Back in the day of cassette tapes, a little thing came along known as The Country’s Best Yogurt–otherwise known as TCBY. It was kind of a miracle in that it tasted like ice cream, but  was made with YOGURT! Something sweet and healthy for those of us who enjoyed our aerobics and jumping on tiny trampolines. In fact, it was the afterschool hangout for my girlfriends and me, as we made a point to drop by every afternoon between soccer practice and hitting up the tanning bed. So what if the toppings were high in fat and calories? So what if the yogurt was made with more sugar than what goes into actual ice cream? We were lost little kittens, blindly following the hype. It was an innocent time, a time without Google or Wikipedia providing much needed tech.

Flash forward several years…a decade or two, whatever.

I keep hearing about the newest frozen dessert sensation (from our friends at Busken) called Yagööt.  I read a glowing review on Urban Spoon; a trusted friend raved about it on Twitter; the Yagööt store itself sits next to one of my favorite clothing shops. Really, I don’t know what I was waiting for. I suppose I’m just like many other Cincinnatians–so gaga over Graeter’s and Aglamesis and United Dairy Farmers that, well, frozen yogurt didn’t ever make it onto my radar. But things have changed.

Don’t get me wrong: I love the sundaes and milkshakes and pretzel cones at those other places, but I also love being able to button my pants. I like looking downward and being able to see all the way to my toes. Besides, most times I end up leaving an ice cream place feeling all sticky and plagued with guilt. I have already given up meat and started back at yoga because I am slowly realizing that these things don’t just take care of themselves. I no longer have my old high school metabolism to combat bad eating and a slowed-down lifestyle. I’m old, people. I gotta work at maintaining this awesome physique.

So, finally I was ready to give this little frozen yogurt shop a try. I walked in to Yagööt–which is adorable with fresh flowers and girly pastel colors–and immediately introduced myself as a first timer. To which, I was promptly presented with a sample of the “plain”. This stuff was super creamy and just rich enough to feel like a real dessert. The flavor was tart and tangy with the perfect amount of sweet. Unlike old-school TCBY offerings, this frozen yogurt actually tastes like yogurt. I ended up ordering the mango flavor topped with beautiful, fresh raspberries.  Next time I have my eye on strawberry flavor with fresh sliced bananas, and I aim to make

I’m happy to report that my treat was somewhere around 120 calories and 1 gram of fat. Instead of feeling icky upon leaving, I sort of skipped away–happy and delighted to have found a way to inexpensively recapture my youth (minus the tanning bed).

Part of these adventures include some kind of luncheon detour–which usually means stopping by Bouchard’s for pasta. The shop is really just a couple of counters separated by five feet of wall and plexiglass–behind that wall, one can tiptoe to observe a bit of magic being made. On the far left you order what kind of meal you desire: flatbread, salad, or pasta. And on the far right, you’ll pay and pick up the dish your choices have wrought. It brings to mind cartoon conveyor belts bringing forth happy little treats.

In the beginning, there is the menu. Each customer fills out her own checklist order sheet. All three options have the same possible ingredients including sauces, vegetables, meats, and cheeses. I get really excited by this whole process because the toppings are unlimited, and deliciously fresh. Once the little sheet is complete, a kitchen worker silently pulls it from the counter and commences cooking.

Today I ordered a vegetarian-friendly linguine with spinach, garlic, onion, tomato, spinach, broccoli, artichoke hearts. My dish was sauced traditionally in simple olive oil and topped with mozzarella and asiago. I was pleased and proud of my unique creation. (As it happens, no fewer than three different people paused admiringly at our table, requesting where they could procure the same masterpiece.)

My husband, of course, ordered his meal with sausage and bacon–no pork surviving this visit.

Findlay Market is one of the oldest such establishments in the country, and has gone through serious ups and downs throughout the decades. Thankfully, it is experiencing a surge in popularity and currently flourishes. I love the experience of meandering through these stalls steeped in such history, and I adore the fact that this place sits right in the middle of my big little town.

In the end, my husband and I purchased produce, spices, dry goods, and one giant cream puff. Not a bad day at the urban market.

The menu is rather simplistic and doesn’t exactly provide all the pertinent information. Most of the offerings are on display in a case and prices are not easily provided. I opted for the House Salad (one of few dishes listed on the menu) which consisted of mesclun greens, dried cranberry, candied pecans, red onion, and creamy goat cheese with a side of balsamic vinaigrette. Nothing fancy, but the portion size was fairly massive and the ingredients plentiful.

