This DID just happen

Corey decided we had too much milk last night.

His solution: cake mix.  Both chocolate and yellow.

Corey: "Do you think the eggs are still good?"

Me: "Probably..."

C:  "I mean, when the power went out we didn't take them out, so they should be ok, right?"

Me: "Put water in a bowl and see if they float.  If they don't then they're fine."

Corey fills bowl.  Inserts egg.  Sinker.

C:  "The egg is at the bottom."

Me:  "Then they're fine."

C:  "Are you sure??"

Me:  "Yep."

C:  "??"

Me:  "I read it in several places."

Corey adds eggs.  Stirs.

C:  "Are you going to eat this?"

Me.  "Yeah, why?"

C:  "I'm not.  It just seems funny."

Me.  "Gimme a break!  The thing sunk, the eggs are fine.  Call your mom if you don't believe me!"

C:  "Hey mom...(chatter in the other room)....ok thanks. Don't worry beetle.  The eggs are good."

Christmas Cookies!!!

This post is brought to you by my mom.  On those days when I just don't have it in me I can always count on, "You know your last post was FRIDAY."

Thanks, mom.

I'm really excited about this week.  And for a number of different reasons:

• There is nothing going on at work.  I mean, there's stuff, but nothing urgent that can't wait until mid-January when everyone gets back into the swing of things.
• I am stress free.  I still have things to buy, wrap, and make but it's such a small manageable amount I can practically check everything off my list.  I mean, without actually checking it off because then, you know, it wouldn't get done.
• I'm on drugs.  Just kidding.  Bad joke.  Sorry.

Corey and I are so stress-free we took last weekend, as in the last weekend before Christmas, to travel up to his hometown and make gingerbread cookies with his mom.  It was a tradition that went back many, many years but Corey hadn't participated since we've been together.  He was literally giddy to go.

I'm going to mention a key part of this story here: Corey made three gingerbread men.

Three.

As in three out of several dozen.

The rest of the time he played with the dog, talked football with his dad, and told his mom, my sister, and me we weren't doing it right because none of them looked like his.

This is my life with a perpetual eight-year-old.

We had a good time anyway; me, his mom and my sister.  We were decoratin' fools!

And then we just got foolish.

But in our defense: there were a lot of cookies.  And there are just so many things you can do with a little brown cookie man. 

Eventually we turned some into ladies.

Well dressed ladies, if I might add.

I ended up with a well deserved stomach ache at the end of the day.  After so much decorating I opted to eat the last few cookies rather than paste 'em with frosting and more sugar. 

And then I ate several more the next day...for no good reason at all.

We drove home mid-day Sunday. 

Luckily there was football and laundry waiting for us to really top off a fabulous weekend.

(sarcasm font)

...

And now back to the Christmas grindstone...."weeeeeeeeeee wish you a Merry Christmas!"

Chef Corey

This season of our marriage is all about food.

We cook it (and I say "we" very loosely), we eat it, and now we watch it.

Before Corey I'd never watched a single minute of the Food Network in. my. life.

I never cared how it got made, just so long as it did and went into my belly.

BFF: "Ohmigosh!  It's Bobby Flay!!!"

Me: "Who??"

Now I'll see the guy walking ten feet away and I practically have to pick myself up off the floor.

Why?

Because FN is all we watch.

Corey is especially enthralled with the cooking competitions.  It's fast paced and frenzied, something I think he can identify with clearly; Iron Chef just happens to be on every single night as he makes our dinner* and often will talk to me as if we are part of the competition, he being the contestand and I am the judge.

"What I've done here is marinated the chicken in a creamy sauce then served over a bed of crisp greens..."

Tuesday night he cooked for me a full three course meal, each presented with a Japanese accent (imitating Iron Chef Morimoto, of course).

The first course: a blend of cheeses with a dash of cayenne pepper grilled between two flour tortillas with a garnish of hot sauce on the side.  (Quesadillas)

The second course: a grilled bread topped with a tomato sauce, a blend of cheeses and pepperoni chunks, cut into four pieces.  (A frozen Celeste pizza)

And finally, the third course, which really was a masterpiece:

An ice cream Snickers bar with whipped cream and sprinkles on top of a homemade raspberry sauce with crushed walnuts.

