First Challenge: What Defines Me?

  

That's me hangin' in my favorite apron.

    
Our first challenge for Project Food Blog (to see more about that click here) is to post about what defines us as a food blogger and why we should be the next food blog star.

I really haven’t taken a breath since I started this blog, so the time for an inward glance at why I do this, seems pretty appropriate. I think like most food bloggers, it comes from a deep passion for cooking and eating. For me, it’s that plus working in my love of art, expression and family into each story, recipe and photo. It also comes from knowing that in order to keep this Mama happy, I absolutely must do something creative that involves only me. Not that I don’t love doing “craps” (a.k.a “crafts”) with my kiddos and lunging enthusiastically at loads of laundry, it just that Mommy needs something that is completely her, for her and by her. When I express myself, either through my photographs, a recipe I’ve come up with in the fury of dinnertime countdown, or writing a story about why the waiting room smells at the local doctor’s office, when I press that “publish” button, I feel so good. I’ve sent something out there into the world that is a piece of me and hoping others will want to share in it.

"craps" in action

Around the age of 8 or 9, I became enthralled in the art of cooking. It was becoming clearer to me that it was something I deeply wanted to pursue. I had been envisioning myself as an artist for some time, since around the age 3, but when I became aware of the art of cooking, something new awoke. I think it’s for the fact that cooking is a craft. The process of crafting and construction is my favorite thing about art and also my favorite thing about cooking. It’s art you can eat.

My mom was my first window through which I viewed cooking and food. She always included me in her cooking adventures. Even though she started out married life labeled as one who “could burn water”, she has, over the years, turned into a fabulous cook. I feel honored that I was included in her journey.

This is my grandma Maria. That smile tells me there's meatballs in that pot.

Next to my mom, I would have to say my grandmother Maria was most influential. Though I never got to actually cook with her (only eat her food), her Italian heritage that came through in her cooking is still engraved in the corners of my culinary mind, but more importantly, in my sentimental heart. I am particularly enamored with Italian and Mediterranean food, for the flavor and for the comfort factor.

Lastly, I owe much of my awakened culinary love to the kings and queens of PBS cooking shows, that is, before Food Network. Graham Kerr to Julia Child, Jeff Smith to Martin Yan, they all filled me with wonder and joy as I watched them throw loaves of French bread over their shoulders (Julia) to furiously chopping green onions as they counted aloud (Martin). After a Saturday morning “breakfast” of their culinary wisdom, I would stand on my little green stool in front of the kitchen sink and profess that I was going to be a chef (as I talked to my T.V. audience).

Years later, I did take a community college food prep course, after I graduated high school. I did well in execution and following directions and memorizing recipes, but I did not enjoy the pressure of the clock breathing down my chef whites. I found that I wanted to cook out of pleasure. So I did not continue on to becoming a chef, but I did learn what I wanted…which was just to cook because I loved it.

The "Hubs".

My husband has been my greatest cheerleader over the years (in the most manliest of ways) by his constant encouragement and adventurous eating habits. Since day one, cooking has been my number one way to say that I love him. He happily receives this love language.

My kids (though they have no clue as to what blogging is) cheer me on by picking up their Fisher-Price toy cameras and clicking away as I photograph a plate of cupcakes. And even though they turn their adorable noses up at some of my kitchen shenanigans, I don’t mind, because I know, in time they will grow to love a myriad of flavors.

My handsome Bubba.

My spunky 'lil Boo.

And my precious Tiny.

And then there are my parents, who show me they believe in me (which they have since I was a wee one) by picking up interesting kitchen props as they make their way through flea markets on the weekends and send them to me parcel post in a giant computer box…that is love.

The box.

The loot. Nice, huh?

Those who know me best, see the sparkle in my eye, see the wheels turning, know to stay out of the way and let me continue my train of thought (well, those who are over 3 foot high anyway) as I plan for a post. They patiently tolerate the endless photography sessions with a loaf of bread, refrain from digging into their highly anticipated cup of lobster bisque so I can capture it in its undisturbed form, and know not to throw away any scrap of paper from the kitchen counter as it may contain the perfect ratio for the perfect iced mocha.

Basically, I do this because I love it. As far as why I should be the next food blog star, well, I think the above says it all. If I become the next food blog star, I will have won because of who I am as an individual...that and I can make a mean meat-a-ball.

