Friday, December 2, 2011

Asian Meaty-balls

I'll start off by saying that I'm not Asian. My husband has "thing" for Asian women, so it makes me almost immediately hate gorgeous Asian ladies... but that's a story for another time. And if your're a gorgeous Asian woman, hope you understand.

In a rush to get a delectable and healthy-ish dish on the table in a hurry for my girls earlier this week, I ran to my pantry to see what the fuck I could throw in with some defrosted ground turkey meat. My younger daughter has a fucking stopwatch that she pulls out at 6:30pm on the dot each night and gets pretty panicked if dinner isn't be served, I knew I had to move fast!

Not sure that every house has things like fish sauce, soy sauce, and terriyaki sauce just hanging around the pantry - but we don't fuck around at my house. We've got a pantry full of random stuff and these ingredients are what stuck out that night. See my husband is a chef and he's always trying out new shit. So we have some pretty uncommon things in our house like pineapple chutney, duck livers, geranium leaves, and annatto seeds to name a few.

Shit you're gonna need:
  • 1 lb of defrosted ground turkey or beef
  • couple of splashes of fish sauce
  • 1/2 a white onion, cut into little pieces
  • 2 stalks of green onions, cut into little pieces
  • couple splashes of soy sauce
  • couple splashes of terriyaki sauce
  • 1/2 - 3/4 cup of panko bread crumbs
  • 1 egg, for binding and shit
  • sesame oil
Shit you're gonna do:
Now, 1st off, please don't bitch at me that the ingredients are complicated and you don't have any of them and this recipe requires a run to the store. I understand this and I apologize. But seriously, I told you we had weird shit from the start of this recipe. Let's continue....

Throw the pound of meat you have into a big ass bowl. Take all the other ingredients, except the sesame oil and throw all that shit in there too. Take off your wedding rings and get your hands a little dirty and really give this shit a good, thorough squishy mix. Make sure you remember to put your rings back on so that the next day at work no one is talking shit behind your back about how they saw your divorce coming long before you ever did. That'd be fucked up. If your meat mixture is a bit too soft because of all the liquid you've put in, throw some more Panko in there to toughen it up a little.

Use a biggish skillet, pour some sesame oil in there and get it nice and hot. I cook everything on med-hi to high on my stove top. One of the key ways to ensure your shit is cooked up real good is by making sure that your pan is super hot. Bring your bowl to the stove and start making some meatballs and sticking them in the hot oil. Don't be a dumb ass and burn yourself with hot oil, that shit sucks.

Watch your meaty balls like a hawk and when they're starting to brown nice and crispy on one side, flip those fuckers over and give some equal love to the still raw side. Do this for like 15-20 until they're cooked all the way through. I suppose you could also throw these little babies in the oven and drizzle them with sesame oil, but that's not the way I'd do. To each their own I say.

Voila - that's it. Asian Meaty Balls. I serve these little bad boys with some white rice and if I have some coconut milk in my pantry (which I normally do of course), then I serve them with coconut rice instead. Easy way to do that is just replace the water you'd use when making your rice with coconut milk. Shit is ridiculous.


(ps - I stole the picture above from the internets b/c I forgot to take one of my own meat balls - so sue me)

Thursday, November 3, 2011

So these bitches got in a fight...

and it made me hungry…

Two people walk into a bar (obviously one of those people is me.) We order our drinks and before I could squeeze the second lime into my vodka tonic, a female guard wearing a “Security” jacket in an ungodly shade of lime green comes running through the bar yelling “FIGHT!!!” My memory instantly jumps back to high school when some nosey bitch yells it out in the cafeteria and everyone scurries like hyenas to see which asshole is getting the shit beat out of them over something as stupid as the last piece of Mexican pizza.

Get this. The fight is taking place in the girl’s bathroom. Coming from someone who has to pee about 937 times a day, THIS is the time that I don’t have to “go.” Are you fucking kidding me? I’m dying…just DYING to get a picture of blood on the tile grout from in there to post on Facebook. I’d have to get past Barney Fife, a fat ass eating fried pickles and an actual real life cop. Of course this is the night that I decide to not wear my slutty policewoman outfit, much to my friend’s chagrin. I mean, since I wear it to the grocery store and all…

My buzz sets in and two middle aged frazzled, yet also buzzed women walk up to the bar and re-tell their story of how they were in the bathroom when this debacle began. Grasping their chest in amazement because they’ve “never seen such a thing” and this is just “all too much for them”, they tell us that there were in fact three women in this bar brawl. Fucking bonus! I can’t WAIT until these bitches come hobbling out so I can get a good look. I look at my friend and we start taking bets about what they might look like. Bets placed…we wait.