I have to admit that I like a place that feels kind of like your Sicilian Grandmother’s kitchen–and this place does the trick. The dining area has racks and racks of wine for sale along the walls, but there is no license for it to be served on the premises. Giant tease! There was, however, a large selection of bottled beverages including a variety of juices, teas, mineral water and such–but I ended up choosing good old fashioned ice water.

Since I was so frugal with the bulk of my order, I decided to splurge on a beautiful macaroon. This homemade gem was stuffed with shredded coconut–and I mean stuffed. About the size of a large golf ball, that cookie proved a decadent ending to a somewhat restrained midday meal.

I’m looking forward to returning and checking out the wide variety of salads and maybe a nice piece of salmon.

So what does this have to do with restaurant reviewing? Not much, except now I am forever on the lookout for inexpensive meals that cater to fake vegetarians like myself. Hence, I have created the Ten Buck Lunch series.

Basically, I plan to visit local eateries at midday and sample their fish/vegetarian offerings, with the simple rule of never spending more than ten dollars. So helpful. So clever! I’m excited to share my adventures with you…and wish me luck as I fight desperately to keep a bacon-free home.

I like to cook; I’m good at cooking. If I can parlay this interest into enriching important areas of  friendship, love, and community service–that is alright with me.

Ingredients (Once again: all measurements approximate)

3 large avocado, chopped

small tomato, diced

2 tbs. red onion, diced small

3 tbs sour cream

1/2 lime, juiced

seasoning: paprika, garlic powder, cayenne, cilantro, pepper, cumin, salt

Your prep work consists of a good deal of knife work.  Do not, under any circumstances, consider using a blender, processor or slamming chopper.  I am immune to any whining and have no interest in arguments of “time saving” strategy. This dish tastes best when the vegetables are intact and maintaining their respective flavors. Tomato pieces should be the size of your thumbnail, onions the size of your pinkie nail.

The first step is to integrate your spices into the sour cream and lime juice; mix thoroughly and allow to rest at room temperature for ten or fifteen minutes.  As for the measurements of each, I have only a few suggestions…  pinch each of salt and cayenne, two or three pinches of fresh cracked pepper, two pinches each of garlic powder, paprika, and cumin.  Use one heaping tablespoon of minced, fresh cilantro.  (Dry spice flavors do not open up immediately and need ample opportunity to leech into a dish.  Since there is no heat required for this recipe–the time needed for this process to take place cannot be rushed.)

The second step requires a quick mash of your avocado, making sure to leave it half chunky and half creamy.  Carefully fold in the sour cream mixture until the resulting product is evenly colored.  Add onion and tomato, folding once again very slowly and carefully.  Do not mash, do not stir vigorously–it is important that the tomato does not bleed into the guacamole, otherwise the color will be brownish instead of bright green.

You can serve with tortilla chips in the traditional way, of course.  But don’t be afraid to use guacamole as a cool accent to a crispy tilapia or grilled marinated skirt steak. I like to use it as a condiment on pita sandwiches with grilled chicken and shredded cabbage.  Right now, I’m inspired and imagine a fantastic salad with guacamole on a bed of lettuce and a piece of blackened salmon… The possibilities are endless, really.

However you serve your guacamole, take my advice and make sure to share with good friends.

Today I made my famous Beef Stroganoff.  It takes about ten minutes to make, but tastes like a slow-cooked meal.  I perfected this recipe back in my Atkins days and it has evolved to include whole wheat flat noodles. I love it because it’s fast, delicious, and surprisingly low in fat.

Ingredients (all measurements are approximate):

• 1 medium onion, diced
• 8 0z. baby portabello mushrooms, sliced
• 1 lb. Stew Meat, cubed
• 8 oz. Cream Cheese (I use whipped)
• 3 tbs. Dijon mustard
• 3 tbs. Steak sauce/Worcestershire sauce
• 1 tbs. minced garlic
• 2 tbs. olive oil
• Seasoning (salt, pepper, paprika, parsley)
• 12 oz. Whole wheat flat noodles

First, put a pot of water on to boil the noodles…

Next, you’ll need a large skillet in which to saute the diced onion in olive oil with the spices.  Add mushrooms into the pan after about two minutes, stirring mixture over medium high heat.  Continue seasoning as more ingredients are added–do not reserve spices ’til the end, as the flavors will not meld adequately. After two or three minutes, you will add the cubed beef, garlic, and steak sauce. Cook onions, mushrooms, beef, and spices over high heat–stirring frequently–until all ingredients are browned and softened.