Thanks for taking a mini tour of my culinary past and present.

Love ya, Foodies.

Wretched.

Meet my buddies, Remote and Crackers.

What a week. My hiatus is not one that I intended, rather one that was forced upon me.

Monday evening I came down with a horrible stomach virus. All night long I was up retching myself into oblivion, even into the next day. Thankfully, the hubs was able to stay home and help me with the kids...for a while. Less than 24 hours later he joined me in the ranks of, well, rank. Poor guy. I had to call my neighbor Teri to come and put the kids down for bedtime because the hubs and me were laid up in our bed like two sick, sad sardines.

Next day his mom came over to help. Thank God! We were still both in bad shape. We resembled less of ourselves and more like Charlie's grandma and grandpa from Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. You know, the first one? Yeah, it was pretty bad.

It's hard being sick and having three little ones. We banned them from our room. A quick "hi" here and there. We could tell it was taking it's toll on them, but we didn't want them to catch it. So we remained, in our bed and took turns whining our choruses of discontent. Boy, were we big babies. But it really did suck...a lot.

Now we are healed. Bouncing back. I felt so bouncy yesterday that I cleaned 4 bathrooms, did a load of laundry, dishes, made binoculars out of paper towel rolls and then proceeded to go on a "jungle safari" in the living room with the kids. This involved crawling on the floor, peeking around  the recliners and whispering as we pointed at the "lions" sleeping by the fireplace. Then I looked at the clock and it was only 10 a.m. I sighed because now I was no longer bouncy but I still had 3 hours to burn before nap time. So we went off to Chick-fil-a, Hobby Lobby and then dropped off some overdue videos at the library. Finally it was 1 p.m.

After nap, I took off my daughter's diaper and out rolled a little "surprise". For whatever reason, I exclaimed, "Oh, a little nugget!" My daughter then replies, "Just like Chick-fil-a, Mommy!"

There it is, in a nutshell. We're back in action.

P.s. I wanted to say, to all of those who lost ones they loved on this day 9 years ago, that my heart and prayers are with you.

Let's Face It. It's a Banana Cupcake.

I want to call these muffins. I really do. They are semi-healthy with the bananas and flax seeds, but once I put the glaze on they officially crossed-over to cupcakes. Banana Cupcakes with a Honey Glaze that is.

I took my grandma's recipe for Banana Bread and did the switch-a-roo on the eggs with the magical flax seed mix, poured it into muffin tins, cupcake pans and made, well, cupcakes. My kids helped me with the creation of these precious cakes, all the while drooling and constantly asking if they were "done" yet. Once the batter was in the cups, they each got a spoon to lick to their hearts content. No worries, 'cause there's no eggs!

I've gotta admit, I wanted to stick my face in that giant bowl and lick it like Clifford the Big Red Dog would. I refrained, as children do EVERYTHING you do. My daughter offered me a lick off her already slobbery spoonage and I did that classic adult pretend taste...I know, she's my daughter, but it was so drool-y. "Mmmmm! You made that? What a great baker you are!" I chimed. She smiled, all the while knowing I didn't really taste it. Then she says her line, the same line she says any times she partakes in a sharing activity, "She's so nice, Mommy!" I love that she gets her pronouns all mixed up.

My oldest son exclaims, "My did it, Mommy!" (also, pronoun impaired) as he takes the last lick from his spoon. I look down and there's wads of batter flung on the sides of the cabinets and splats on the floor. I smile. He gets me every time with his "my did it" phrase.

Daily "My did it" Routine

Me: "Bubba, did you go potty?"
Him: (chirps) "My did it!"
Me: "Great job! Did you wash your hands?"
Him: (irritated) "My did it ALREADY!" (but he didn't, just tryin' to fool 'ol mom)

I don't generally give my kids a lot of sweets. It makes them wacko. But there is always an exception. These cupcakes, while sugary, are even more so with the glaze on them. But I figured, if we're going to go the sugar route, let's go all the way. I put glaze on only a few for a special treat and topped with a Teddy Graham. They thought that was so amazing. I love that I can be their superhero for dumb stuff like that. Oh, please don't grow up children.

When I made these I was thinking quasi-muffin and quasi-healthy. So that led to me thinking it would be a great after school snack. Maybe if you beefed it up with some nuts and more fruit it could be called "healthier". Or don't and use them as birthday cupcakes for your son's or daughter's class birthday party. Either way, you win.

