Bear Essentials: Apples ( + Pork and Apple Pie with Cheddar-Sage Crust )

Remember how I told you that I'm completely unimpressed by crust?

There's an exception to every rule.

Bear Essentials: Apples( + Cider-Brined Pork Chops with Creamed Leeks and Apples )

                      I thought I'd make you a tower of food today. 

Bear Essentials: Apples( + Apple-Maple Turkey Burgers with Maple Dijon Sauce )

Ohhhhtheseburgers, guys.

Bear Essentials: Rhubarb ( + Lemon-Rhubarb Chicken )

Sometimes, when I'm working on a blog post, I'll start a mindless task and let my mind wander where it will, taking the recipe in question as a starting point.  More often than not, this leads me to a place where words rain down on the page without much effort.  Jogging used to be great for this, but since I've started working I've had to cut that out.  Now I do my meditation during my daily commute.

Bear Essentials: Rhubarb ( + Pork Tenderloin with Spiced Rhubarb Chutney )

I want to tell you about this amazing pork tenderloin, but all I can think about is the word chutney.  Chutney.  Chuuuut-ney.  I'm repelled by it in a weird way that's kind of an obsession.  Chutneychutneychutneychutney.  It's like the sound a rollercoaster makes as it reaches the top of the first hill.  It's like the sound chickens make.

It's like the sound of chickens riding a rollercoaster.

Just live with that thought for a minute.

Bear Essentials:Mitten Noms - Michigan Classics( + Pasties )

 

If you're from Michigan, you saw this title and envisioned a meat- and potato-filled pie.  If you're from anywhere else, you might be expecting stripper glitter and tassels.

It's PAAH-sties, folks.  Not PAY-sties.

Bear Essentials: Mitten Noms - Michigan Classics ( + Coney Dogs )

There's no denying that the Coney Dog is a hot mess of a dish.  You take a hot dog and top it with a spiced ground-beef-gravy sort of sauce.  And then you layer on the mustard.  And the onions.  And if you're a bit of an iconoclast, you toss on some shredded Cheddar.  I did.  And I don't regret it one bit.  But you're going to want to double up on the napkins. 

Bear Essentials: Pineapple ( + Cranberry-Chipotle Meatballs with Pineapple )

It's Friday, and it's been a long week, and I'm really tired, guys.

Nobody likes to spend time hovering over a stove when they're exhausted.  So I thought I'd give you the fastest recipe you've ever seen. 

Bear Essentials: Pineapple ( + Pineapple Upside-Down Pancakes )

Sure, this is a lot of rum for one recipe - especially for something that's meant to be eaten for breakfast.  

And you're saying that's a bad thing?

Bear Essentials: Pineapple ( + Pork Confit Tacos with Grilled Pineapple Salsa)

Look at that up there.  I did that.  Sometimes it's okay to be impressed by yourself, right?  That doesn't make me obnoxious.  Or conceited.  Not if I'm legitimately amazed.  Really, I think that just proves how humble I am.  Freakishly humble.  Impressively humble.  I win at humility. 

I made confit tacos.  And you can too.

I Judge(+ Monte Cristo Pockets)

Confession time, guys: I'm not the nicest person in the world.  I'm not even sixth or seventh.
    
Back in my hippie youth, I thought all people had value.  I thought that all opinions were worthwhile and valid, and that people should be respected for their differences.

But then I met people who stiff waitresses, and people who abandoned their children to become (terrible) poets, and people who watch Hillbilly Handfishing.  And now I'm old and cranky, and I'm pretty sure that most people are really just wrong.  And the remaining people are me.

Lunch and the Working Woman: An Unnecessarily Exhaustive Study ( + Shrimp in Coconut Milk )

I got a job, guys.  A real job.  With a commute.  And voicemail.  And union representation. 

Oh, and paychecks.

I'm still trying to decide if it's worth it.

I mean, sure I like the dental insurance.  And the ability to make payments on my student loans.  And our new bed, which is large enough to fit both of us on it at the same time without having to resort to positions reminiscent of the more nightmare-ey pages of the Kama Sutra. 

But also, they make me wear pants.

It's really a toss-up.

Mr. Bear Redefines Geography(+ Chicken-Fried Steak)

Recurring Conversation with Mr. Bear:

Me:           But you should like [foie gras/cornichons/confit/Insert Rejected French Food Here].  
                You're French, for god's sake!
Mr. Bear:   What are you talking about?
Me:          Your name's Belanger, darling.  Where exactly do you think that comes from?
Mr. Bear:   It's Norman.
Me:          Norman.
Mr. Bear:   Yes.  Like William the Conqueror.
Me:          Who came from...?
Mr. Bear:   Normandy.
Me:          Which is in...?
Mr. Bear:   England.

-Long Pause-

Brave New Year (+ Vietnamese Pork and Mushroom Omelet)

New Year's Resolution #1 was to work on my punctuality.  

Then it took me 10 days to get out the first blog post of the year.  

So...at least we managed to bypass the lamest phase of the year.  No more do-gooding.  No more self-improvement.  And no having to start the year with some recipe with kale or quinoa or the word "slimming" in it.  We're moving right in to eggs and pork, people.  You're welcome.

Spiders are the 47%( + Bratwurst with Creamy Apple Compote)

There's a spider on my laptop.  Like, right now.  As I'm typing.

I have protocols in place for dealing with this sort of thing.  Well...I have wadded-up Kleenex.  Same diff.  But this guy isn't skittering around.  He's just sitting there being leggy.  And violence in the face of such passivity seems sort of rude.  

But that doesn't mean I'm not concerned about his agenda.  In fact, given his behavior over the last couple of weeks, I think this might be the spider version of being on strike.  So far he hasn't made any demands, but I feel like this prolonged lurking must be a prelude to some kind of extortion.  If I start offering up recipes for cardamom-fly smoothies, please come save me.