The vegetables and the stew meat will begin to sweat, creating a small amount of broth.  Lower heat to medium and add your cream cheese, making sure that the mixture is thoroughly blended. Use more or less cream cheese based on your preference for sauce consistency. When the Stroganoff is looking the way you want it to, go ahead and add the dijon. Reduce heat to simmer and add cooked noodles to entire mixture.

(Disclaimer: Normally this dish is made with sour cream, but I have found that the creaminess of cream cheese and the tartness of dijon does a fine job of approximating the awesomeness that is sour cream.)

I’m looking forward to challenging myself in the remaining weeks of Fall Quarter, taking advantage of these extra hours of mine.  Cooking makes me happy and gives me a sense of productivity–if only to benefit my hardworking husband.  So, while I am stuck in this career purgatory I will try to learn some things, create some things, and be a super cool wife. Next week, I’m thinking: honey-soy seared tuna with stir fried sugar snap peas.

Ingredients (all measurements approximate):

• 2 lbs. chicken
• pint sour cream
• 2/3 c. Hungarian paprika
• chicken bouillon paste
• 2 medium onions, diced
• cup flour
• salt and pepper, to taste
• egg noodles
• two tablespoons butter

First I dice the onions to the size of my thumbnail.  It looks like a ton of onion, and it is–but it just simmers away for hours with the chicken until the pieces are almost imperceptible.  In a good sized stew pot, I will saute the onions until nearly translucent in two tablespoons of butter, and two pinches of salt.  This usually takes about five minutes on medium-high heat, stirring frequently.

Once the onions are ready, I begin to slowly add the paprika.  The mixture will become pasty and gooey, so I make sure to turn down the heat a bit and really let the flavors of the onion, butter, salt and paprika meld together.

Next, I take my chicken pieces and begin piling them on top of the paprika paste mixture.  (The chicken should be bone-in and, if possible, leave a little skin on.  I know this is difficult for some people, but the more of the chicken you simmer in that pot–the more amazing flavors will be present in the end.  And don’t worry–I remove all of the bones and skin before the finished product hits the dinner table.  My mom uses a combination of breasts and legs. I usually just use a family pack of legs.) Once all of the chicken is in the pot–I will add water until it is just barely covering the chicken. The level is usually an inch from the top of the pot. I go ahead and return heat to medium-high until the broth begins to boil.  Then I immediately turn down to a simmer, leaving the pot uncovered.

After two to three hours, the chicken is tender and nearly falling off the bone (I make sure not to overcook, because then chicken becomes mash-y and mealy in texture).  It is time to turn off the heat and let the mixture cool to lukewarm.

Then I remove all chicken and parts from the stew, separating the sections I want to keep from the ones I do not.  I get rid of bones and skin, but my mom leaves all of her pieces intact. This is a greasy, messy job–but it goes pretty quickly.

At this point I have a pot full of beautiful reddish brown broth.  And the kitchen starts to smell amazing. In order to create the right flavor, I will alternate adding tablespoons of chicken bouillon and tasting the broth until I am satisfied with the saltiness.  I use a tub of bouillon  from the soup aisle; it is creamy and powdery. The final measurement is somewhere in the vicinity of 1/2 cup.  Lastly, I carefully add a tiny bit more of the bouillon than is necessary–I don’t want the sour cream (added subsequently) to dilute the strength of flavor.

In another large bowl, I begin blending approximately 2/3 pint of sour cream with a cup of flour.  Once the ingredients are completely blended, I start adding ladlefuls of my chicken broth, whisking continuously.  After 3 or 4 large ladles of broth are mixed into the sour cream and flour bowl, I empty entire contents into the main stew pot.  I continue whisking the mixture of broth, flour and sour cream until the Paprikash is creamy, reddish pink, and having the consistency of a bisque.

Finally I add my saved chicken to the pot and simmer on low heat for another hour. Do not boil.

I serve finished product atop noodles in a bowl.

Although the dish is labor intensive, it requires very few ingredients.  At first I tried to add my own special touches of herbs, garlic, skinless chicken…and it never turned out the way I was expecting.  I have learned that the more I adhere to the official family recipe, the better my dish tastes.  As much as I see myself as a cooking innovator, it seems that a tried and true family recipe should be respected for its longevity, and not second guessed.

I’m happy to say that my mother remarried a smart, conscientious guy who adopted us kids–and they worked hard together to provide this unorthodox family some version of a comfortable life.  She got a nursing degree and he started his own business. I can’t say that my parents were especially patient, affectionate, or available…but they did the best they could given their youth and initial circumstances.