It was pretty darn tasty.

Although a little out-of-the-box, which is what those shows are meant to be anyway.

Watch for Corey's own show in the future.  He's just the kind of food nut they love!

...

*Corey makes our meals because 1) he enjoys it and 2) I have only enough time to pop a hot pocket into the microwave.

Help me out here GE

With all the new technology coming out that supposed to make our lives easier, why are we still burning popcorn?  Where in the world is the microwave that tells me when it's done?

It's simple math, people.  The number of kernels per second multiplied by the moisture in the air, divided by the motion of the ocean equals perfectly done popcorn.  Blamo.

If that idea is not already in the works, it should be.

And that's all I have to say about it.

Thank you.

My favorite things....right now

In order to make up for what is lacking in my posts these days (substance), I'm going to try to feed you little tidbits o'stuff.

This first one is about the junk I really like at the moment.

Enjoy.

...

Farmers market spinach: green, firm and not slimy.  I never knew this is how spinach is supposed to be.

Corey talks in his sleep too: "Hey Corey, you should probably get up, we need to leave soon." "Will you please stop talking?!  You come in here like a hurricane and....sorry Beetle, I'm only half awake."

Trivia night at the bowling ally: if it looks country, sounds country, then it must be country.  I don't care.  I do trivia in a bowling ally and I love it.

Corey's secret chicken recipe: can't tell you what's in it.  Secret.

Falling asleep to Matlock. 

Falling asleep to Matlock via YouTube on my phone when Matlock is not more easily accessible.

Oliver: even though he attacks other dogs because he is a grumpy old man.  This implies there are moments where I don't like him.  That would be correct.  I don't like him when he attacks other dogs.

Buying new pens: I love office supplies more than you'll ever know, my friends.

...

Until the next tidbit, tah-tah!

Comfort is a dish best served with mustard

We've had a request here at Corey & Stacie.

A request for a certain topic to be covered.

One that this particular reader feels is not touched on as much as it should be.

A topic on the awesomeness that is Corey.

And that request came from Corey, himself.

...

"Hey Beetle, is there gonna be a blog post today?"

"Maybe."

"Do you have something planned?"

"Not yet."

"So you don't have something already scheduled?"

"Nope."

"You should write about how I made you dinner."

"You serious?"

"Yeah!  I make stuff from Food Channel for my beetle!"

"Um, sure."

"Tell them I made a homemade raspberry sauce!"

"Ok..."

...

This was all said through a shower curtain, I should add, not over Wheaties and coffee as you probably imagined.  But don't go back and try to imagine it.  Trust me, it was as funny as it sounds.

And it was cute.  Kind of a childlike excitement, he was so proud of himself.  So I oblige:

Yes, Corey made us dinner the past two nights.  And dessert.  Which was very welcoming to me as I have been a tad down in the dumps over work stuff, future stuff, and the end of the world as we know it.

But I digress.

He's been watching a lot of the Food Channel recently, even a little Barefoot Contessa (whom he claims to not enjoy, but watches anyway..."I like the food," he says.  He does, however, draw the line at Rachel Ray.  As he should).  His favorite: Diners, Drive Ins and Dives with Guy Fi....um, Guy Fior....the guy with the spiky blond hair.  It is Guy who inspired Tuesday's meal of a burger covered in chili and cheese.

To Guy F. I say, Thank You.  Because it was stinkin' awesome!

Last night it was our comfort food staple: tator tots covered in cheese, a meat sauce, ketchup and mustard.  No inspiration.  Just taking super good stuff and mixing it all together.

No big whoop, I make junk like this all the time.

Well here's the kicker, my friends, the piece that puts Corey above those of us who just make junk: he was home sick both days.

Awwwwww....

...wait, so you ate food that was probably tainted with cold germs?

Um, yeah.  I guess I did.  But heck, if I was gonna catch it, I was gonna catch it.  Besides, how could I have turned down a meal planned to make me feel better from someone who should have been in bed trying to make himself better?!

