œuf.

Just as with any good story, we start at the cover with the legendary words, Once upon a time...

Remember back when I had such wonderful success with my crêpes!? Yes well, that went so splendidly that I decided another adventure was in order... I like to call this experience "œuf" (which being interpreted means "egg") for that is how the French say it, and they are classy. That being established, let's move on.

My goal was not merely to boil an egg, please, I was going to make a scrumptious egg salad.

Reading about le eggs, and how to boil them to a soft perfection, I learned the secret to success!! (The secret being, a SLOTTED-SPOON! ...Whatever da-heck that means!)

Being completely prepared, (like how Martha ALWAYS is) I set the water to a "ROARING" boil.

And I waited...

And waited...

And waited some more...

Basically all I did was wait from this hour, to this hour:

For the roman-numerally impaired:  12:30-2:36pm

And so, being puzzled and perplexed as to why I couldn't get some water to a ROARING boil, I tore my sister away from her sweet melodies to assist me.

As I continued to pass time until the problem was solved, I opened the cabinet filled with unknown grains and --to say the least-- un-snackable foods....Ah! Doth mine eyes deceive me!? What could be dressed in such a paper of parchment?! BROWNIES!!!

To put simply... I ate dem all. And felt fat. To which a round of 1-2-3 BE-UGLY was in order (and in my mind, long overdue).

Now let me tell you what the problem was. My ROARING boil would NOT come because I could only manage to s'évaporer (meaning, EVAPORATE) my water! It would not roar because it just simmered away! 

Yes, I always win!

At last, the water came to its ROARING boil. With my utensil (which I determined to be thoroughly slotted) I inserted the eggs, one. by. one.

As Martha's book of wisdom told me, if I use a slotted spoon, then it will prevent the egg from cracking. Well... IT LIED. (Unless my roaring boil and slotted spoon were not worthy of such an assignment as this...)

After they had cooked the precise amount of time, the moment for peeling had {FINALLY} come. As Martha said (and we like to do as she does) it is better to gently roll the egg on the counter than to crack it on someones head. Hmpf. The gentle roll of my boiled egg, very quickly turned into ...well, scrambled.

With a starving stomach, I cannot deny a few tears were shed...

My soft boil was in fact so soft, that a tag team composed of a skilled veterinarian  and a rooster, could probably have turned this soft boiled egg into a baby chick.

Suddenly, a glimmer of hope!

Très magnifique! All is not lost! 

Victory is sweet.

And thus we conclude our endeavor. Bon appétit, and jusqu'à la prochaine fois (until next time!)

six months more

Happy 1/2 birthday to me!

(Naturally a celebratory breakfast -cut in halves- was in order ...Cause I'm kind of a big deal.)

the season of pumpkin

The way to a mans heart is through his stomach; the way to Hannah's heart is through breakfast.

(And this time I think I met the standard kitchen health code by wearing pants... you're welcome!)

Pumpkin Pancakes Recipe

1 1/2 cups milk

1 cup pumpkin puree

1 egg

2 Tbsp. vegetable oil

2 Tbsp. vinegar

2 cups all-purpose flour

3 Tbsp. brown sugar

2 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. basking soda

1 tsp. ground allspice

1 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp. ground ginger

Directions

1. In a bowl, mix together the milk, pumpkin, egg, oil and

vinegar. Combine the flour, brown sugar, baking powder,

baking soda, allspice, cinnamon, ginger and salt in a separate 

bowl. Stir into the pumpkin mixture just enough to combine.

2. Heat a lightly oiled griddle or frying pan over medium 

high heat. Pour or scoop the batter onto the griddle using 

approximately 1/4 cup for each pancake. Brown on both sides

and serve hot.

• 
  

T'was MY night before Christmas

I decided the most appropriate way to tell the story (being the night before Christmas) was to go traditional. (Beware, this was all on the spot writing, nothing actually special):

T'was the night before Christmas, the family party was finished
As we stayed to clean up, the part-goers diminished.
We packed up our stuff, and we drive home in the dark
To find our hairy greeter went missing, so we heard not a bark.


The neighborhood was silent, quiet and mellow
All except for the calls for our lost puppy, Longfellow.
We whistled and shouted as I shed a tear
The night before Christmas and my dog was not here.


Tuckered and tired my siblings soon said
"I'm sure he is fine, let's crawl into bed"
Their words didn't soothe, the pain in my gut
So I sent out once more, to find my poor mutt.


A ways down the street, I walked out of sight
Equipped with only, a small bright flash-light.
While frightening thoughts, soon filled my head
I rationalized a way my best friend could be dead.


T'was the night before Christmas, and I nearly gave up
When quickly I turned at the cry of my pup!
Though past 10 o'clock, I knocked on a neighbors door
My dog was in their back yard, I WAS SO SURE!


The lady was friendly, and let me walk through her house
When I adverted my eyes to her half naked spouse
I wished those were boxers rather than tiny black briefs,
I walked out the door with a SIGH of relief!


I ignored the image now etched in my brain
But all of this trouble did not go in vain!
Covered in leaves, and quite muddy
But who cares!? I had found my long lost buddy!


I found my doggy, he was shaky and tense
Trying not to fall off a ledge, he got half stuck in a fence.
He sprang in my arms and he was filled with delight
It was a Merry Christmas Eve, and we had a goodnight.




Now it's Christmas day, and I feel very spoiled! Yoga pants and undies (which are MUCH prettier than that old mans down the street) from Vickies Secret. Nikon camera. Life As We Know It. Chocolate. A pretty cardigan. An egg beater (I still can't figure out why I got this one...!) Socks. Nail polish. A childhood favorite book, Harold And The Purple Crayon. Giftcard to Starbucks. A 3oz. mug from Starbucks. Lotion. Probably a few more things I can't think of... But I definitely feel like this is one of those bigger Christmas' for me. As daddy would say "Spoiled rotten to the core!" I miss that man.


Church was only an hour long, and it was pushed back an hour so it started at 10am. We had crepes, filled with nutella and bananas for Breakfast. The choir at church performed, and the narrators voice made me want to fall asleep (in a good way) ...And I got to mingle with a few friends afterwards. We got home and broke open all the packages under the tree! Now dinner will be at 4pm because my family enjoys eating.


And there's still. no. snow. ....RAIN, actually.
Merry Christmas everybody!

Dessert is Overrated

When I was younger, my goal was to go to Paris and take a cooking class just like Audrey Hepburn, with a view of the Eiffel tower from outside my window. Brush up on French, and come home a lady.

This isn't me right now of course, BUT I have made some pretty fantastic breakfast this last week that reminded me of my sister Lara ...You know, being able to whip up something delicious from the next to nothing ingredients in my house.

I made something yummy like this, only it looked SO much chocolatey-er, but my camera is deciding to not work... So deal.

Basically oatmeal and Ghirardelli hot cocoa mixed in, with some yummy ripe bananas! So good.

Then this morning I decided to be a prodigy of Martha Stewart and make a basic cheesy omelet:

...Maybe it didn't look that great... 

Maybe it broke a little in the pan... 

But Maybe it tasted DELICIOUS, and didn't last more than 30 seconds.

Tomorrow, I plan on this baby:

It's supposedly a German Pancake. 

Just a different recipe from what i'm used to; thus making it thinner... But that looks good, and I'm going to branch out.

Someday, when I have a fancy shmancy kitchen in my fancy shmancy house... The possibilities for breakfasts will be endless! Breakfast is the favored meal in my eyes. Dessert is overrated. Even if I enjoy cake plates.
But that's a different story.