Sometimes you just have to fake it....

My parents both avow that I get my cooking prowess from my Gran. She came of age in the Depression, and never wasted a thing - especially not food. And it's true. I hate to waste food. Which is why I eat week-old leftovers without batting an eye, and have been known to push food beyond its expiration date. Sometimes I'll be in the kitchen making something, and I've been known to just open the fridge or cabinet and just see what's in there that I can add to whatever it is I'm making. Leftover bacon? Into the spaghetti sauce! Extra cheese? I've been wanting to have a panini! Whenever this occurs, I proceed to call what ever it is I'm making an "invention," and I refer to the process of creating my invention as "Granning it up." But the other day, I was making a lasagna with what I had THOUGHT enough ingredients purchased at the grocery store, but as it turns out.... I was shy a few items.

I went through the fridge and gathered everything I needed to get started - oops, that ground turkey expired yesterday - NEVER MIND - and hopped to it.

First thing I was low on: lasagna noodles.

I'd checked to see that there was a box in the cupboard, but I didn't look IN the box. There were only six noodles. Hmmmmm.... what to do, what to do.... Oh! I know! I'll use what's left in this box of giant shells. Should I stuff the shells or just pile them in a layer? I could stuff them with this meat mixture I've made... but it's awfully hot; I'll get burned. Oh! I know! I'll stuff the cottage cheese/egg/spinach/basil (the recipe called for parsley, but I saw the basil when I peeked in the crisper and used that instead) mixture and make a layer of stuffed shells in the middle of the lasagna.

makes perfect sense to me

Next thing I was low on: cheese.

I knew we had some cheese but I didn't know how little there was. So I grabbed what little mozzarella was left, what little Parmesan was left and then - spied what was left of a ball of mozzarella I'd used in a Caprese salad. PERFECT. One layer of normal mozzarella, one of cut up mozzarella ball.

I cobbled this sad little lasagna together into this:

those cubes are the mozzarella ball I cut up

Now this was pretty tricky, because now I had thirty minutes before I had to leave and go watch a soccer game, so I ended up turning on the oven, covering it in foil and cooking it for 30 minutes, then flipping the oven off as I walked out the door, and hoped the whole thing would be cooked when we returned a couple hours later.

I fully expected a mess when we returned, but to my surprise:

perfect! i broiled the top and it was done!

Invention Lasagna.

In the interest of full disclosure I should tell you that I also made this over a week ago and ate the last piece of it for lunch yesterday. Can't waste good food!

Over and out,
M

Ocean Isle Beach

The annual Venablecon is always held at Ocean Isle Beach. I've been going there annually since I was in high school. Thinking of that tiny little island never fails to bring a smile to my face and warm feeling to my heart.

And it's population currently is hovering around 0, because as of 5 PM tonight it's under a mandatory evacuation in the face of Hurricane Florence. Selfishly, I hope my family has a vacation house to return to next summer. But mostly, I hope all citizens along the coast are safe and dry in the coming days, and the damage sustained to their belongings is minimal.

The last day we spent on Ocean Isle in July, a bunch of us piled into the Benny-van and took a quick trip to the touristy surf shop to buy souvenirs. I had picked out a pretty sundress (a bargain at $10) and then spied a rack of neon yellow capri sweatpants, all emblazoned with "Ocean Isle Beach" on the left leg in various fonts. Another bargain at $4, I selected a pair for purchase and rejoined the family at the checkout. Spying my Ocean Isle pants, Mother deemed them "cute," and went to find a pair for herself to buy, but decided on a different font than the one I had selected.

Once home, I threw my pair in a load of laundry, and folded them and put them away in my chest of drawers. A few days later, I put them on and went to watch a little TV, when I noticed that the decal had lifted a bit from the fabric and was flapping around. Absentmindedly, I started picking at it. And kept picking. And picking. I'd tell myself to stop occasionally, and I would.... for a minute. But after awhile.....

this happened

After awhile, I just gave up and kept picking. Which led to this text convo, complete with pictures and illustrations, with my mother:

Today, my mother texted me to say that she was wearing her OIB pants in solidarity and in support of Ocean Isle Beach. Peace and grace, and hopefully many more years of Venablecon memories. 

