a. Google, and Martha Stewart has also given this tip. To avoid having garli-icky hands altogether, you can get yourself some garlic gadget like a garlic mincer. Yay!
Garli-icky hands
Mmmmm garlic. It smells great on a hot pan, but it's dizzyingly deadly when you smell it on someone's hands or breath. And you wouldn't really want to get Edward Cullen unconscious, unless you have other plans--if you know what I mean, *wink*wink*. (If you don't, that's great! I'll have him all to myself.)
ANYWAY. Since I use garlic quite often in my dishes, I had grown to like the garlicky smell on my fingers, because I'm weird and I drool over garlic. But thank God my better senses took over and now, I'm just annoyed by the smell of garli-icky hands.
After washing my hands vigorously with soap and water, lo and behold, garlic smell was still there. Two days have passed of washing hands and taking showers... Still there. Water and soap for the gazillionth time will probably NOT even do it, and in any case, dry skin ain't cool, man. Perfumed lotion, nope. Nails cut, nope. Rubbing alcohol didn't work either. I didn't realize garlic smell was this stubborn!
Luckily, a couple of friends gave me a tip to use STAINLESS STEEL! How ingenious is that? Just rub your hands on anything made of stainless steel (spoon, ladle, pot, knife, whatever is handy) with some running water and a bit of salt should work too.
Did a bit of research, a.k.a. Google, and Martha Stewart has also given this tip. To avoid having garli-icky hands altogether, you can get yourself some garlic gadget like a garlic mincer. Yay!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The tale of the salty pasta [DBHW]
Domestic blunders to household wonders:
What to do with an exceptionally salty pasta
...More like a horribly, dreadfully salty, inedible pasta.
Well I wouldn't be writing this in the first place if I had more cooking experience, or if I had controlled my salt-sprinkling frenzy. I initially tasted my sauce and felt that it lacked a bit of salt. But since I was cooking a large portion for 10 people that night, I figured I needed to add around three spoonfuls more of salt. And then, um, maybe a little bit more. The result: an extra salty pasta sauce nightmare-come-true.
All efforts failed as I tried to salvage the concoction on its deathbed. I added some water, cream, sugar, more spices... I did what I could. But it was too late.
Since I didn't want that whole tub of pasta to go to waste, I still served it to my friends, despite my conscience begging, pleeeeading me not to. As I placed the dish on the table, the aroma smelled wonderful and mouth-watering. It looked like what I had intended it to be: yummy penne pasta with ground beef, sausage, and mushrooms in tomato sauce. My friends were very excited to dig in, but I tried to warn them and said, "It's too salty!" But since it was their first time to try my cooking, my friends had better expectations of my skills and replied, "It couldn't be that bad." As I watch my friends take a bite in slow motion, I felt like an accomplice of a murderer in a horror movie scene, about to poison his victims. I cried, "No, pasta, noooo!"
My friends' faces right before taking a bite: mouth open, lips curving upward, and eyes half-closed.
Their faces right after taking a bite: mouth closed, lips curving downward, and eyes wide open.
The its-so-salty-I'm-gonna-die moment was so traumatic for me, and probably more so for my friends, that it didn't matter to me that the other dishes I served were not bad at all. They tried to console me by telling me it was delicious...except for the salty part. Yeah, whatever. This was unacceptably inedible. The killer saline taste and the image of my friends' faces lingered vividly in my mind and sick stomach.
And so I was left with the same tub of pasta, barely touched. Do I throw it all away? What a waste, I thought. So I kept it in the fridge. I went to bed, tossing and turning, still disturbed by the whole incident.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a light bulb lit. Ting!
The next morning, I poured lots of water and made it into soup.
I shall never be bothered by the salty pasta monster ever again.
What to do with an exceptionally salty pasta
...More like a horribly, dreadfully salty, inedible pasta.
Well I wouldn't be writing this in the first place if I had more cooking experience, or if I had controlled my salt-sprinkling frenzy. I initially tasted my sauce and felt that it lacked a bit of salt. But since I was cooking a large portion for 10 people that night, I figured I needed to add around three spoonfuls more of salt. And then, um, maybe a little bit more. The result: an extra salty pasta sauce nightmare-come-true.
All efforts failed as I tried to salvage the concoction on its deathbed. I added some water, cream, sugar, more spices... I did what I could. But it was too late.
Since I didn't want that whole tub of pasta to go to waste, I still served it to my friends, despite my conscience begging, pleeeeading me not to. As I placed the dish on the table, the aroma smelled wonderful and mouth-watering. It looked like what I had intended it to be: yummy penne pasta with ground beef, sausage, and mushrooms in tomato sauce. My friends were very excited to dig in, but I tried to warn them and said, "It's too salty!" But since it was their first time to try my cooking, my friends had better expectations of my skills and replied, "It couldn't be that bad." As I watch my friends take a bite in slow motion, I felt like an accomplice of a murderer in a horror movie scene, about to poison his victims. I cried, "No, pasta, noooo!"
My friends' faces right before taking a bite: mouth open, lips curving upward, and eyes half-closed.
Their faces right after taking a bite: mouth closed, lips curving downward, and eyes wide open.
The its-so-salty-I'm-gonna-die moment was so traumatic for me, and probably more so for my friends, that it didn't matter to me that the other dishes I served were not bad at all. They tried to console me by telling me it was delicious...except for the salty part. Yeah, whatever. This was unacceptably inedible. The killer saline taste and the image of my friends' faces lingered vividly in my mind and sick stomach.
And so I was left with the same tub of pasta, barely touched. Do I throw it all away? What a waste, I thought. So I kept it in the fridge. I went to bed, tossing and turning, still disturbed by the whole incident.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a light bulb lit. Ting!
The next morning, I poured lots of water and made it into soup.
I shall never be bothered by the salty pasta monster ever again.
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