My vodka is now gone and we start to see some more action. They’re coming out. It’s like that feeling you get when Mario Lopez is opening the envelope for the next Miss America. “Second runner up…Glenda Buster Cherry! First runner up…Barb E. Dahl!”

First girl comes out. She’s wearing a corset that’s not only too tight but attached to it is a pink tutu. That’s right people. She got in a fight wearing a tutu. You gotta be a tough bitch to hold your own wearing that shit.

Second girl comes out. I’m not sure if the teeth she was missing was before the fight or after. And was the shirt she was wearing off-the-shoulder and torn previous to this event? This one stumped me. No blood, but she probably had to get her “hair did” the next day to fix the mess in the back. No doubt there was a chunk missing.

And so we wait for the third person to walk out. We would’ve waited forever because…wait for it……………………the third girl ROLLED out. A fucking wheelchair – awesome! Seriously. And folks. I have a feeling SHE was the winner. I’m not even sure how you would handcuff her but I’m sure she had a pretty good reason for wanting to tear those bitches up. You just don't fuck with someone in a wheelchair. Bad karma right there I tell ya. But there are still so many questions left unanswered. How did she do it? Did she have a whiffle ball bat hidden somewhere? And what actually pissed her off? I didn’t have the balls to ask her, so I guess we’ll never know. But this all made me pretty hungry.

Leaving the bar we spot a “Korean BBQ Tacos” food cart. I couldn’t resist. Must. Have. Korean. Tacos that is. I honestly can’t remember if I had beef or pork, but the shit was awesome. One day, I’ll tell you the tale of a twirled fried potato on a stick and all the innuendos that came along with ordering one.

Monday, September 19, 2011


Alright. I’m fucking addicted to Pinterest. Of course I “pin” all this shit I wanna do, but never end up doing it. I just waste four hours oooohing and ahhhhing over crap that I’m all “hell! I can do that.” And these corn dog muffins were one of them. So, today I said “fuck it. I’m making these bitches.”

My four year old thinks that corn dogs come straight from the hand of Jesus. But I imagine that like with most kids, you put something on a stick, they’ll eat the hell out of it. Deep fry that shit and dip it in ketchup and the world stops. Think they could do that to Brussels sprouts?

Shit you’re gonna need:

1 box of Jiffy corn muffin mix

One egg

1/3 cup of milk

4 ¼ hot dogs (I’ll get to the Algebra on this shit later.) (And no, I didn’t buy the organic all natural bullshit ones. I bought ballpark. Deal with it.)

Shit you’re gonna do:

Preheat your oven to 400. Mix your corn muffin stuff, egg and milk. Now when I say “mix” I mean just stir until it’s moistened. Those little bastards of lump will cook out. Trust me like you trust Charlie Sheen. Wait a minute…

Moving on. Now spray your muffin tin down with kitchen ky. And a lot of it my friend. Then add the mix about ½ way in each tin. This shit is gonna puff up when you put the hot dog in and it’ll rise a little when baking. It’ll make about eight muffins. Not enough to feed the fucking neighborhood, but enough to where one of your best friends’ kid comes over and his eyes pop out of his head at the site of a hot dog in the shape of a muffin wrapped in corn goodness. Best. Feeling. Ever.

So, once you’ve got the mix in the tins, you’re gonna have to call your old trigonometry teacher and ask her what the fuck I mean. I say that, but honestly, I never took trig. I barely passed basic math. Failed Chemistry and barely passed geometry because me and my friend Megan would skip class to go to Taco Bell. Fucking miss high school. Damn those were good times.

Where the fuck was I? Oh, pouring my third glass of wine…

So, you’re gonna need to cut your hot dog in 4ths and put two of the 4ths in each muffin tin. I have no idea how else to explain that. Can’t figure it out, tough shit. The picture will work. And if you did it right, you’ll have 3 ¾ of hot dogs left. Did your head spin off yet?

Bake for about 15-19 minutes. I baked mine for about 22 and they were a bit crumbly. So, I think undercooking them a smidge, would help them stay together better. It didn’t stop all of us from shoving them in our pie holes and eating with a fork now did it?


Action oven shot!

Friday, September 2, 2011

Chicken Bog

Conversation between myself and the woman who birthed me and never lets me forget how much it hurt…

“Mom, what the hell does ‘bog’ mean in chicken bog.” “Well, it means thick, dense, heavy, weighs you down…kinda like a man.” Oooooookay.

Paula Deen has a version of this. Mine’s easier. No offense to the Butter Goddess…bitch is a genius, but I got this shit down.

Shit you’re gonna need:

3 chicken breasts (I’m sure three breasts are better than two. Ask a man.)

1 of those horse shoe shaped sausage thingys (I use beef flavored. I like beef. But you knew that.)