Almost an Olympian

I shared this story with two colleagues, and they laughed so hard one of them asked me to start a blog. "I had one," I said. Time to get it going again, I suppose....

It all started with a walk. A nice evening walk, but in terrible, need-to-replace running shoes. And the next day my left big toe was achy. And I made a mental note to replace the shoes, which needed to be replaced some time, ASAP. But the toe, unfortunately, got worse. And worse. But by then it was a Saturday, and it didn't warrant a visit to the ER, but by Sunday, when I asked DJ Benny Smith to please un-tuck the bed because the weight of the sheet was too much to bear on it that I decided I had somehow broken my big toe due to an unfortunate bunion that I've had for years. Which also led to my niece and nephew, with great hilarity, calling me "Auntie Bunion" for an afternoon, but that's another story.

Monday morning, I woke up determined to go to the doctor to get an x-ray. DJ Smith couldn't take me due to the Leading Lady's school schedule and Mama and the Dipper both had doctor's appointments, so I ended up Ubering to the doctor's office, with a promise from my mother for a pick up post visit. Conversation post x-ray:

Doctor: Well, it appears you have a stress fracture.

Me: I DO? OH MY GOD THAT'S AWESOME.

Doctor: Excuse me?

Me: I mean, I knew something was wrong, but I just thought I broke it somehow! But a stress fracture? That is INSANE!!!

Doctor: I am confused as to why you're excited about this.

Me: THIS IS AS CLOSE TO BEING AN OLYMPIAN AS I'LL EVER GET.

Doctor: I'm.... sorry? Happy for you?

And I was given a lovely orthopedic shoe and sent on my merry way. Mama picked me up and, as she herself was in a boot due to foot surgery, took one look at my shoe and became pea green with envy. "Mine's bigger," she avowed, and took me home to lend me her crutches. Which were too short. And now, since we were pushing toward lunchtime, and as I had not eaten we decided to go to a home health store near a deli for lunch and for crutches. And since my mother is direction-impaired and I was mistaken as to where the deli and the home health store exactly located, got us parked in a parking lot at the deli but the home health store was across the street. So I in my ortho shoe, and Mama in her boot (say it like you're reciting T'was the Night Before Christmas) endeavored to cross the street. And there was a bit of traffic, but not a lot, and it wasn't a moment before a driver in a truck noticed us but probably didn't notice the boot and the shoe and kindly slowed to a stop and waved us across the street, and after I offered up a short prayer (kidding, I just said "Oh JESUS") we both plunged headlong into the street, holding hands for support and starting to laugh hysterically as we hobbled in unison across the street. The driver, now watching in horrified fascination, also watched as we attempted to climb the short bank up to the home health parking lot in a vain attempt, but which led to me shoving mother up, and her hauling me in her wake. Only to get into the store and find out they didn't take my insurance and we'd have to find crutches elsewhere.

Sigh. Back down the bank and across the street; although this time without an audience.

I was so frazzled by everything that at the deli I even forgot to give the attendant my spiel about my hated aversion to mayonnaise and ended up with a mayonnaisey sandwich that I only ate the bottom half of because I am not an animal and refuse to eat that nastiness, and I don't CARE if you call it aioli it is the stuff nightmares are made of.

After that, upon learning about my injury, friend Sharon offered the use of her crutches, which led to a car ride down Gay Street where friend Sharon met us curbside and shoved the crutches into the backseat so YEA. I can now get to and from work. Which, on day one crutching into work trying to tote my lunch also led, in a very Charlie-Brown-esque way, the lunch busting out of the bottom of my bag and spilling all in the parking lot, but fortunately a colleague saw and gathered and carried my belongings into work for me.

Now, in all honesty, I was surprised at how rapidly over the next two days my toe felt. Which then, it was no surprise when I got a phone call from the doctors office telling me they'd had a radiologist review the x-ray, and it was not, in fact, an affirmation that I was a beast in the gym, shredding it up, not a quasi-Olympian, but I did, in fact, have gout.

GOUT?

Didn't we cure this in the middle ages? Don't old men get this?

Sigh. So my injury, all brought on by a pair of crappy tennis shoes, was just GOUT. Stupid gout. And a stupid new nickname.

but did lead to this dynamic duo having a hilarious lunch date