Tag Archives: dirty

Baking With Beth

Standard
I was going to write this yesterday, but gwen had to go and be all awesome on me. So instead, you get this post today.

My sister e-mailed me a link about a month ago for Vegan Chocolate-Avacado cupcakes. I’ve wanted to make these ever since she sent it to me but, I either always forgot or didn’t have time. Well, the time finally came two days ago when I decided that I was going to make these suckers. Regardless of the yummy outcome, the beginning was basically shouting at me to not make them. The way that it started, I expected to fail in every way possible.

So here we go, an amateur cook’s adventure in baking. Hopefully the pictures assist in the explanation.

I always start off collecting almost all of my ingredients, so that I am not running around trying to find what I need. Issue #1: “WHERE ARE MY CUPCAKE PANS?!?!” I think I shouted this to Fiancé about 10 times within 5 minutes. I LITERALLY looked EVERYWHERE, and still I never found them. Every cabinet, every box that is still unpacked, and even the empty boxes that I have not broken down yet. I have two, one that holds 12 and another that holds 6. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper because I was forced to use this:

image

It’s Fiancé’s rubbery cupcake pan. I strongly dislike it.

image

Once I got over that hiccup, I moved to the next step. All of the dry ingredients into one bowl and whisk. Easy.

image

O look, all blended evenly and looking pretty!

And then this is where life hated me again. The recipe calls for you to put an avocado in a food processor, but sadly I do not have one yet. This is something I am holding out for, for the wedding registry. So, I had to hand mash this sucker.

image

First I tried the back of a spoon. All that did was cause the avocado to slide around.

image

I was forced to then use a fork. Not even the 28-day boot camp, that I have been doing, has given my arm this good of a workout! I then used the back of a spoon again to attempt and make it all even. Which sort of worked.

image

And then I had to add the cup of maple syrup and I wanted to vomit. It looked disgusting and this picture does not do it justice.

image

After adding all of the wet ingredients I was super close to actually vomiting. The smell of the vanilla extract and the appearance of it all was the WORST!

image

Thankfully, this didn’t last long because it called for me to pour the wet ingredients in with the dry. In my left hand, I slowed poured the wet ingredients into the center of the dry ingredients bowl. In my right hand, I whisked the two together, gradually bringing more of the dry ingredients into the mix. At this point it started to smell awesome and I wanted to eat it. The nice part is, it is safe for you (or child/significant other) to dip your finger into the mix because there is no raw egg!

image

I sadly poured the mix into the cupcake pan, that only held half of the mix (and therefore meant I had to do this again), and put it into the oven.

image

Out came the first 6 cupcakes. Some had some white spots on them, I can only assume it was exposed avocado? I really have no idea.

image

I have a confession to make. I didn’t make the yucky tofu icing, I used store bought. I then proceeded to laugh at the exactness of “stir 20 times” and rebelled, as I stirred it 21 times. That alone probably ruined my cupcakes.

image

I guess I just hadn’t frosted anything in awhile, because this was way more difficult than it should have been. It seemed to take forever and the saying “practice makes perfect” is a lie, because I do believe they got worse as I went. But, using my start photography skills the worst ones are in the back and the bad sides are turned away from my cell phone camera.

I also have another confession. If you are a vegan then please do not come eat my cupcakes. I didn’t have soy milk so I just used my 2% cows milk. Oops?

As much as I can say they are YUMMY and you should really make them, the outcome of my kitchen and sink area (there was back-up from the previous day) caused me to want to cry for the rest of the night. In fact, my hands are still dry from having to hand wash all of the big bowls and pans.

Have I mentioned that I am a neat and clean person?

1950’s housewife vs. Modern woman

Standard
It’s been a few more days than normal, I know. And for that, I am sorry. Also, a side of caution, I drove 4 hours today so whatever I say may not make sense or be horribly phrased. Again, sorry.

I am currently finding myself in a bind between being a modern woman and a 1950’s housewife. I don’t like it and I’m not sure what to do about it.

I like cooking and it is always a time where I can just be alone and think. I also am a semi-neat freak. I just like things cleaned, because the flyers and junk that you get in the mail is meant for the trash-not the top of the fireplace, the floor, or the entryway table. Old science magazines, homework articles, xbox remotes, and books are also not meant for the living room floor. So to me, it’s easy. I clean the whole place up and then it looks pretty, just like I want.

But then goes the other side of my brain. I shouldn’t have to clean up after him. I am clean, so I clean my own things up after I make a mess. If you ignore my bedroom that is. That has, and always will be a lost cause. Don’t bother trying to cure that problem.