The best part is next.  He bought fresh raspberries.

While still sick.

And he made a sauce.

That he put over chocolate ice cream.

And cheesecake.

I die.

Almost literally.  I thought my stomach was going to explode.  But I ended up surviving and digesting and swearing off all things greasy and sweet.  That is, until lunch time today.

...

So that's my story.

The hubbs takes good care of me when I need a pick-me-up.

And it works.

Until he comes over and farts in my face.

So maybe he doesn't quite get all aspects of soothe and comfort...

A kitchen without gadgets is like....a kitchen. Without gadgets.

While in TJ Maxx picking up a replacement baking sheet for the one my Christmas quiche destroyed (didn't know a girly breakfast item could be so destructive, did you?), Corey's mom and I had the following conversation:

"So Beetle, do you need anything else for the kitchen while we're here?"

"Um, well we could use some new dish towels."

"Done.  We'll get these.  Anything else?"

"Hmmm, not that I can think of..."

Then later on that day Corey and I drove home and I remembered some things we could have used.  For instance:

...a dish drainer.  Currently, we use a crappy dish towel.  And yes, that is several layers of dishes stack precariously on top of other dishes.  We have had dish avalanches.

We could also use some salt and pepper shakers.  Our current method (pouring salt out of the tube) makes dishes just slightly salty.  And I say that with extreme sarcasm.  At least the pepper has little holes and it is harder to over pepper.  So maybe we just need a salt shaker.  But that's dumb.

I was given rooster shakers (which I l-o-v-e) but Corey has requested something a tad more...normal.

Here is our butter dish.  Quite literally.  We put our butter on a plate.  A regular plate we eat dinner on.  Yes, we eat dinner on paper plates.  For convenience.  When we switch Dixie patterns we do eventually switch our butter "dish."

Next is a double whammy: this is our food-off-chin-wiping-system.  Also known to some as napkins.  As you can see, this is not napkins.  It's a roll of paper towels.  So, 1) we don't have napkins, 2) thus, we don't have a napkin holder, and 3) also no paper towel holder.  Triple whammy, actually.

...

We're pretty kitchen-deficient despite owning three kinds of whisks and a little gadget that squeezes the daylights out of garlic, but somehow we manage to get food in our bellies.

It's called Stouffer's chicken pot pies.

Don't cry for me.

Christmas Preview: China Please

This is going to sound crazy, and weird, and like something you would expect to come from my little fingers:

I want a completely mismatched set of china.

...

Corey just had a face-to-palm moment.

Bonnie asked Gary if I was serious.

My sister Katie rolled her eyes.

Oliver licked his butt.

My mom said, "Ooooo, Fiesta ware!!"

...

Allow me to explain, beyond our four Pottery Barn plates, Corey and I have no china.  In our current situation, were we to entertain guests they would have to settle for our finest Dixie and last years leftover Traver's Day Party cups.

We did try to acquire a nice, fancy set of dishware.  If you know my darling husband at all you know he sought out the best of the best and registered us for every possible piece made.  Then we found out (by "then", I mean just before the wedding) Macy's had none of our set in stock.  Anywhere.  All of the orders were on back order (by "back order" I mean on a list, waiting to be canceled) and we received nothing.

You call it an unfortunate situation.

I call it divine intervention.

Whatever.

So, in other words, we are in need of any set of china.

So, why mismatched?  Because I'm crazy that way.

Crazy smart.

Hey, what happens when you make a major purchase in 1970 and you find out in 2010 orange shag is not the next taupe berber?  You cry and get new carpet.

To save myself from tossing my old, outdated china out the window in 2040 in a fit of rage, why not start with old, outdated china??  Why not pick out a plate I like at an antique store in Provincetown and have a story like how the hubbs got propositioned by a fancy ladd and had to run and find me follow it around at dinner parties held by us, then our children, and our children's children?

PS. that actually did happen in Provincetown, however not while buying antiques.  I like to recycle stories here.

Why not have a set that doesn't match to begin with, leaving us free to replace broken pieces with...whatever we like?  Or why not have a dinnertime decorating scheme of, oh I don't know, every color?!