1 stick of butter (hells yeah)

Lawry’s (Like, a teaspoon maybe? Shit, I don’t know.)

2 chicken bouillon cubes (Just like Worcestershire, I have no fucking idea how to say “bouillon”. Is it boo-yawn? Fuck. Who cares.)

4 cups of instant white rice (Instant. Like the shit that cooks in 5 minutes.)


Stock pot

Shit you’re gonna do:

Cover your breasts with about four inches of water. Think of the times you’re soaking in the bathtub. You don’t want your nibbles popping out and getting cold, so make sure they’re good and covered. (Cold nipples…no bueno). Put the lid on and start bringing it to a boil. Add your stick of butter, Lawry’s and boo-yawn cubes. While this is boiling, cut up your sausage in about ¼ inch slices, then cube those into quarters. For those of you who are members of MENSA, that means four. Once it comes to a boil, take the lid off and let all that shit get to know each other for like, an hour or so.

Take out your breasts, add your rice, put the lid on and then shred the chicken. It’ll take about oh, five minutes. Add back your chicken, stir and stuff your pie hole. Amen.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Grocery Store Drama

There isn’t a mother in America who says “Oh glorious day! Let’s bundle up our little joys from heaven and head to Publix!”

I’ve had complete strangers offer to buy me wine when they see what I go through with my monsters. Everyone at Walmart knows my kids’ names. Not because they’ve told them, but because I’ve screamed it down every fucking aisle I go in. I’ve started calling ahead to SuperTarget to warn them of our arrival. The manager thanks me and then sets up a cute little old lady in the wine section for me to “sample” the wines. Now THAT’S customer service.

When my babies were little, hubs didn’t get the need for me to go to the store by myself. Dumb new dad; no fucking clue. Two kids later, he understands. It took a good beating but it finally sunk in. So, when I do get to go by myself, I tour that shit like it’s a fucking museum. I can tell you the unit price on pickled beets and I check the schedule to see which stock boy will be working that evening. I get all dolled up in the last t-shirt I own that isn’t stained, squeeze into jeans that used to fit and pretend that I really am going to get that pedicure and slip on flip flops and hope that I don’t run into one of hubs’ ex-girlfriends. See people, we live in the city hubs grew up in. Usually when I’m looking my worst is when some stick figure who probably airbrushed her tinted moisturizer on says “Oh my! It’s so nice to see you! Tell hubs I said ‘hi’ as I’m off to New York for another photo shoot!” It’s like an imaginary bitch slap and she knows it. I squeezed two watermelons out of my kiwi, top that shit you twat.

When I don’t get to go alone it all starts out with good intentions. I give the kids that one hour warning of going to the store. Then I listen to them bitch and moan and ask if they can get something while they’re there. “Like what? Food to eat? Consider it done.” I think I repeat “Get your shoes on; we’re going to the store!” 37 times before I actually have to start screaming and then wrestle them into a worn out pair of crocs. Because I don’t want anyone bitching about their fucking socks and how they’re bunched up at the toe.

Then getting my kids into the booster seats is like putting socks on a cat. And you better believe the drive to the store is just as fun. “I don’t wanna go. It’s sooooo boring. Are you just getting a few things? I don’t want you to take forever. Why can’t we stay home with dad? Can we get the free cookie? I hate going in the cold section of the store. Did you bring my jacket? I don’t want cinnamon waffles this time, I want chocolate ones. You’re the meanest mom ever to make us go with you.”

We pull up; get out of the car by me saying “Get out of the car. Get out of the car. Get out of the car.” (I usually say things three times before screaming it. It’s a rule in our house.) They’re now out of the car and running into the street. Fucking great. I hope I get hit by a bus. It would feel much better than the migraine that’s starting.

Can anyone out there actually maneuver the “Race Car” grocery cart? That thing is a bitch, yes? I’m all of 5’2” and I don’t have the body strength to turn corners with that beast. So, I usually have to argue with my kids so I can get the regular cart. But of course the one I pick is the Nascar cart. You know…the one that keeps trying to turn left the entire time?

I’m not sure if you knew this or not, but cashiers have a PhD in child rearing. True story. I’ve gotten more advice from the bitch sliding my kraft American cheese slices across the scanner than I have from Dr. Sears and Supernanny combined. “Wow, really Ms. Cashier lady? I should put them in time out? You’re a fucking genius. Now go clean up the 14 push-up pops that my kids just spilled onto the floor and make my $20 cash back all in ones; hubs and I have date night at the strip club.”

After I’ve grown 19 grey hairs and I’m about to pee my pants because I haven’t gone all day, I hear this…

Older son to little brother: Omg. What’s that smell? Did you fart?