Anyway, I don’t feel like I should have to clean up after him. It’s not my job, I’m not his mother. He is a grown man who should be able to clean up after himself….but he can’t. And then there is the food issue. I shouldn’t HAVE to make food all of the time. Although I do give him credit that he doesn’t expect me to cook for him or have dinner ready when he gets home.

But I like real food. I don’t eat ramen, as I don’t like it, and other than pasta I am pretty sure this is the only thing he knows how to make. Unless you count grilling something, but I don’t because all he does is throw it on the grill/George Foremen. Can someone teach him how to cook, please?

I know I am not the only one that struggles between wanting to take care of the home/their man and being an independent woman and having them do something. It’s nice to have the option and it being socially acceptable for them to do work, but it makes life confusing.

Mr. Mold

Standard
*Warning: I typed this all on my phone, so please don’t hate on any grammar issues.*

As previously mentioned, Fiance had made a mess of the place and l had the pleasure of walking
home to it all. He ended up feeling bad about it, so thankfully he cleaned it all up. While he was
washing dishes I walked into the kitchen to get something to drink and saw him washing the
blender. The bottom was attached and he did a final rinse and went to put it in the drying rack.

“You know that comes apart, right?”
“It what?”
“It comes apart. The bottom screws off.”

He tries to unscrew the bottom and finally gets it.

“OMG I taught you something you didn’t know.”

Needless to say I was really proud of myself. It is not everyday I get to teach him something.
It took him awhile to clean the blender, after he took it apart. Mostly because he has had the
blender for 4 years, so it was really dirty, dark looking, and very crusty.

I tried my best to not look at it.

The following day I decided to make this berry sauce, thanks to 100daysofrealfood.com. So, I
started putting the blender together and guess what I had the pleasure of finding…

Blackishy looking mold. It was super small dots and in the lid. Ya know, the middle piece of the
lid that turns and comes out. That part. So he clearly didn’t even clean that part because it’s super easy to get to.

So I washed it and I made my sauce.

I texted the Fiance about it (don’t worry, in a nice and just asking way) and he never replied.

Big surprise. At least the sauce is yummy!! </h5

How I Posted Something on Facebook That I Usually Roll My Eyes At

Standard
As I said in my last entry, I went home this past weekend. I ended up getting sick and having a sinus infection. But, sadly, this is something that I am used to. So I hung out at home on Sunday instead of going back to Cleveland that day, but decided to go the next. All of which Fiancé knew about, or so I thought.

Of course the weather was total crap on Monday; it rained all day. My drive was long, boring, and consisted of me being thankful there wasn’t too much traffic. There is just something about rain while drive that makes everything seem even worse.

I arrive at the condo and Fiancé was still at lab. I only have the house key and not the front door key, so the only way I can get inside is through the backdoor. And what room contains the backdoor? The kitchen, of course. So here I am, still not feeling 100% me and exhausted from a rainy drive, and I walk into the condo.

I was wondering if the condo would be a mess, especially my usually 95% spotless kitchen. And it was.

That’s cool.

There was a dirty pot on the stove, along with a dirty cookie sheet. The blender was pulled out and the washable part in the sink. A mixing bowl was sitting out, as well as an empty popcorn bag (I can only assume the bowl was used for the popcorn). An oven mit, a dirty bowl with a spoon in it, a dirty mug, and an empty hot chocolate packet.

Now, might I just add that everything was on the counter except for the blender, which was in the sink. Please tell me why half of those things weren’t even in the sink? Let alone, why weren’t they in the half EMPTY dishwasher?

I walked out to the living room to then find that he had left the trail mix out and a Chipotle bag with his burrito bowl container sitting on top, from the night before. And the typical guy thing, in the bathroom he didn’t put new TP on the roll. I even have an extra one in there.

I was so pissed. I was sick and just drove all the way here to find this hot mess. So when texting him didn’t make me feel better I turned to Facebook.

I hate when people post their relationship issues or problems on Facebook for the world to see. But I was desperate. I needed the world to be on my side and agree with me that I was not crazy. Thankfully my blogging buddy and friend, gwen, made me feel better about this situation.

Of course he says I didn’t tell him I was coming home that day and he planned on cleaning up that night for when I returned. I am just wondering when exactly he thought I was going to return. He also had told me that he knew I would be pissed upon seeing the place.

He thinks I blew the mess out of proportion and I think not. He knows I am sick and on drugs to get rid of it. I would be upset regardless if I was sick, but that is not what I wanted to walk into when I get home.

He cleaned up his mess that he had created while I was gone and I think he might have had a tiny bit of guilt. Because guess what he did after dinner.

He washed the pans and even put the potatoes in the fridge.

Maybe there is hope after all?

Rata-TOOT-e

Standard
Ahh, the end of summer. I hate to see you leave, yet I love fall; so not really.