The traditional Banana Bread recipe and video (click here for that) is made with eggs and poured into loaf pans. So just imagine flax seed goo for eggs and cupcake pans for loaf pans.

If you want to hear something borderline "eww", my mom and I used to eat slices of banana bread with a slathering of softened butter topped off with a slice of American cheese. I don't eat it that way anymore, but my mouth waters at the thought of it. It's just too naughty to partake of. Why it's so good, is that it's the perfect mixture of fat, sugar and salt. Absolutely delish.

The following recipe is a double recipe of the original. It's a mammoth recipe. What it makes is 24 cupcakes and 1 regular loaf. I suppose it could also do 12 cupcakes and 2 regular loafs. Anyways, the cupcakes freeze beautifully. So I have a stash in my freezer.

Grandma's Banana Bread Made into Cupcakes *Egg-Free Version

prep time: 10 min. (30 min. if you have pint-sized helpers doing the mixing)
bake time: 25 min. makes for cupcakes
                50 min. for a loaf
oven temp:350 degrees


1 c. extra light olive oil

2 c. sugar

1 c. brown sugar

3/4 c. hot water mixed with 4 tbls. ground flax seed, mix and let set (it will turn very gooey)

6 medium, very ripe, bananas

4 c. flour

2 tsp. EACH baking soda, baking powder and salt

1 c. light sour cream

2 tsp. vanilla



Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mash bananas with potato masher until most lumps are gone. Set aside.

Put all dry ingredients, flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, into a bowl and whisk to combine.

In your mixer mix together oil and sugars, 1-2 min. Add flax seed mixture, bananas, vanilla and sour cream. Mix very well on medium speed. Turn mixer to low and add flour mixture in 2 batches. Mix until well combined but not over beating it.

Prepare your pan. Take one regular sized loaf pan and spray with a non-stick spray that has flour in it, I like Baker's Joy. This next step is optional, but helpful. Tear off a piece of parchment paper the length of your pan. Press it down into the pan letting the excess hang over the sides. This creates "handles" to pull your hot bread out with later. Then spray the parchment with the non-stick spray, just in case.

Pour the batter into the pan, doing your best to evenly distribute it.

For the cupcakes, line 24 cups with cupcake liners and fill 3/4 of the way full.

Place them in the oven on the middle rack. Set timer for 50 minutes (for the loaf) and 25 minutes (for the cupcakes) and wait for the magic to happen!

Test the bread/cupcakes by tapping it lightly with your finger. If the top of the bread is not matte and doesn't bounce back, then it's not done and bake 5 min. more until it is.

Let rest in pans on a wire rack for 10 min. Then remove and let it continue to cool another 10-20 minutes to slice.
 
Honey Glaze (optional but oh, so yummy)
 
Glazes 24 cupcakes
 
1 1/2 c. powdered sugar
2 tbls. (approx.) water
1 tbls. plus 1 tsp. honey
dash of vanilla
 
Mix and let stand briefly. Check the consistency. It should be easy enough to smooth over cupcakes with a spoon and slightly drippy. Top each cupcake with a Teddy Graham, if you like.

 
 Friends, if you have not checked out my profile on the Project Food Blog contest, please do so! Just click on the button under my photo on the little widget up there. It will take you directly to my page. Our first submission is coming up and it's to be on why we should be the Next Food Blog Star! The prize is 10 grand! Wow! So anyways, I'll let you know when the voting starts...

Hope you all had a great Labor Day weekend.

Finally! It's Happened To Me!!

Many of you wanted me to let you know when it happened...yes, acceptance. For those of you who walked with me through my woes of Tastespotting and Food Gawker rejection, I want to say thank you! I have now, passed into that new phase of blogger-hood. Yesterday, (after nearly 30 submissions) Food Gawker accepted my Egg-Free Meatball post and today Tastespotting accepted my Orange Iced Mocha post!



I feel like it was a group effort! All your tips on cameras, lenses and photo editing led me to this momentous moment. Thank you, my foodie friends! I love ya!

That's all...just wanted to tell you.

Ice Cold Coffee Confrontation

Over the years I've worked my share in coffeehouses. Mainly small mom-n-pop type places, because that's what I prefer. The connection with your customers, the laid back nature of the shop and the interesting people that floated in and out made them, for me, a delightful place to work.