Younger son (hollars out to the entire store with his hands up): Sorry everyone! That was my big fart for the day.

And then I pee my pants. Someone shoot me.

Bag Boy: Do you need help to your car?

Me: You bet. I’ll ride on your shoulders while you steer.

Bag Boy: What?

Me: Did I stutter?

Kids in the car, pull in the driveway and scream 982 times for the kids to stop playing with the sunroof and get out of the car. “Get in the house! I’ve got cheese to put away!”

And then…

Hubs: What took you so long?

Me: (throws the grocery bag with cans at his head)

Hubs: What the what? What did I do?

Me: Got me pregnant. Twice.

When I want to go by myself, this usually happens…

Wife: Honey, what time will you be home tonight? Gotta run to the store and I'm not taking the monsters.
Husband: 'bout 5:30.
Wife: Which time zone?
Husband: Ours. Smartass.
Wife: a.m or p.m?
Husband: (click).

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Being married to me is no fucking picnic. Neither is taking kids to the grocery store.

Monday, June 6, 2011

What the Fluff?

Conversation with my seven year old…

“Sweet mother of mine, I would be ever so grateful if you took the time this evening to bake up some delicious cookies. Would that be an inconvenience for you?” “Oh, my darling sweet child that I birthed from my loins, I would love nothing more than to bake you the best cookies in the world!”

But what really happened…

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM, MOOOOOM!” “What in tar nation are you screaming at me for?” “Will you make brownies?” “I ain’t got no brownie shit, but I’ve got a pack of cookie mix. Is that cool?” “Yeah, that’s cool. You rock woman.” “Word.”

Shit you’re gonna need:
One of those Betty Crocker packs of peanut butter cookie mix (And don’t you sit on your couch reading this judging me for using a prepackaged mix. Sandra Lee has made millions from that shit, so get off your soap box.)

The stuff you need for the cookies; egg, water and oil

½ to ¾ of a cup of semi-sweet mini chocolate chip morsels (You really don’t even need to put these in. My kids just happen to think if you put chocolate chips in something, that Jesus for sure made it and they have to eat it. No CLUE where they get their drama from.)

Fluff (See picture below. It’s the stuff you make a Fluffer Nutter sandwich with. Never made one? Go back to 1974 and ask your mom. That shit never goes bad and you don’t need to put it in the fridge. It’s a win win people.)

Other shit you’ll need:

A Ziploc baggie

Shit you’re gonna do:

Preheat your oven to 350 and cover a baking sheet with aluminum foil and spray that bitch down with some Kitchen KY. Nope, didn’t use a silpat. Nope, didn’t use a baking stone and nope, don’t plan to. Ever.

Mix together your cookie mix with the ingredients that it tells you to use. Stir it up and then if you’ve got the balls to put the chocolate in, this would be the time my friend. Stir it all together and roll up palm size balls, then flatten them a little and then put them on the sheet about an inch apart. I fit eight flattened balls on the pan. I live in a house full of boys. I don’t stress myself with more balls than I can handle.

Now, here comes the fluff. Scoop about ¼ cup of fluff into the bottom corner of your Ziploc bag. Don’t go get a measuring cup you brown noser, just use about two big spoonfuls and you should be fine. Once it’s in, snip off a tiny bit in the corner of the bag. Not too big; this shit is runny and you want control over this crème, not that controlling the amount of crème and when it comes out is all up to you, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t end up with a handful of it. (bah!)

After you’ve got control over your fluff, squeeze a little squiggly line on each cookie and then bake for about nine minutes. And yes dumb ass, I know they’re not going to look like they’re done. They’re not. There’s enough sugar in one of those little shits that will continue to bake long after you take them out of the oven. I suggest you leave them on the cookie sheet for about five minutes before transferring them to a cooling rack. Yes, I have a cooling rack. I have just about everything that Pampered Chef has ever made. I’m not saying I use it all, because that’s damn near impossible and would be WAY too many things to pull out and use and then have the hubs wash, so it’s best to use a little bit here and there.

Back to the cookies. I highly encourage you to eat these warm. If you haven’t shoveled these into your face ten minutes after they’ve baked and you actually have leftovers, you should heat them up in the good ‘ol micro to get back that warm feeling in your mouth. Yep. Went there again.

Before cooking...
(insert picture of me shoveling these into my pie hole.)

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Mother-truckin’ Turkey Burgers

Ok, so I’ll start this recipe off by telling you a few things.

