Works for Me Wednesday: Baked Eggs!

My friends J and S had baked eggs for breakfast one morning when we were in Chicago, and I think I almost died of jealousy. They looked so pretty in their little ceramic dishes, done but not too done and a yummy, eggy yellow. The possibilities seemed endless–eggs with goat cheese and basil, spinach and fontina, tomatoes and parmesan. I wanted to see if I could recreate the dish at home–how hard could it be, right? You take eggs and bake ‘em. 

Turns out I was right, which was nice, since when I usually go into a recipe thinking ‘how hard can this possibly be?’ I wind up curled in a ball weeping on the kitchen floor. Kris at Cheap Healthy Good has a fantastic step by step guide here, as usual, but the basic idea is this: layer any non-cheese ingredients (I used cooked bacon, but ham, leafy winter veg, or seeded tomatoes would work just fine) in a small, buttered baking dish (side note: I used some Corningware I inherited from my mom and as I was doing it I had the most VIVID memory of being three and playing with my plastic Corningware set in my grandmother’s garage in Middle Village, Queens. My grandmother’s name was Evelyn and her yard was covered in AstroTurf). Crack three (or more) eggs on top, grate a little cheese onto those bad boys, and stick the whole thing on a baking sheet in the oven at 375 for 15 minutes or so. 

The result–a really easy, really elegant brunch that is just lovely with some multi-grain toast (and a giant bucket of coffee, as most brunches are enjoyed here at kitchendoor). The best part? I had time to jump in the shower while it baked. Works for me, you guys. 

Works for me Wednesday: Packing Light

I’m not exactly what you’d call a globetrotter, but between the last couple of weeks and the few coming up, I’m all over the map: New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, Detroit. I haven’t spent a Saturday at home in more than a month. I love having buddies to visit across the country–and so lucky to have family far and wide–but truth be told, I’m not a great or particularly patient traveler. The less time I spend on a bus, a train, and especially a plane, the better, and I’ve found that one really easy way to expedite the process is to pack as little as humanly possible.

 

I’m brutal. Before I go, I make a list of only things I absolutely need–then cut it by half. I’m known for the slash and burn, often showing up at my destination with the pair of jeans I’m wearing, three or four tshirts, one all-purpose black jersey dress, and a granny sweater. If I’m feeling really crazy, I’ll throw in a pair of cute flats. 

 

Everything fits in a hardy duffel I’ve had since college (a quilted number that’s doubled for a pillow in a pinch) which isn’t too big for me to sling over my bony little shoulder. That way, I never have to check my luggage. I print my boarding pass at home, speed through security (do you all smile reflexively at TSA people? I’m absolutely compelled to grin at them. They’re so serious all the time), grab a cup of coffee, and go. No prisoners, here. 

 

 Obviously, I’ll never be able to avoid all the hassles that come with holiday travel–sitting on the runway for three hours in Philadelphia last weekend (with nothing to read!) was enough to remind me of that. But I find the less I have in tow, the quicker I get where I’m going–and the calmer I am when I get there. This time of year especially, that works for me.  

Works for Me Wednesday: Father Christmas

My dad is notoriously hard to shop for. It’s not that he doesn’t like getting gifts. The opposite, actually. But he’s a pretty successful dude, and if there’s something he wants, he usually just…goes out and buys it. Sure, sometimes he’ll ask for a cd or a movie or something, and he’s always incredibly gracious, but come Christmas I never feel like I’ve hit it out of the park with him. In fact, I think the best present I ever got him was a popsicle-stick box for holding paper clips—seventeen years later, it’s still sitting on the desk in his office. I saw it last time I was there.

 

So it was in the spirit of the popsicle-stick paper clip box that I came up with this year’s gift: a subscription to the Kitchendoor Treat of the Month Club. Membership includes one batch of cookies, muffins, or bars shipped to his door every thirty days.

 

I haven’t come up with a full list yet, but I’m thinking I’ll try to keep the goodies seasonal: coconut cookies in the spring, berry tarts over the summer, pumpkin muffins in the fall. He’s going through kind of a rough patch right now—everybody in my family is—and I think it’ll mean a lot to him to receive a tangible reminder that he’s on my mind.

 

It’s personal, reasonably inexpensive, and a gift that will last all year.

 

I’d say that works for me. 

Works for Me Wednesday: Chilling Out

 

No doubt about it: my boyfriend is pretty wonderful. He’s funny; he’s wicked handsome; if I feel like I need a cuddle he’ll pick me up and carry me around the house for awhile. Yesterday, honest to God, he painted the bathroom and roasted a turkey before I got home from work. One time he took me to a Hanson concert. I am not complaining.

Still, we’ve been together long enough–six and a half years–for me to have figured out that there are going to be some moments where I absolutely am not going to win. I’m not going to convince him to help me start a compost bin on the back porch. I’m not going to get him to stop leaving empty Pepsi cans in random spots all over the apartment, like a trail of bread crumbs. And I’m not going to be able to coax him into a good mood when we are sitting in the car on the Mass Pike on the day before Thanksgiving stuck in gridlock that hasn’t moved in forty-five minutes.

Like we will be tomorrow afternoon.

For a long time, that made me crazy. As the traffic slowed, I’d speed up my chatter, trying to distract him. I’d ply him with junk food. I’d turn up the Christmas music on the stereo (can’t imagine why that one didn’t work) or start compulsively listing everything we had to look forward to over the next few days. At long last, stressed out and deflated by his sulking and muttered swears and general refusal to crack a smile even when I told the joke about the duck in the bar with the grapes, I’d lose my temper: “It’s the HOLIDAYS! Can you just please be nice for five seconds?”