Working in a coffeehouse usually meant early mornings or late night hours. I was young, 19 or so and it didn't bother me a bit...well maybe the early mornings. I would hype myself up on all the caffeine I wanted and get to work on baking scones, cheesecakes, cookies, danishes, quiches and biscotti for the the day. I would then prep the sandwich station, get the brewed coffee brewed and the espresso machine ready for it's day. Then they would come...the customers, my friends, really.

One reason I would love to own my own restaurant, bakery or coffeehouse someday is for that very reason, the people. I loved knowing my customer's orders without them even having to open their mouths. I loved that it brought a look of relief and comfort to their tired faces as they took that first sip of their piping hot dark brew, mocha, or herbal tea. Chatting with them and getting to know them was a joy for me. I loved catering to their specific idiosyncratic coffee requests and finding out what their morning had been like thus far. You learn a lot about a person through their coffee orders.

One day, I went to work. I locked up my beater Dodge Omni (still my favorite car I've ever had) and walked up to the front door. I saw my co-worker just standing there. I asked why they weren't inside and then I saw the note pasted to the door. The coffeehouse was closed...for good. CLOSED! I was truly devastated. I loved that coffeehouse. It was my home away from home and not just for me, but for so many others. It was a sad day.

I worked at another coffeehouse as I cut, permed and colored my way through cosmetology school. It didn't have the same vibe as my previous place of employment, but it paid the bills. I graduated school, married my man and went off to work in a high-end salon.

A few more years went by, we moved to California and I didn't want to take the extra classes and pay the extra money to get my cosmetology license there, so I did hair out of my garage and worked at...(que scary, dramatic music) Starbucks.

Please don't be offended die-hard Starbucks lovers. This is merely a very biased opinion, by a jaded employee. Once you have worked in a small coffeehouse and felt the effects of a nearby Starbucks on your place of business, you grow to dislike it very much. Starbucks was like a giant, storming through your local neighborhood, eating small, privately owned coffeehouse for lunch. You find yourself vowing that you will never work for "the Giant".

But here I was, in my interview making myself available for the "opening shift", which meant I had to be at the store at 4:00 a.m. It was the shift they were hiring for and I needed a job. Like a lion freshly shaved of his mane, I accepted the meager wage and random hours. The hours was murderous. But I did it. Couldn't say I loved that job, not even "like".  I was looking for my happy coffeehouse memories in a corporate caffeine-dispensing factory coffeehouse.

Maybe it was the ridiculously early mornings, maybe it was the crabby, non-conversational customers growling their tedious coffee orders and ignoring my chirpy morning greeting. Maybe it was that my hands continually smelled like coffee and bleach, maybe it was my terribly butch haircut that I gave myself to combat the woes of early morning grooming (worst haircut to date), maybe it was the shift manager that was on me for anything and everything I did- from how I placed a cheese danish in the bakery case to how I ground a bag of beans, it didn't matter. For my every action, she had an immediate and irritating reaction, usually spoken behind my back to another employee within earshot range. Not the brightest girl.

Well, this was back in the day when I was a bit more timid. I didn't stand up for myself, like I would have now. Having children and being married for 11 years makes you bolder, but since I didn't have that experience under my belt yet, I was slow to tell this woman to get off my back...and it festered.

One day the feces hit the fan. I was tired of her putting me down, threatening me with "telling the manager" on me and bringing her foul attitude into the workplace. I was grinding what felt like a 300 pound bag of Sumatra, when she started chatting it up with another employee about me. Again, I could HEAR HER, even over the grinding of the stupid coffee grinder. I started shaking with anger. I don't know if I had ever shook with anger like that before. It was bubbling up. I was bracing myself for the vomit of self-preservation. There was no way I was keeping this down. Not today, not ever. I slammed off the coffee grinder, plopped down the bag, swept up my coffee grind mess and started rolling up the proverbial sleeves and fantasizing what Laura Croft would do to her.