1. This will be one of the best things you put in your mouth since Spring Break in Cancun circa 1994.
2. This burger has vegetables in it, if you don’t like vegetables you’ve got to think about growing up. Or, if you don’t like vegetables, don’t email me all like, “dang D2 – what about a turkey burger with NO veggies.” I’ll just tell you to run to your local grocery store and pick up the ready-made ones.
3. This burger is low cal and doesn’t contain eggs or breadcrumbs. I promise you that its fucking delicious… but it doesn’t have the ingredients in it that you think belong in a burger, it just doesn’t so don’t ask me where the ‘crumbs are. They’re in the pantry while we’re watching our carbs, k?
4. I’ve been dieting on and off since I was 4. I know a thing or two about how to GET down with some fattening ass food (how I got to be a fat ass) and I also know a thing or two on how to lose weight effectively. D2 note to self: don’t eat everything in sight and then sit in front of the TV or your size 18s will start to give you camel toe.
5. I’ve lost 60 lbs over the last year. HOLLA!

Shit you’re gonna need:
· 1 lb of lean ground turkey meat. I believe this shit only comes 93/7, but get whichever ya like.
· 3 or 4 celery stalks, cleaned and the ends chopped off.
· ½ of a large red onion
· Salt and peppa, but not Spindarella.
Yup, that’s it.

Shit you’re gonna do:
Make sure your turkey meat is fully defrosted. I *hate* it when the middle is still frozen, fucks the whole process up, wouldn’t you agree? Take your celery and your red onion and get to choppin’. I like mine in small pieces and I have a wittle machine that does this for me, it’s all kinds of awesome. If you just have a knife, that shit’ll work too. Chop to your desired size. Like I said, I like ‘em small. This will likely be the only time you’ll hear me say THAT. Snort.

Once everything is all chopped up, throw that shit into a mixing bowl with the turkey meat and some salt and pepper. I pinch out some sea salt and grind in some pepper from a pepper grinder so I can’t tell you measurements. But you guys are smart, you can do it I just know it.

Then take off your rings and get your hands dirty, get in there and mix ALL this shit up. Once its thoroughly blended, make you some patties. Preheat your frying pan or indoor grill or shit, even your BBQ, grease it up with some kitchen KY and grill these little bad boys. The vegetables will cook along with the meat. Let them grill on each side for like 10-15 minutes. Keep an eye on them and flatten with your spatula and make sure that clear liquids don’t run out. Are you surprised that they stayed together with no egg or breadcrumbs? Me too.

Now, you can eat this like I do these days… just like it is with a side of green beans or some other veggies. If you’re skinny or don’t mind the calories… slap this little bitch in between a potato bread hamburger bun. Yummmmmmmmm. You could put some mayo on it, or ketchup, some lettuce, whatever it is that you eat with a burger. Get crazy with the cheese whiz people.

And voila! A healthy turkey burger that is sock-knocking and panty-dropping. I know it sounds weird, but if you try it I SWEAR you’ll agree. Its surprisingly, ridiculously delicious beyond words.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Fake N Bake Brownies

This is by far the easiest fucking dessert to make. When I didn't know how to cook...wait, let me rephrase that...when I was too lazy to learn to cook, I used THIS to fake it. Girls are good at faking things.

Shit you're gonna need:
Your favorite boxed brownie mix (Sure. Use the homemade one where you have to double boil the chocolate and sift the flour. Won't make you a better person. Just a stupid one for taking all the time to do that shit when Betty Crocker did it for you.)
1 big ass bar of Hershey's Symphony Chocolate (The picture below portrays the almond toffee version. I normally use the milk chocolate version. They didn't have my usual and this almond shit was on clearance for $1.5o. And this shit ain't cheap. I think it's normally about $2.99 each. But I assure you that it's worth every fucking penny you spend.)
The ingredients you need to make the brownie mix (oil, eggs, blah blah blah)

This chocolate is like angels landed on your tongue and poured this deliciousness down your throat. It's THAT heavenly. And yes, another symphony of angels plays while you're devouring it so maybe that's why the marketing department chose that name. But that's just a guess.

You'll also need a square pan to cook this in. This is an 8x8 or a 9x9. I have no idea. The mistake pampered chef made on their shit is that they don't put the fucking size on the bottom like Pyrex does. Damn them.
Holy shit...yum.
Shit you're gonna do:
Preheat your oven to 350. I'm assuming that's what it says on the box. Then stir your brownie mix ingredients together. The thing about brownie mix is that you don't need to stir the hell out of it. Just stir until your ingredients are combined. You get all american gladiator on this shit with stirring and your brownies are gonna come out all rubbery. (Learned that shit from Alton Brown. Holla!)

After your mix is...well, mixed. Put it in your pan that's been sprayed with Kitchen KY and then spread your brownie drama around.