Finally, he laid it out for me. “Hey. All that stuff you do when you don’t want me to be annoyed anymore? It just makes me annoyed-er.”

Well then.

And so it finally dawned on me: He’s a boy. When there’s traffic, he gets cranky. Whatever. It’s not permanent. Nobody’s dying. It’s such small potatoes, it’s totally out of my control, and there’s no reason why it should ruin either of our days.

Tomorrow, when we’re cruising down the highway and see those telltale red brake lights ahead of us, I’ll do my best not to cringe. Instead, I’ll pull my coffee out of the cupholder, kick off my sneakers, and settle in for the ride.

And that works for me.

 

Hey! The kitchendoor will be closed until Friday, for celebratin’. Like my art history professor in college said upon finishing his lecture the day before Thanksgiving: “We’re done. Go eat dead birds.”

Works For Me Wednesday: Higher Temperatures

It’s freezing so I’m putting everything in the oven. Chickens, sure, but mostly vegetables and even some fruits: carrots, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, grape tomatoes, parsnips, apples, pears. I’m going to try roasting a pumpkin this weekend.

 

I keep it really simple with the veg, using olive oil, salt and pepper. A little garlic never hurt anybody, though, and you could definitely experiment with herbs and spices, Colonel-Sanders-style. For apples, I like to go with melted butter and brown sugar. Just give it a rough chop, toss all the ingredients together, spread everything out on a baking sheet and stick it in the oven at 400 for 20 minutes to half an hour, flipping halfway through. The roasting brings out the natural sweetness of the vegetables, until they’re almost caramelized and completely delicious: even the much-maligned Brussels sprout becomes a thing of ecstasy.

 

Easy. Tasty. Good for you.

 

That works for me. 

Works for me Wednesday: Flying Solo

In college, I was a pack animal. I lived right next door to two of my best girlfriends; a third lived down a flight of stairs. Two bangs on the wall meant, are you awake? A bang back meant yeah, you wanna eat?

 

We shared clothes, deodorant, blankets. We didn’t knock. We were on top of each other all the time until we became a unit, a knot tied too tight to even think about pulling apart. Alone time wasn’t an option—and we liked it that way.

 

As we’ve all gone our separate ways, though, I’ve come to realize that I like having some time to myself. I think I actually need it. I love hanging out in my empty apartment a couple of nights a week while Leprechaun is at work, reading or writing or knitting or experimenting in the kitchen. I like the quiet, the chance to hear myself think. Corny as it sounds (and I HATE corny things) I’m getting to know myself a little bit better—and mining my creativity in the process.

 

And that works for me. 

Works For Me Wednesday: Kitchen Aid

I love organizing. I don’t know what it is about having everything it its place that makes me feel so powerful, so ready to take on whatever’s next. It feels like the state of my apartment—especially the kitchen—mirrors the state of my mind, and I do the best I can to keep it in good shape.

 

Still, I’m not great at daily maintenance. Every week I promise I’m going to keep up the kitchen a little at a time, Flylady style. No matter how I try, though, over the course of several days all kinds of detritus piles up on the kitchen table. Questionable leftovers accumulate in the fridge. Something overflows on the stove, I’m lazy about scrubbing it off, and the truth is that most nights I’d rather collapse into bed than spend even five extra minutes wiping down the counters.

 

Now, Leprechaun works Friday and Saturday nights, so on Sunday mornings he likes to sleep in (and, shocker, doesn’t appreciate it when I jump on the bed or poke him or whisper “are you awake?” every three minutes). What I’ve found, though, is that those couple of hours are perfect for all kinds of kitchen maintenance: I flip on the Food Network, brew a pot of coffee, and get to it. I scrub and Swiffer; I run the burners through the dishwasher; I toss the takeout menus and credit card applications stacked on the chairs. The work is meditative, and it chills me out.

 

In addition to a general clean-up, I use the time to clip coupons, flip through circulars, and plan out what we’re going to be eating. Getting it all done on Sunday morning really puts me in a good place to start the week. By the time Leprechaun stumbles out of bed, I’ve worked out a seven days’ worth of clutter and conundrums; I’m happy, relaxed, and ready to go.

 

See? Clean kitchen, clean mind.

 

And that works for me.

 

Works for Me Wednesday: Not Fighting It

This is so small and silly that I’m almost embarrassed to post it. But it goes to show that sometimes it really is the little things that make a difference, and it’s nothing if not a lesson in battle-picking.

 

We had a towel bar in the bathroom. We had a lot of towels in the bathroom. In the four months we’ve lived in this apartment, said towels made it onto said towel bar maybe three times. Instead, they were slung over open doors, heaped on the toilet seat, left in sodden puddles on the bathroom floor.

 

We’d never had this problem in the other apartment (where there were hooks on the back of the bathroom door) and it seemed absurd to me that the simple act of folding a wet towel and sliding it over the flippin’ bar could be such a deal breaker.

 

So I fought it. I picked up towel after soggy towel, folding and grumbling and letting the resentment grow, until the other day—literally, the other day, after four months of taking this stupid towel bar as my lot in life—it occurred to me that I could go buy some hooks and replace the blasted thing.

 

So I did.

 

Know what?

 

It worked.

 

There’s a lesson here somewhere about the inanity of being annoyed about something without taking steps to change it, about the futility of constantly swimming against the tide. I could probably apply it to other areas of my life—I’ll probably try to—but for now, I’m just happy not to be climbing over a mountain of soggy terry cloth to get to the sink.

 

And that works for me.