My face was hot and red. I know you should not confront when you are livid, but I felt if I did not, I wouldn't ever do it. I boomed her name, she turned around to face the sweaty-faced, had-it-up-to-here me. I hardly remember what I said, but it flowed, baby. Oh, it flowed. I may have stumbled here and there at the beginning, but after I got going, I felt empowered. The basic message was, "don't treat me like s@&!". I told her that I saw how two-faced she was and how she singled me out. I stood up for the fact that I was an extremely hard worker and no one else had a problem with me. I reminded her that she was but one rank above me and even our store manager with the most power in this coffee-slingin' joint never treated me the way she did. At this point, someone escorted us to the back room because I was lettin' it all hang out in front of the house. Of course, the other employees didn't stop us. They all had it up to here with this woman and they wanted to see it all go down. And it did.

At first she tried to fight back, but her nasty words just bounced off of me like I was Iron Man. Once she realized she couldn't bully me anymore and that I called her bluff; her eyeballs started bulging and she was dumbfounded. She FINALLY shut-up!

After that she was, of course, annoyed. I was relieved. I didn't give a flying fig what she thought. I was freed from her stupidity. She didn't work that next day, which I was glad about, but she showed up anyways. I was less than amused.

I was working my shift, taking orders at the register and she gets into my customer line.What was she doing in my line? Didn't she see that I didn't want to see her, talk to her or take her discounted order? She better not ask me to grind her free bag of coffee beans.

She steps in front of my register. Her face was different. She looked timid, even a little scared. I stared blankly back at her. She quietly asked me if I could talk with her during my 15 minute break. I said I would. I was very curious about her visit.

We sat down outside. I didn't say a word. She looks up at me and with tears in her eyes says, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so mean." Then she starts bawling! I was shocked. This brick wall of hurtful words and snide remarks collapsed into a pool of insecurity.  My heart was touched. I felt for her. I felt so bad. She was honest and truthful. She wasn't hiding behind anything. I quickly accepted her apology. I found myself comforting someone I once viewed as my arch-nemesis and loathed. I was humbled by her honesty and her openness about her heartache. We talked a bit more and then she left. After that talk, we weren't what you call "friends", but we respected one another.

Many lessons learned. Growing up in Starbucks...who knew?

With that said, I'm serving up a little drink that I feel encompasses the best and the worst of both above named places. I took my favorite drink, the iced mocha, and mixed it with my favorite syrup that Starbucks used to have, Valencia orange. Together it encompasses the good times and bad, irritating and victorious,  all into one icy cold, caffeine injected, chocolaty, orange-y drink. I like making them at home because it's my way of "stickin' it to the man". I put on my mad scientist cap on and came up with a ratio for the syrup.

Orange Chocolate Syrup

1 part water
2 parts sugar
1 part cocoa powder

So I did this:

1/4 cup water
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup cocoa powder
zest of one orange
pinch of salt
dash of vanilla extract

Mix together water, sugar, cocoa and salt and bring to a boil then shut off heat. Add orange zest. Let it steep for 20-30 minutes. Strain. Add vanilla. That's it! As it cools it will thicken. Store it in your frig for weeks.

To make the Iced Mocha:

Note: this is how I prefer it. Adjust according to your tastes.

1/3 cup freshly brewed espresso or strong coffee
5 tbls. orange chocolate syrup
6 oz. milk
enough crushed ice to fill the cup up (Sonic's ice is the best, or Whole Foods crushed ice)
orange slice for garnish

Place syrup and coffee into the glass. Mix the two together, making sure the syrup is well incorporated into the hot coffee. Pour in your milk to fill it approx. 3/4 of the way full. Stir well. Add ice to fill it to the top. Garnish!

P.S. If you would like to vote for my "Just for the Halibut: Alaska Seafood Post" click here to go to the page with all the listed entries. Click on my post and buzz it! The dish with the most buzzes wins. You do have to sign up with Foodbuzz.com to create an account to vote. Don't worry, it's super easy. Thanks for all your support! If I win, I get to go to San Francisico for a weekend!

Have a great weekend, Foodies!

Something's Rank in Denmark

Okay, not really, not that I know of anyway,  I just happen to love Shakespeare and Hamlet is my favorite play of his. The drama unfolds in Denmark and as much as I am Italian, I'm Danish as well.  It just makes sense. (I know, your going, "huh?"...just roll with it) Anyway, when something stinks, the above title is usually my response to whatever it is. It's a complete paraphrasing of a couple lines from the play, so don't quote me. This time around I had to say it in my head and do some deductive reasoning.