Now, open up your chocolate bar. You'll see that it has 16 little pieces. Play your cards right and line that shit up like the picture below and you can celebrate with that last little piece. Because my little loves, you only need 15. Totally planned it that way. I always tell the hubs I don't have any leftover. That's not a lie. Because after I eat that last piece, there isn't any leftover.

Bake it for the appropriate time on the box and then my little peeps, stick your tongue way out and lick the top of that pan and tell everyone you did that so nobody else will touch this shit. Enjoy.

Before baking...

After baking...voila.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Copy Cat

Alright. I’ll admit it. I have an addiction that only Lindsay Lohan and Liza Minnelli can relate to. It’s Chipotle. I get a hiney tingle and my jaw locks into a smile that can only compete with a 16 year old boy that just lost his virginity. You promise me Chipotle and I’ll pretty much do anything. True story.

Cilantro and Lime Rice – Chipotle style

Shit you’re gonna need:

1 cup of basmati rice (You could probably use cheap ass rice like I normally do, but live on the edge people.)

1 tbs. of Goya’s Cilantro cooking base (“Wait. What? You mean you’re not using fresh cilantro.” “No. No I’m not. I don’t buy fresh herbs, because this shit lasts forever. AND my ‘other’ dad, who happens to be D2’s dad, Coco, would be extremely proud that I used this. So there.”)

3 tbs of lime juice (Yes, I used the bottled shit. Why? Because all the fresh limes I had were used in my vodka. Deal with it.)

Salt (you’re gonna need a shit load. True story.)

Shit you’re gonna do:

This isn’t hard people. It’s really not. If I can’t fuck this up; neither will you. So, you boil the rice just as it tells you on the package. Bring salted water to a boil, add the rice and then turn it on low for 17-22 minutes. Fluff it up with a fork and then add your cilantro base and your lime juice and fluff again. Now, taste it. You’re gonna open your pie hole, shovel this in and say “Shit needs salt.” Exactly. This is where you’re gonna need to salt the hell out of it. I don’t wanna tell you how much because it’s your arteries, your preference. Once it’s stirred up, I want you to sit back and pretend that you didn’t have to stand in some long ass line at Chipotle. If you want to be a fucking rockstar, feel free to add more cilantro base or even some fresh cilantro to it. Again, my fridge is stocked with fucking squeezy yogurts, juice boxes and wine. I don’t have room for fresh herbs. Let me know if any of you use the cheap ass five minute boil rice. I’m curious. Not like Andy Dick curious…those were my college days, just sayin’.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Easter Egg Nests (a recipe brought to you by D2)

Yup, that’s right --- I’m gonna teach you how to make wittle nests that can be a part of your Easter dinner. Your little sweethearts will just gobble this shit up. And if they don’t, you can hide in the coat closet when your family comes over on Sunday and shove a bunch into your gullet while no one’s watching. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. What’s better than Rice Krispies treats made with chocolate? Topping them with mini-eggs made by Cadbury is what. Can I get a hell yea?

Shit you’re gonna need:

  • 3 cups Rice Krispies (you can get the generic shit –ok with me)

  • 1 cup good quality semisweet chocolate chips (as in like Ghirardelli, now’s not the time to be a cheap fucker)

  • 3 tablespoons butter (oh hell yea)

  • 2 tablespoons golden syrup

  • A big bag of Cadbury Mini-eggs (get the big bag because if you’re like me, you’ll eat half that fucking bag before they ever make it onto the nests themselves)

Shit you’re gonna do:

Dump the Rice Krispies into a bowl and set it aside. Fight the urge to snap, crackle, pop those mothers. Put the chocolate chips into a saucepan with the butter and syrup and melt over a low/medium heat. Don’t burn this shit, ok? And be patient – because the temp is so low, it might take a little while. My advice? Pour yourself a glass of wine and hide in the kitchen claiming to be baking up a storm. Your husband and kids will never know. Tell them it’s a huge Easter surprise to keep them out of the kitchen. Now you can squeeze in an extra glass or two. You’re welcome bitches.

Once that shit is melted, fold it into the bowl of Rice Krispies that you have waiting for you on the counter. You can still do this is you’re tipsy, don’t worry. It’s ok to pinch off a bite and taste it – delish huh? Once it’s all mixed up, spoon the mixture onto a cookie sheet that is lined with Wax paper. Make sure to create a little dip in the middle. You can do it, I know it!

Now take your Cadbury eggs, and put a few in the center of the “nest” --- how many you put depends on a) how big your nests are and b) how many you have left. I’m a fat ass, so I usually put 3 per nest and eat the rest of the bag. Now once you’ve made all your little nests with eggs, throw those fuckers in the fridge overnight to chill. The night is still young, so stick the kids in bed and take advantage of your buzz. And by take advantage, I mean, let your husband take advantage of you.