Reflecting back now, I think about what my own parenting style would look like.  My husband and I have not been blessed with children yet, but it’s something you think about at my age.  I wonder: What will my priorities be?–because you can’t take care of everything all the time. And, in what ways would I be different or similar to my own parents? In all honesty, these are questions I started contemplating as a disgruntled teenager.  You know, like when your mom insists that you clean your room before going to the school dance?  I would never do that. Or when you get grounded for staying out past curfew? What’s the big deal–I was only a block away. Basically, it’s a kind of fairy godparent wish-list sparked in the adolescent mind.

An interesting idea has occured to me, as I wait patiently for little ones to arrive.  Why don’t I start implementing these planned behaviors with me? What’s wrong with doing a little parenting of myself?  If I’ve wished so long (and in such detail) about child rearing techniques I hope to adopt–wouldn’t it behoove me to apply those strategies to the person who might most appreciate them?

It’s crazy sounding, I know.  It’s perfectly oddball; how does one parent herself exactly? Am I supposed to bathe, burp, and swaddle myself? Ridiculous.  Shall I read happy little books at bedtime and take lots of baths? Preposterous.  Only an insane person would contemplate such a notion.  Get over your crappy childhood like the rest of us and grow up already.  Right?

Maybe.

Let’s map this out and decide how crazy it actually is…

FAIRY GODPARENT WISH-LIST

1.  Encourage to play an instrument.  How cool would it have been for me to learn the guitar or piano? Musicians are automatically part of an elite group, admired for possessing such a universally beloved skill.  Every Christmas my grandma would play all the carols while the rest of us sang along. It was a magical tradition, and I can’t imagine my childhood without those family concerts.  My plan is to provide my kids with an opportunity to learn music from an early age and develop a sense of appreciation for the arts in general.

2.  Less TV, more exercise.  I grew up in an era when it was perfectly acceptable for children to spend three or four or five hours at a time in front of the picture box.  My siblings and I knew the TV Guide book backward and forward (only four channels, mind you), treated TV characters like special friends (Facts of Life girls were so pretty and wisecrack-y!), and believed that Jeopardy was a perfectly acceptable substitute for dinner conversation.  On the other hand, our neighbors, the Beaversons, were so strange with their daily family jogs and basement weight lifting.  Freaks, really.  Whenever there was a commercial during Married With Children, we had fun mocking their ‘California’ lifestyle.

3.  Culture and diversity.  There’s no downplaying the white-ness and Catholic-ness of my youth.  I never knew a Jew; there was not a single black kid in my grade school; and all the kids in the neighborhood shared the same preppy, acid-washed wardrobe.  To call suburban Toledo ‘homogenized’ is an understatement.  Why wouldn’t you want your kids to learn about other cultures, races, religions–fashion trends?? We had already embraced the exotic cuisines from around the globe (and featured at Epcot): Indian, Chinese, Italian, Mexican, Thai…how was it that our social circle continued to remain so one dimensional? Ultimately I desire knowledge, and there is very little to learn from people who think and act just like you.

4. Establish organization, boundaries, and routine.  As mentioned in my most recent blog entry, I am a bit of a mess when it comes to dependability and responsibility. It is a curse I do not wish to pass on to my spawn, and I fully believe it is a skill that can be practiced and learned.  My childhood was scattered, unstable, splintered–we never seemed to have all of our ducks in a row.  I went to school everyday disheveled, without fail, forgetting something or other.  Even in kindergarten, when your mom or dad is supposed to check your bookbag and your lunch, I would invariably be the only kid without scissors, or carrying a greasy paper sack filled with meatloaf and giant pickles. Truly, I am constantly in awe of the highly organized, detail oriented species of human.  And, as much as I embrace what makes me, me–what I wouldn’t give to occasionally have my shit together.

5. Pamper and comfort.  My parents didn’t have time to kiss, or hug, or compliment–there was always some utility bill that needed paying, or some report that needed completing.  As a result, we children were called on to take care of ourselves from the earliest years.  Starting from about eleven years old: we did our own laundry; we cooked the meals; cleaned the house; maintained the garden…and resented pretty much all of it.  I think kids should have an opportunity to be kids, to play and laugh without fear of being put to work.  It would have been nice to be comforted with kind words and a kiss after stubbing my toe–instead I received tough love statements like, “You’re fine.  Get up and walk it off.”  I always imagined one day my mother or father would wrap an arm around me and thank me for making the mashed potatoes for the fifth time this week, and just once tell me to “Go, have fun.” if I asked to play outside.

