Frozen Dinners Win, 2:1

I’m back! I know, huge shocker considering that I am posting right now. Husby is thrilled though. Again, huge shocker. It means back to life as he knows it–no more freezer dinners.

In spooky holiday spirit, before I left I was visited by the Ghost of Housewife Past (I know, wrong holiday, just go with me here), who looked strangely like Martha Stewart. This ghost was a huge guilt tripper.

Ghost of Housewife Past, in ‘I’m so ashamed of you, you’re giving all H.I.T.’s a horrible name’ voice: What do you mean you’re going to leave your husband to fend for himself for six nights?!?! How will he get by?

H.I.T., exhausted from being woken up in the middle of the night: The same way he did before he met me – restaurant dinners and Chinese food take-out.

Ghost of Housewife Past, sighs heavily and is now deeply ashamed, awaiting to be further prompted.

H.I.T., taking the bait: Do you have another idea?

Ghost of Housewife Past, in that ‘I’m so excited I’m talking way too fast voice’: YES! You can make him dinners and put them in the freezer so all he has to do is bake them. Voila! He will have a nutritional dinner awaiting him each night and you won’t have to worry about him spending an obnoxious amount of money dining out at restaurants with friends! The wine alone can cost upwards of…

H.I.T.: I thought you were the Ghost of Housewife Past? With all that fiscal talk, you sound like the Ghost of Housewife Present…

Ghost of Housewife Past, in ‘I am so much wiser than you’ voice: Ah, my dear. You don’t survive the Great Depression by leaving your husband to dine at Il Postino (337 E 49th St.) every night.

I visited Everyday Food and found this article on Freezer Friendly Foods. I made meatballs, stuffed chicken and tuna casserole. Husby finished off the meatballs with friends and thought the tuna casserole was a little tasteless. He didn’t get to the stuffed chicken. He ended up at Il Postino one night and ordered a bottle of wine. At least it only happened once.

Far and Away

For the past three days, I've been down in Florida helping my #1 fan (my sister) prepare her home to be sold. Yes, you heard me correctly. She is permenantly moving to Germany! I know, that is so far and unfair.

So here I will be, spending my days giving my niece piggy back rides, tagging items for a garage sale with my sister, and doing all that I can to spend as much time as possible them both until Monday afternoon when I leave.

See you again on Wednesday! Thanks for understanding.

Casino Royale

Husby is a gambling man. Like a dog sniffing out its prey (or poop), no matter where we are on vacation, he will find the casino.

Don’t get me wrong. He’s not addicted and wouldn’t gamble away our savings. That’s a very sad disease that I am thankful Husby can control his hunger for blackjack.

However, he has a tendency to bet ridiculously large sums of money whenever he is “up”, compromising all previous wins. Suffice it to say his gambling style does not thrill me. Rather, it causes heart palpitations. While he is not trying to kill me, although sometimes when the waitress walks by I wonder, I still had to develop survival skills for the blackjack table.

This past weekend, we ventured down to the Bahamas where I had a chance to, once again, hone my skills:

[scene] Husby, deliriously happy from the past few wins, bets a few chips too many on his next hand. H.I.T., realizing that the time has come for a shockingly large bet, immediately stares at the fifth circle from the eye in the sky on the ceiling.

Friend at table, in curious ‘why are you so strange voice’ asks H.I.T.: What are you doing?

H.I.T., in ‘duh’ voice: Looking at anything but the table so my freak out doesn’t bring negative vibes.

Dealer, in sucker tone, confirms with Husby: You’d like to double down?

Husby, exasperated, runs his hands through his hair, nods and yells: 8! 8!

Sigh of relief from table.

By not watching the betting unfold in front of me, not only is my heart murmur spared an attack, but my blame factor is zero if Husby loses. Fortunately, he won his bet. I slip my hand under his arm, grab a stack of chips and slyly place them in my purse while giving him a congratulatory kiss.

I have survived another blackjack bet. My skills are a success and my heart is spared (along with our money). As for my James Bond move, that’s a lesson for another day.

I Do Not Like Green Eggs And Ham

There is something about eggs I just don’t get.

Maybe it’s because I started eating egg whites at the age of 5, before they became on-trend? Maybe it’s because I still think the yolk is gross and can’t stand when a piece of shell falls in and I have to touch the yolk to get it out – urgh! Regardless, no matter how many recipes books I read or advice I get, I can’t cook eggs.

Sure I can cook the egg whites I know and love, and scrambled eggs aren’t too far behind, but ask me for some fried eggs, eggs-over-easy, poached eggs, or the bane of my existence, hard-boiled eggs, and I just about freak. My sister summed it up nicely on the phone the other day:

Gasping for air she is laughing so hard: Eggs?!?!?! You can’t cook eggs??? That’s like the first thing you learn how to cook!!!! You can make homemade pretzels but you can’t cook eggs??? HAHAHAHAH!!!

Me, holding my composure: The pretzel recipe doesn’t call for eggs.

Today, I tried my patience again and decided to make a tuna sandwich – I use hard-boiled egg whites in my tuna. The last time I attempted this fate, I went through a dozen eggs. The recipe calls for two.

Imagine my surprise when after waiting what felt like forever, I rolled the eggs and they were cooked perfectly! Imagine my even greater surprise when it dawned on me that I had no idea how long they were cooking and/or sitting in hot water.

Thus, I still have no idea how to cook eggs, especially hard-boiled ones. Go figure.

How Do You Like ‘Em Apples?

Last weekend, Husby and I went apple picking at Wilkens Farm.

Country boy: Would you like a bushel or a bag?

H.I.T. and Husby simultaneously: Bushel/Bag

Husby being very sensible: H.I.T., a large basket of apples is just way too much. Let’s get a bag now, and if it seems like we don’t have enough when we’re done, we can buy more.

H.I.T., pulling out all the stops and playing dirty: Husby, we both love apples and I’m going to need a lot of apples to make apple crisp (his favorite dessert).

Husby succumbs to hunger: Mmmhhhmmm…apple crisp.

H.I.T., triumphantly grinning, to Country Boy: A bushel please.

Trust me. Buy the bag. One apple crisp, an apple pie, a bag of apples for work, four pork and apple dinners, and two batches of apple sauce later, and we still haven’t finished our bushel.

H.I.T. Arsenal Recipe #1: Apple Sauce
This recipe will keep in the refrigerator for about two weeks and can be frozen.

4 medium-sized tart apples, cored, peeled and quartered
4 medium-sized sweet apples, cored, peeled and quartered
2 cups water
1-1/2 TBS brown sugar (more or little to taste)
1/4 tsp cinnamon*
1/8 tsp nutmeg*

Directions

1. In a medium sauce pan, bring apples and water to a boil. Lower heat and cover, cooking for 40 – 60 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes, until apples are fully mashed.
2. Stir in brown sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg.
3. Serve warm or cold. Enjoy!

*Optional.