I mentioned in a Ten on Tuesday post that I would like antique plates for Christmas.  In addition to having our own stories, I want to be able to sit down to a meal with friends, family, llamas, whoever and be able to look at my plate and know a certain someone picked it out specially for us.  A warm fuzzy with every meal in addition to the warm fuzzies (read: Oliver hair) that have been cooked into the meal.

sorry...

So with all that said, not so crazy anymore, eh?




Just wait until I ask for salt and pepper shakers in the shape of barnyard animals...

Ice cream and life lessons

There are two things in the world that make me laugh until I blow snot bubbles:

1. sleep talking stories
2. animals with shoes on

But that's not the point of this post.

I just felt like sharing.

Now send me sleep talking stories of animals with shoes on.

Where was I?

Oh yes.  I was going to tell you about my breakfast yesterday.  The second one.

I had the french toast smothered in butter and syrup at a restaurant called Poopies.  It's a small place, the service is kinda lousy, but the food is de-lish.  Emphasis on -lish.  Why?  Because I'm in a mood.

But that's also not the point of this post.  Only a minor detail.

I was with my co-workers to celebrate the 90th birthday of a man who has more to do in a day that I do in one week.  His name is Dante, Dan for short, and he volunteers in my office every morning.

I love this guy.  He is so kind and caring...and blunt.

"Hey Dan, my parents are throwing an engagement party and..."

"No thanks.  I don't do that stuff."

"Well, ok then..."

Dan mows his own yard.  He snow blows his driveway and sometimes his brother's.  He plays golf four days a week.  He does work for the boy scouts.  He drives himself and his wife all over town.  He can read phone book listings without glasses.

One more time:  Dan can read the phone book without glasses.

I can barely see my own hand in front of my face without glasses.

He is in great shape, not just for his age.

So when I see him order two eggs over easy, four strips of bacon and buttered toast it makes me wonder how he got here.

Pilates? 

I doubt it.

South Beach Diet?

Probably not.

Burnt toast and scotch?

Maybe.

Or, it might just be good genes and a good attitude.

Now, I don't know if I have either, but I can rationalize my future decisions in this way: I am going to die the day that I die.  It's not my choice, never has been, never will be.  And it is going to be the same day whether I put myself in stupid sugar detox mode, run until my feet fall off and torture myself or if I have a dang lemon square every night...with a cookie...and a slice of cake...with ice cream.

So with that revelation I skipped the egg white omelet and opted for french toast with a stick of butter.  In the afternoon I dug out $3.10 in change (and one Bermuda nickel) for a scoop of chocolate ice cream.

And it felt good.

Tasted good, too.

I'm sure that's what Dan would have done.

A foray in fondant

Corey likes my craft projects.

He asks me, "Are you an artist?"

I laugh.  An artist is someone who is talented and dedicated.

I have a Martha Stewart magazine and tons of glue.

And that's how I prefer it.  Artists have to hone their trade.  Perfect it.  Live off it.  As a simple crafter, the pressure is just not there.  I can make lopsided felt balls while watching Law and Order.  I can paint over dust particles and dog hair that land on my gourds.  I can dabble in many different mediums. 

Oh, and dabble I do.  I've had my hands in clay, paint, wires, felt, paper, fabric, food, computer graphics, and sometimes a combination of them all.  The list gets goofier if I include projects for my art classes in college (pizza boxes, eyelash curler, doll hair, etc.).

Last week, my dabbling brought me to the world of cake decorating.  With fondant.  The Hideki Matsui* of decorating mediums.  Now, I am no stranger to cake, but up to this point my decorating experience was limited to whatever design I could swirl around with my knife in the Duncan Hines frosting before I face planted, mouth open, into the middle of the thing.

I let things get out of hand sometimes.

So with limited (read: no) knowledge of the deliciously sticky fondant and no time to spare for a do-over, I began to knead it, and color it, and knead it, and knead it, and roll it, and curse at it, and knead it, and roll it, and cut it. 

And then I had to make it fit on a round cake.

And then I got to play with different colors.

I made flowers and eventually my sister's nickname, Berlie. (it was her birthday)

It was lovely.