I went grocery shopping on Tuesday and decided I would make ratatouille for dinner that night. (Sidebar: Please tell me I am not the only person that finds it strange that they bagged my flour with my milk. I mean, what if the milk leaked?!) since it is a nice summery meal but still warm and hearty. It is delicious, has all veggies, and I had never made if for Fiancé before. Perfect!

So I am going to town, cooking up a storm. All while Fiancé sits on his butt and watches tv. Yeah, don’t worry. I don’t need your help!

So dinner is finally ready and he looks at the food like it is an alien (he’s never had ratatouille or couscous, but thankfully eats anything and everything) and blobs it on his plate. Dinner happened, everything was fine.

And then it started.
The stench.
The farts.

Yes, yes it started. Although he was not alone on this ship, I had the joys of listening to his magical fireworks the entire night.

Did you know that here are multiple ways boys enjoy passing gas? Because there are. There is just the regular way of sitting there and pretending like nothing happened, the silent but deadly way (in which they start to laugh once they can smell it), the laughing hysterically when it’s really loud, and the lean on one ass cheek and lift the other one up to let it rip. And those are just his “usual” ways. I don’t play along with the pull-my-finger trick, so he doesn’t even bother with that one anymore.

I blame the vegetables.

Needless to say, I won’t be making this meal anytime soon.

What started it all

Standard
Well, still no nickname. This is more difficult than I thought. Thanks for the private suggestions that were made, but I am afraid they might be too obvious of what the fiancés name is. I’ll figure one out eventually.
And now…the inspiration for me to start bloggin. The fiancé is currently working on his second year at a school in Cleveland to get his Ph.D. in genetics. So he has to go into lab everyday and work, which leaves me a lot of time by myself during the day to unpack and organize things. And since I have a TON of kitchen stuff, I figured I might as well start there.

His, well, I guess our, kitchen is on the smaller side and has limited counter space. So I decided to move the microwave over to the other side of the sink, since that would make for a lot more room.

You know those moments in books when you realize that what the author wrote was foreshadowing and you wished you would have paid more attention? This is one of those times.

I lift up the microwave and I find the following: 1 potato chip (yes, just 1 sad and lonely chip), empty sugar packets, dry noodles, and the strangest crayon that is half blue and half red. But what got me the most was the fact that I found one of these:

http://www.raymondgeddes.com/65261-mighty-mp-13mm-regular-lead-refills.html

A lead refill container with only 1 piece of lead in it. What I wanted to know is why it was in the kitchen, let alone underneath the microwave. I can see him just walking into the kitchen, pencil, refill, and strange crayon in hand, going to make some mac-and-cheese and adding sugar to it because he is weird. And then it all ends up under the microwave instead (minus the pencil, of course).

But soon after cleaning the counter tops, and cloroxing the paint out of the sink (we’ve been painting), I decided to organize the messy pantry. While moving everything around so that it made some sense I thought, “Hmm, maybe I should check the expiration date on these boxes of processed pastas and potatoes. He sure has a lot of them, and I’m sure there’s at least one that might be expired.” And so I pick up the first box and try and find the expiration date, but I swear they always hide those things, and then I see it. The magical number that I am about to see way too much for my own good.

2008.

So I dramatically threw it to the ground as I rolled my eyes, and then picked up the next box.

2008.

And then I did the exact same thing.
2008.
2008.
2008.
2008.
2008.

It just kept going. I huffed and puffed and wished I could knock over all the boxes and call it a day, but instead I got out the big black trash bag he had in the pantry and threw all of the boxes into the bag. I continued to go through the boxes of crap. Reader, I dare you to guess how many boxes were expired and therefore thrown away.

Just guess. Don’t worry-you won’t be right.

3/4ths of the BIG black trash bag! This isn’t some small white trashcan bag, these are the “I mean serious business” black bags. Although, not all of them were from 2008, some were 2009 and 2010. But, did I also tell you that fiancé moved into his apartment in undergrad fall of 2007? Why yes, he did. So not only did he buy these boxes of food when he moved into his apartment sophomore year of college, he also let them expire that year, packed them up after he graduated spring of 2010, moved them to a WHOLE NEW CITY and unpack them fall of 2010 in his new place WITHOUT realizing they had expired.

And to add the cherry on top, I found a box of potatoes that expired much earlier than that. 2005, to be exact. And did I tell you that we both graduated high school in 2006? Yep, we did. I don’t want to even know how he ended up with that one.

After fiancé got home from lab/work that day we had an “argument” and he seemed to just not get why “this was a big deal” and how “it is gross.” Because to him, they “taste yummy!” and “they’re in a box!” And when he is even told, “A homeless shelter wouldn’t even accept these if they were donated!” his first phrase out of his mouth is, “Well, I have lower standards than the homeless!”

What the hell have I gotten myself into?