When its time to remove your Easter egg nests, peel them away from the wax paper with care! Serve them chilled and enjoy!

ps - the picture above is stolen from the internets - let's not kid ourselves people. I don't own and fucking serving plates that look like that.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Mega fucking easy chicken parmesean

Hubs gave up carbs which means my ass has to come up with shit that doesn’t include King’s Hawaiian Rolls. Aren’t those little mother fuckers heaven?

So, I came up with this…well, I probably didn’t come up with it, but in MY head I did. Just go with me on this one.

Have you seen these? (disclaimer: I’m not being paid by that dork on the perdue commercials to promote these. I say “dork” but that bastard is one rich mother fucker, right?!)

They’re expensive as hell so I always walk right past them. BUT my little loves, I had a coupon. Plopped that shit right in the cart and didn’t think twice. Best part? There was another coupon on the actual bag! Holla!!!! It took off $4. What the what?? Get in my belly!
These breasts you can literally put in the oven frozen. Here’s why that’s good news to me: because I’m the type of person that will leave chicken in the fridge, getting really fucking lazy, forget about them and head to Chick-fil-a. Shit ends up right in the garbage. Errrrrrrgh. SO, without having to thaw anything, I’m as golden as Betty White circa 1987.

Shit you’re gonna need:

4 of those frozen chicken breasts (mind you, the little shits are hard to get open. Brace yourself and don’t give up.)

One sliced tomato (you won’t use the whole thing, so throw the rest on a fucking turkey sandwich tomorrow and do the happy dance until the girl in the cubicle next to you calls HR on your crazy ass.)

2 cups of mozzarella cheese (You might not use two cups, but then again, you might. I’m cautioning on the side of error. Is that how you say that weird as saying? I don’t really give a shit.)

Shit you’re gonna do:

I wanna say that the bag says cook them at 375. But I could be wrong. Double check and get back to me on that one. Lay your chicken on a baking sheet that’s been sprayed with Kitchen KY and cook these little fuckers for about 20 minutes. When they’re done, take them out, throw on a few slices of tomato and then pile on the mozzarella. Put ‘em back in for about 6-7 and whammo. Dinner’s done. And I assure you, these little shits are as moist as a homeless mans’ armpit in July. Yeah, I went there.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Smoked Fatty

I think I promised you this recipe about 32 years ago, so here goes…

Hubs made this for an annual kick ass superbowl party hosted by some of our closest friends. People in Montana know about it, President Obama was invited and when we turned away Robert Downey Jr. you know it’s a good time that’ll give you a hiney tingle. It’s a party where you pretty much hydrate yourself the morning before because you know your drunk ass will regret that 14th jello shot. Trust me. I speak from experience.

This smoked fatty is cooked in our smoker. Duh. But there’s ways to do it on the grill. I’m not familiar with those ways because I have no fucking clue how to work the grill, nor do I ever want to know how. I’d like to keep my eyebrows thank you very much. I also scream like a girl when a flame shoots up. But anyhoo…

Shit you’re gonna need:

1 pound of ground sausage (Those jimmy dean blunt rolls. Round, stocky and firm. Kind of like the hubs.)

1 lb. of thick cut bacon (again, kind of like the hubs. But don’t get that thin slimy shit that falls apart. Hubs sent me out two different times to get EXACTLY what he wanted. But here’s what I don’t understand. He goes to the store and buys me the wrong kind of fabric softener and he says ‘deal with it’. How fucking fair is that? Sorry, I’m a stuck up snot ass about fabric softener. I’m also kind of a bitch about where the sponge goes after washing dishes. Being married to me is no picnic.)

Rib rub (Any kind of pork dry rub will do. He uses some shit in a jar that’s premixed. I’m sure you can make your own, but why take the time people, I’d rather use that time to slice cucumbers for my vodka tonic. Yes, I said cucumbers. Try it.)

5 slices of pepper jack cheese (yes, exactly five. Just go with the hubs on this one. He’s freaking type A. He’s a perfectionist, which I take as a compliment because I’m perfect and he picked me.)

Half of a red pepper (chop that shit up baby)

Half of a green pepper (again, chop that shit up baby. And put the left over shit in a frittata or something. You can also freeze it to deal with later.)

¼ of a chopped large yellow onion (again, put it in a frittata or freeze it.)

1 jalapeño seeded and chopped (if you wear contacts or you appreciate the gift of sight, do not touch your face or put your grubby fingers anywhere near your eyes until you wash your hands after this method. It’s embarrassing how many times I’ve burned the fuck out of my eyeballs.)