And then we chopped it up and ate it.  Pretty cake taste good.

*It's a sad day in girl world when thinking of analogies brings me to sports references.  Matsui is only the best (former, sadly) Yankee ever.  In the world.

Cinnamon Bun Pancakes

I do believe I mentioned cinnamon pancakes on Wednesday.  But to the best of my knowledge I cannot figure out why I stopped short of saying how awesomely cinnamony and delicious they were.

Oh wait, I was sharing a Corey blunder. Yeah, that is important.

Well today I'll do the opposite.  I'll only briefly mention our light bulb conversation:

"Oh, the light's not working."

"Yeah, it went out yesterday."

"How do we fix it?"

"Um, we change the light bulb."

And spend the rest of my time talking about the pancakes.

First, let me clear something up: I do not enjoy cooking.  I am bad at it.  Something always goes wrong.  So when I do settle myself into the kitchen it is because I have found something with enormous potential and worth the hassle of at least two do-overs. 

I found the recipe on Ree Drummond's Pioneer Woman website.  If you don't know who she is you've been living in a box.  And I mean that in the nicest, most brutally honest way.  She's the country gal who talks about calf nuts one day and cauliflower soup the next.  It's no nonsense, fill-up-ma-cowpokes kind of cooking.  Full of heft, butter, and calories. 

Here is an indication of exactly how good these pancakes are, I just had a minor freak-out session when I couldn't find the recipe on P-dub's blog.  And when I say freak-out I mean I got really whiney and grumpy and thought of one irrational solution after another:

"I could Google cinnamon pancakes and go through 2 million hits until I find them..."

"I can 411-search PW, call her, and demand she email me the link...and send an autographed copy of her cookbook...."

"I can drive to her house in Oklahoma and wait on her doorstep until the cows come home (literally)...."

Luckily, I found it.  Cinnamon Bun Pancakes.  They are everything the name claims: all that you love in a cinnamon bun mixed with all that you love in a pancake.  It's a marriage made in All My Children, without ex-girlfriend, step-dad, mom trapped in a hole drama.

But what is a cinnamon bun without it's icing?  I'll go further, what is a cinnamon bun pancake without its maple syrup icing?

It is just a pancake.

Therefore, I implore you, please do not skip the icing.  Not only will you miss out, but you jeopardize my reputation as an uncredited, unsolicited, unpaid reviewer of Pioneer Woman recipes.  And that is no way to thank me for sharing with you the secrets of the last pancake you'll ever want.

So, I will leave you now to your drool and imagination.

You're welcome.

I won something.

Out of 30,000 people I won something.  Me.  The unluckiest person in the world.

The person who manages to do thousands of dollars of damage to her car while it is sitting in the driveway.

The person who always steps in gum and sits in chocolate.

The person who has never won a single dollar in any gambling venture.  Ever.

But this time I won.

Did I mention I won something?

My prize:

Kitchenaid 90th Anniversary Limited-Edition 5-Quart Stand Mixer

Isn't she beautiful?  I'm not quite sure what these things are for, but how can you not love a sturdy piece of kitchenware?  And it's red to boot.

Now if we could just get some salt and pepper shakers...

The essence of Thanksgiving

Today I make pies.  Two pies.  From scratch.

They will be pumpkin pies, and I will use real pumpkins.

The crust will be golden brown.  Formed by my own (clean) bare hands.

And they will be gloriously delicious.

Have I ever made a pie before?  No.

Do I really expect these suckers to turn out?  Hecks yeah.

Stay tuned for pictures of me smeared with pumpkin goop.

For real.  I'm a mess.

From the pages of my recipe book

In the 53 days I've been married I have learned that a man appreciates a good home cooked meal.  The kind of meal where you unbutton and let the fly out a little, or forgo pants altogether. 

I have yet to cook this kind of meal, but I sense it would be well received.

So, for all of you newlyweds, pre-newlyweds, and wanna-be-weds, I'll give you a secret recipe I perfected myself that will make you and your man "wanna slap your mama.  But you won't."  (My pastor says that, I think it's true meaning is lost here in the north...)