I don’t see anything wrong with employing this list in my own life.  In fact, it makes perfect sense.  It’s kind of like when you purchase a gift for someone and secretly wish you could keep it for yourself.  I always end up treating other people better than I do me.  The candle I give you for a housewarming gift is exactly my idea of a nice accesory in the bathroom, and the picture frame I give you for your birthday is something I would love to have for my desk–but I never seem to make the connection that I deserve these things, too.

Whatever happy, productive parenting I plan to bestow on my brood–well, why not live it myself? Shouldn’t I provide for myself the same special consideration I would offer these future children? It is never too late to learn important lessons, experience whimsy, feel tenderness… In the end, I will be my own fairy godmother.

So I’ve been away for some time, and I freely admit that I am prone to slacker tendencies.  I could bore you with excuses of computer malfunctions, work issues, personal commitments and such–but you and I both know that these are weak excuses and nothing more.  I will tell you that I have never been one of those people who is, what we call, “dependable”.  But there are worse things to be in this world.

Michael Vick, I’m talking to you.

I grew up with parents who…okay, I have to stop this sentence as I realize it’s just another excuse.  My bad. Let’s just say that organization, details, and task completion were not necessarily the priority in my childhood home. We were a clever, emotional, spontaneous group–generally speaking.  So I am a bit a product of my chaotic environment. Plus, I am perpetually sleepy. Is anyone else as big a napper as me? I fear the answer is no, so I try not to pose the question to actual humans.  Some of you may be flabbergasted at my talent for relaxation.

But enough of my shameful work ethic…let’s talk about my unique attributes.  As mentioned, I am heartily spontaneous–thriving on the last minute adventure.  I do not fear what is unknown, rather I seek it.  Give me a recipe or a map, and I’ll show you how to deviate from it.  Give me a last minute emergency and I jump into the adrenaline of being needed.  It seems that I work best under pressure and for short periods of time–like a bolt of lightening.  When it comes to productivity I can do some amount of damage, but blink and you’ll miss it.

Feeling bad about who you are is stupid.  I cannot be awesomely organized or constantly punctual. And that’s okay, because I make up for who I am not with my other, more adorable qualities…  Let’s talk about where I shine, when I’m at my best: the ideal me.

I’m proud to say that I have an artistic side to my personality.  Although most people would claim the same of themselves, I am different because I have a joyful irreverence that takes these creative expressions to a higher level.  Only the most brazen can truly innovate.  It’s embarrassing at times how little I am able to conform to expectations, but every so often the eccentricities produce positive results.

My creativity lends itself to cooking; I love to strategize, prepare and execute dinner parties. These are short term projects I can visualize completing, consisting of a definable beginning, middle, and end.  I treat my gatherings somewhat like a PR campaign promoting the Katie Fine brand.  What decorations, what food, and what guests best represent who I am and want to be? Granted, there is the potential to go overboard with themes and events, but I try not to worry about other people’s limitations.  This is one thing I like about me.

My daydreamy, analyzing nature lends itself to advice-giving.  I do not exaggerate when I say that I am on the speed dial for several friends who occasionally seek straightforward, cut-the-shit style guidance.  My communication background allows me the ability to breakdown relationships and their behaviors into manageable morsels for discussion. What’s more, my assessments often lead to real steps toward improvement, unlike Mr. Fancy-Pants: Dr. Phil.  I’m not folksy and vague; my therapy is tart and practical. It’s kind of a gift.

Finally, my innate ability to observe means I am the first person to notice your lovely bracelet from Spain, or the collection of cardinals sitting in a tree, or the melancholy tone in the voice of a depressed friend.  As much time as I spend reflecting on myself (this blog entry as evidence), I’m just as concerned with the people around me.  It’s a distraction I can’t seem to avoid.  I will see subtle beauty that often goes unnoticed; I will see quiet sadness obscured by self-deprecating humor; and I will see good qualities in others while observing the not-so-good. Very few of life’s details get by me, and I am not too shy to remark appropriately.  If I’m out strolling with my husband and the dog, I compliment the neighbor on how the fuchsia blooms on her shrub blend so nicely with the purple shutters.  When my student is wearing an adorable pair of shoes, I am the first person to say, “Cute sandals, Rosa”.  This talent may seem shockingly useless at first glance. But what is more important than having the ability to stop competing with others long enough to show genuine appreciation?

Every day I have to stop and remember that it’s okay to be a little kooky and mildly irresponsible.  So I’m one of those slackers–so what?  I am learning all the time to embrace who I am and stop anticipating rejection and condemnation from the world. The right things seem to happen in due course and I eventually find myself where I hoped I would be…in spite of all the napping.