Other bullshit you’ll need:

1 large gallon Ziploc bag

Long ass strip of waxed paper

Fucking enormous cutting board

Rolling Pin

Shit you’re gonna do:

Hubs made his fatty the night before and then in the morning he dealt with all the bullshit of actually heating up the smoker and putting the chips in it. If you’re familiar with using a smoker…good for you. I’m not. This is a recipe for the actual meat, not a lesson on using a smoker. Hubs wants to give credit to the site he learned this from. It will help you more than my drunk ass with making the bacon weave and any tips for a dry rub and any other bullshit I can’t explain. I need to point out that this website is named “smoking meat” and I can’t help but think of porn movie title. I’m so fucking immature.

First, make your bacon weave. Sweet mother hubbard, that shit is hard to explain, so please, again, go on the website I mentioned above and see the detailed explanation of how it’s done. One vodka tonic too many tonight…sorry folks. Once you make this, put it aside and hold on to the new panties you got at Fredricks.

Next, put your sausage in your Ziploc bag, lay it on your big ass strip of wax paper and take a rolling pin to roll it out. This to me is fucking brilliant. I’m using this method the next time I make homemade pizza dough or anything else square that I need to roll out. Again, brilliant…I’m still shocked that a man came up with that idea. Or, I mean, it could’ve been his wife, but he didn’t give her credit for it. Shocker. If you get an air pocket, just open a little of the bag to let the air out. Cut the bag off once you’re done and add your fillings which are the slices of cheese, the peppers and onions and your jalapeño. Make sure you put your fillings on the bottom half of the sausage so all that shit doesn’t fall out every where. And so you can’t say “I wish you would’ve told me that.” I did. So there.
Roll up your sausage like a tight doobie. You’ll need to pinch the edges or you’ll get a blowout or a queef, whichever definition your dirty ass mind prefers then place it on your bacon weave and then again, roll it up. Now put this in your smoker until it reaches 165 or about 2-3 hours. And once your fatty is done, broil it at 500 degrees until the bacon is a little crispy. Watch that shit like a hawk or it’ll burn quicker than you can say “Charlie Sheen is a total fuck up.” (too soon?)

Let the meat rest for about 10 minutes, slice that shit up and wait for marriage proposals from women you just met. Or at least that’s what happened to the hubs. “Back off bitch, he does laundry and he’s taken.” Yeah. I said it.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Arti-Choke Her Out Dip (D2)

So I’m a big fan of that spinach and artichoke dip that you can get at most fine eating establishments, even the one that you can get at a cheap ass restaurant for $3.99. I ain’t picky when it comes to cheesy goodness that you can stick on a fucking tortilla chip. So I came up with my own version, sans the spinach because I just can’t get that shit right and it ends up kinda weird. Don’t worry, this dip won’t disappoint. And if you’re serving it in the right place, you’ll have some drunk guy follow you around all night telling you that your dip makes his penis tingle. Happened to me, no shit.

Shit you’re gonna need:

  • 1 cup of parmesan cheese (the cheap shit is what you need)

  • 1 cup of very fattening mayonnaise (don’t get no fat free shit, k?)

  • 1 cup of very fattening sour cream (let’s get serious, sour cream is meant to be fattening. Don’t get that “part-skim”, or “low-calorie” bullshit. Man up)

  • 1 can of artichokes in water (not just the hearts either)

Shit you’re gonna do:
Shit you’re gonna do: First heat your oven up to like 350 degrees. I can’t tell you how many fucking times I’ve thrown all my shit together and the goddamn oven is cold. Shit pisses me off.

Take the artichokes out of the can and choke those bitches out. Get out some anger on these fuckers because you know you can’t really choke your kids now matter how much they annoy you. Or your husband for asking what you did all day since dinner isn’t ready at 6:30pm. Let those artichokes pay, they won’t mind. Make sure your artichokes basically have no liquid left in them or you’ll regret it, trust me.

When you’re done doing that, rip those little fuckers to shreds. I know this dip seems angry, but it will have a happy ending (hardy har har). Upon ripping, stick them in a mixing bowl of some kind. Now, measure out a cup of each of the remaining ingredients and mix all that shit together. Look nasty and weird? Good, now carry on.

Get a pan of some kind that will fit this concoction, something similar to what you’d cook some brownies in will do. If you’re headed to a party, you could use one of those aluminum disposable thingys so you can leave that bitch there when you sneak out because you realize you don’t like all those weirdos as much anymore.

Spray it with some kitchen KY just in case, dump the mixture in, and throw that shit in the pre-heated (yes!) oven and let that shit bake for like 15-20 minutes. Keep your eye on that fucker and take it out when it’s nice and brown and Michael Buble’ on the top. Don’t overcook or you’ll be the dick who overcooked the artichoke dip.

Serve with tortilla chips, crackers, pita chips, your goddamn fingers for all I care. And enjoy!