Cozy Dogs

Prep time: 3 minutes

Cook time: 20 minutes

Ingredients
1 tube of Pillsbury crescent rolls
1 package of hot dogs
thinly sliced cheese (optional)

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350.  Open the tube of crescent rolls.  Follow instructions on the tube for this.  Unroll and separate triangles.  Lay triangles out on a large, ungreased cookie sheet.  Open package of hot dogs.  Take out a hot dog.  Lay hot dog across shortest edge of crescent roll.  Lay a strip of cheese  under hot dog, if desired.  Roll hot dog.  Repeat.

Bake dogs for 20 minutes or until rolls are a golden brown.  Let cool for 10-15 minutes.

From my kitchen to yours.  Enjoy.

P.S. Check back later and I'll tell you how to bake a delicious frozen raspberry turnover!

The Baker Wife

See what I did there?  Instead of The Baker's Wife I put The Baker....never mind.

Over the weekend my sister and I went raspberry picking.  For the first time.  Ever.

Itwassostinkingawesome.

After fighting bees, spiders and extremely possessive ants, we ended up with over five pounds of berries, and at $3.50/pound we were super psyched.

I took my half and headed straight for the grocery store.  After confirming corn starch is not the same as corn syrup, I went home and began my raspberry turnover adventure.

I made the crust from scratch using my mom's recipe. 

Word of advice: flour has a mind of its own.  And you will not feel it clinging to your hair, cheeks or eyebrows.

Now, the raspberry filling, the most important part of the turnover, the whole reason for it to exist, was a disaster.  How easy is it to add sugar and corn starch?  It's Not.

"Add sugar....wow, that's a lot of sugar."

"Add cornstarch."

"That looks really soupy.  Should I put more cornstarch in?"

"Maybe I need more sugar?"

"Wait, now it's too runny."

 Next, I rolled out the dough (hindsight: too thick), added my soupy berries, and sealed 'em up.

"Crap.  I forgot the butter."

Opened the suckers back up, added butter, resealed.

And this is the mess that went into the oven.

The judges say:

Stacie: "The crust is dense, yet flaky on the outside.  The berries are a perfect combination of sweet and tart.  Exquisite, despite its flea market presentation."

Corey:  "Too doughy."

Too funny to NOT share

Ok...shhhhh. I'm in my office, but I have to get this out before I either shoot snot out of my nose or something a little more fowl...um, never mind.

I have a friend named Jill. She's a lot like me. I say dumb things, she says dumb things.

I say things like, "August starts on the first this year."

She says things like, well, hers takes a little explaining.

And so the story begins... her mom sent Corey and I a sweet email congratulating us and giving advice that has worked for her and her husband: bake a batch of cookies when we're upset with each other. I love the idea. Not only will it help me get over a spat, but I get cookies out of it.

So, she gives me this advice and I picture myself in the middle of a flour storm, egg and dough everywhere, with a crazed look in my eye as I spit in the cookie dough!

I tell this to Jill with my little smiley emoticons and LOLs, and her response is:

"HAH! Spit in the dough. I would do that but then forget which cookie I put it in and end up eating my own spit. "

HAhaha(snort)hahahaaha(snort)aaahahaahaa(snort)ha!!!

48 days...

Step aside, Bobby Flay. Eat my garlic powder, Rachel Ray. Move over, Paula Dean...no seriously, there isn't enough room for two on this chair.

Chef Stacie is now on the scene and she is something to be feared.

So I don't know how to saute, or when to use tarragon. So what if I've actually never baked a cake that didn't come from a box. And what does it matter if I've really only made five successful dishes?

The point is, I've caught the cooking bug. I enjoyed every delightful minute while making those delightful lemon-raspberry low fat muffins. The individual raspberry cobblers were also a delight. And my delightful turkey and balsamic onion quesadillas were...you guessed it, delightful! (see, i've already got the lingo down)

I'm a cooking machine!! (not to be confused with cookie machine, although i can eat cookies at industrial speeds) Next on the list: something chocolate. Followed by deviled eggs. Followed by meatloaf. And I'll continue like this on and on and on and on....

...until i find something else i like to do better.