So Food-sters, (like my new name for you? I seem to be into naming everything lately.) if you are by nature squeamish about poop or talking about it, do not continue on. I'm going to talk about UN-appetizing things this post, but surprisingly it's still about food! It's always about food, really...except maybe for the Bump-it episode, no, wait, there was something about chowing down on crap food, if memory serves me right.

Moms and Dads, you will be able to relate especially well to this story. Not-yet parents you will too, because inevitably everyone has encountered a nasty diaper at one time or another.

We were in the waiting room. With 3 toddlers, your always in a waiting room for something. I find it's my home away from home, so when we go, I pack big. I've got an arsenal of snacks, drinks, enough diapers for a small country of babies, wipes, natural antibacterial hand spray (it's made of thyme oil! who knew? Whole Foods is where you can get it), extra underwear (for the 3 year olds), extra clothes, usually an over-ripe banana stuck in the side pocket, phone, business cards, toothpicks with tea-tree oil, trash, stickers, my wallet, camera, Epi-pen, Benedryl, ibuprofen and my journal with a handful of Sharpies...of course. Don't know why I felt so compelled to share the entire list, but I certainly feel much better now that I did.

This is the bag I affectionately call "The Pit".

We do the usual wait time and thankfully, this particular waiting room is awesome. Movies, tons of play stuff and other kids to play with. The toddlers are toddling and Tiny is teetering. He's trying to keep up with his brother, but he looks more like Frankenstein that's had one too many margaritas. So freakin' cute. I see a lot of moms sitting and staring blankly at their iPhones the whole time and I'm sitting there staring at my kids, to make sure they don't eat some one's half eaten toasted O off of the floor, shove a piece of trash up their nose or steal an unsuspecting baby's snack. When ever I try to be cool and hip and look like I'm busy on my phone, something always happens, so I rarely do it anymore. I gave that up and now I'm elbowing kids out of the play kitchen and fighting a 4 year old for the metal strainer. She knows nothing about pappardelle.  Once a foodie, always a foodie.

We were wrapping things up and it was time to leave. I was chatting with one of the women that works there and all of a sudden there was a wafting of something. You know when you get a whiff of "something" and it comes and goes so suddenly that you dismiss it? That's what it was the first couple of times and I thought someone had just "cut the cheese", as it were. You know kids, always rippin' 'em, wherever, whenever. No biggie.

Then this smell became fouler, ranker, nay, straight-up wretched. I was now looking around, trying not to look to obvious, but really wanting to know where it was coming from. It was growing like a big shadow on the wall, like in an old black and white horror movie. It was slowly encompassing the entire waiting room. It got so bad that I actually stopped the conversation with my friend and started calling my kids over to me one by one.

I went first to the youngest as he's the most apt to pooping his pants. I pick him up, holding him like a piece of lumber and peek into the leg of his diaper. Clear. I call over my other two, really not expecting to see anything, because they don't poop in their underwear anymore (thank God!). I check both of them and they were clear too. Hmmmph. All the while my friend is looking at me a little confused. For our entire conversation, I've had my face contorted and sniffing the air like Bambi's mother and it was not for a human with a gun but a human with a dump. I was dumbfounded. I just figured that somebody else's kid pooped their pants and we tried to continue the conversation.

She finally acknowledged the now-overwhelming smell. Okay, now this is where I'm going to get kinda gross. One must always define a smell when telling a stinky smell story, it's absolutely paramount. What it smelled like was a mixture of airplane toilet, rotten fish and death.

My friend goes into the office to grab me a handout on something and when she comes back out, she's surrounded by an aura of revelation. That smell, that horrid smell was some body's lunch being microwaved into a gastronomical version of the atomic bomb. Oh my! I gasped as she told me. The mystery was solved and I was even more confused than before.

It never occurred to me in the slightest that it was FOOD! I've smelled many a dishes over the years, but obviously not enough. As far as poo goes, I'm the queen. I've see it, smelled it, cleaned it all...trust me. Regardless of my poop qualifications and love of food, I still would have guessed it was the result of a bodily function not culinary chaos. If I was dangling over a cliff by my eyelashes and had to answer the question: Is this a poo smell or a food smell? I would surely plummet to my death.

So we meandered off the beaten path today. Yes, it involved food, what kind I have no idea. I truly hope it tasted better than it smelled for the sake of the consumer.

Some days we just have to do something different.

Cheers my dears!