Taking Candy from Babies, Part II:An October Public Service Announcement( + Fresh Mozzarella, Prosciutto, and Fig Jam Panini )

Earlier this week, I announced the Bearfrau's foolproof plan for reclaiming your lost youth.  I don't want to bore you with the high-tech details, but mostly it involves eating the Halloween candy you bought for the neighborhood kids.  Of course I'm not actually advocating taking candy from babies.  What am I, a monster?  I'm advocating taking it from grown children.  And not even really taking it - just creating a series of obstacles to it.  If the child decides the challenge isn't worth the reward, well, that's just a commentary on the decline of tenacity and drive in the youth of America today.  It's no fault of yours.

Taking Candy from Babies, Part I:An October Public Service Announcement( + Tuna Panini )

Imagine it's 1987.  An elementary-school cafeteria, the day after Halloween.  A swarming madhouse of glucose-addled children, gearing up for recess after a healthy meal of half a bologna sandwich and as many fun-sized Butterfingers as it takes to fill a Thundercats lunch box.  Gods and heroes are being made today.  Ryan Finnegan is telling the Homeric epic of how he grabbed an entire bowl of Sweet-Tarts off an unattended porch and ran.  Vanessa Simmons brought so many Chuckles that she can't finish them all - the entire 3rd-grade class is singing Tiffany's "I Think We're Alone Now" to compete for her leftovers.  Are you enjoying the nostalgia?  Good.  One of us should.

I myself have trouble enjoying Halloween because it always reminds me of the bleak hellscape of misery and despair that was my low-sugar childhood.  No Pop Rocks.  No Pop-Tarts.  No Ring Pops.  And definitely no pop.  It was a dark time, filled with lies and misdirection.  For years, my brother and I labored under the false impression that sliced dried pineapple was a "treat."  I didn't have my first Dorito until the age of 16.  And I still wake up sweating in the night with the taste of carob in my mouth.

Dispatches from the Bathroom Floor (+ Chicken Milanese with Sage-and-Lemon-Butter Sauce)

         

Editor's Note:  A little something I wrote for you on Monday, my post-writing day, while lying on the bathroom floor - because I suspect that this, written in the midst of delirium, has just as much chance of being understandable as anything I would have written later in the week:

Okay, here’s the deal.  Today we’re all going to concentrate on how we’re lucky, because otherwise I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the day.   I’ll go first.  I’m lucky because even though it's my first wedding anniversary and I’ve decided to spend it on the floor of what surely must be the first bathroom ever constructed with moving walls (because how else could they be spinning in such an unattractive fashion), thinking thoughts I’ve never thought before (mostly about how glad I am we never decided to wallpaper this room in stripes), I nonetheless have a husband, a wonderful husband, who is  not only keeping me supplied with both orange Gatorade AND mint tea, but is willing to make the countless trips to the microwave that are necessary to keep the tea exactly at body temperature, the better to sneak it past my esophagus, who has decided that this is the optimal time to play East German Border Patrol.

Mozzarella Done Killt My Pa (+ Raspberry-Chipotle BBQ Chicken Pizza)

Mozzarella Cheese and I are just starting to come to terms with one another again.  This is one of those epic feuds, like the Hatfields and the McCoys.  But with cheese.

Mozzarella cost me a tooth.  An important one, not one of those wisdom teeth they’ll yank anyway.  Side note:  has it ever occurred to you how messed up it is that we call the teeth we’re going to toss “Wisdom” while keeping the ones called “Canines?”  Seems like human nature writ small, methinks.  Anyway, Mozzarella cost me a tooth – and, more importantly, taught me that things fall apart – and that sometimes, those things are you.   And no one should have to live with that kind of knowledge.

Once upon a time, I managed a movie theater: a job which offered no mobility, pay or dignity, but did offer all the free popcorn and fountain beverages you could carry.  At the time it seemed like a good idea.  Which is how I came to spend a full year with a Dixie cup of Cherry Coke in my hand.  Because if you can turn down a free Cherry Coke, you’re a better human than I.  Well, let’s face it, you’re probably already a better human than I.  But now you can point to a specific reason.

Up until that point, I’d been awesome in the tooth department.  Only one small cavity ever.  Dentist?  Drill away, my good man.  Doesn’t bother me at all.  That is, until a year after I started at the theater, when an ongoing toothache drove me to the dentist.  There I was informed that I needed two root canals and twelve smaller cavities filled.  Seriously.  Twelve.

The Best Apologies Come with Bacon (+ Quiche Lorraine)

Mr. Bear is basically a saint.  Especially in bed.

Wait, wait.  Don’t go.  This isn’t about to get inappropriate or weird.  Well, inappropriate anyway.  It’s pretty weird.  But just quirky-weird.  Not “I want to curl up like an armadillo and un-know all that stuff about your toe fetish” weird.  This isn’t about our attempt to act out 50 Shades of Grey with lunchmeat hand puppets, or anything.*  It’s about how I’m wired wrong.  I panic at bedtime.

The night always starts off perfectly normally: some halfhearted debate over what time to go to bed, then teethbrushing.  Jammers.  Pills taken.  Face washed - because, let’s face it, the days when I could expect to sleep in my makeup without waking up looking more or less like a moray eel are over.  Thermostat adjusted.  Doors and windows checked.  Decorative bed pillows banished.  I swear there was a time when I just went to bed when I was tired.  Now it seems like preparation for some Olympic sport.  Which is probably an apt comparison, because what's about to happen is like a triathlon of crazy.

*If someone were to do this and put it up on YouTube, I’m pretty sure we’d all become famous.  Just something to think about.