The Winner with a Side of Egg-Free Meatballs

Let's get to it! Marisa...Ohhhhhhh SNAP! YOU ARE THE WINNER, of the Foodie House "Name My Camera" Contest! Yay! I loved the name "Snaps". It's spunky and fun, just like my girl...well, Snaps! Marisa, email me and let me know when you would like to post your guest post. Can't wait to hear what it is! Check Marisa out at her blog, Cook's Book.

Thank you everyone for your ideas. Honestly, it was really hard picking the name. I liked so many of them! I had a lot of fun. I hope you had a good time too. I'll be having another contest soon...and it will have a tangible prize next time.

So...

I love meatballs. I love them with all different types of meat or poultry. I loved them before they were trendy and before they had resturants dedicated to their meaty meatballness. They are a perfect platform, nay, a canvas for the culinary paintbrush! (I'm pretty sure Shakespeare loved meatballs.)

Well, I've mentioned before, my youngest son has an egg allergy, so that has forced me to take some of my favorite recipes and transform them into egg-free delights. So far it's been working out pretty well, thanks to a nifty little idea I found online: flax seed. I talked about this in the Blueberry Pancake post, where it worked out beautifully. It was my first run with it and I had very low expectations. I was happily surprised by the outcome! No one seemed to miss the eggs and my Tiny could eat all he wanted. So why not apply the same idea to meatballs?

Meatballs need egg, or some sort of binder. So I put the flax seed concoction into effect. I made my traditional meatballs and swapped the egg for the gooey flax seed. Let me tell you, they turned out fabulous!

There's cute lil' Bob again.

The Goo

Not only is the flax seed so healthy, it's a great binder. The sticky consistency of it made the meatballs hold together perfectly. If you are looking to find a lower fat/cholesterol meatball recipe, you could use this and substitute the beef and pork for turkey. And if your looking to pay for some singing lessons, these could also come in handy.

If you have a hankerin' for some meatballs and want to see me teach you how, you can watch my "Mama's Meatballs" video (click here) and use your imagination that I am putting in flax seed substitute instead of egg.

Egg-Free Mama's Meatballs

prep time:20 min
cook time:45 min
serves:9

1 lb. ground pork

1 lb. gr. beef (85/15)

1 c. breadcrumbs

1/2 large onion, finely chopped

1 tbls. fresh basil, minced

1 tbls. fresh parsley, minced

2 tsp. fresh rosemary, minced

2 tbls. ground flax seed combined with 1/2 cup hot water

1/4 c. milk

1/2 c. Parmesan cheese

1 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. pepper

2 tbls. olive oil

3 24 oz. jars of your favorite marinara (I use Bertolli Organic Tomato Basil) and yes, I cheat.

Combine all ingredients using your hands. It's truly the best way to incorporate all the flavors.

Roll out the meatballs into golf ball-sized portions. It makes approx. 28. I freeze half if I am cooking just for my family. I count 3 meatballs as one serving. When I use only half of the meatballs, I use only 2 jars of sauce.

Pour your marinara sauce into a pot and start warming it over medium heat.

Get a heavy saute pan nice and hot over med-high heat. Add your olive oil and start searing your meatballs. Set them in, leave them alone! Don't touch! The goal is to get caramelization on the outside of the meatballs so they are flavorful and juicy. Also, do not over-crowd your pan. This will cause the meatballs to steam and become dry.

Sear on each side then take the meatballs directly from the saute pan to the marinara sauce. They meatballs do not need to be cooked through. We are only searing them then cooking the rest of the way in the marinara. This makes for a very moist meatball.

A totally optional step is to pour the grease from your meatball pan into the sauce. If you are concerned about the fat, by all means, skip this part. I do it for the flavor. It's fantastic!

Put a lid on it, slightly ajar and let them simmer for a good 30 minutes.

And just because it's so good to dip in the sauce, like any good Italian girl would...some garlic bread. Takes 10 minutes, is all fresh and so tasty.

Garlic Bread

6 slices Italian or French bread

2 tbls. olive oil

1 clove garlic, minced and smashed into a paste with a pinch of salt

2 tsp. fresh rosemary, minced

salt and pepper

Get your broiler on. Mix up all the ingredients, except for the bread, of course. Brush it onto the bread, toast under the broiler and mangia!

Love ya, Food-sters!