Dudes. I am exhausted. Yes, I know it is only Tuesday, but I have not slept very well the past several nights. No, I am not sure why. The hubs is convinced we need a new mattre$$. I don't disagree, but I think my problem may be too much befuddle in the brain. Or hormones. Or befuddle in the brain because of hormones.
Anyhoodle, I know I haven't been all that good about posting cooking photos this summer but, again, I am more inspired to cook in colder temps. But, to make my foodie friends happy, here are some repeats I have recently made:
I made this Big Salad with Steak Sunday night. I mixed arugula and romaine, added fresh cukes and diced yellow pepper (my fave to eat raw because of its mild flavor) and tossed the salad with a vinaigrette made of blue cheese, ranch, olive olive and white balsamic vinegar--sort of a blue ranch vinaigrette. Topped the salad with this:
I bought a bag of this steak--and a chicken one--at Sam's. It was a value and is great tasting. Perfect for salads and quesadillas. And speaking of quesadillas.....
Last night, I made chicken quesadillas with the chicken fajita strips, pepper jack cheese, spinach and orange bell pepper, topped with all the goodies and served with black beans and mango couscous. That couscous has been lingering in the back of the cupboard for a while, so I thought "What the Hell!" BTW, notice that my goodies are the colors of the Mexican flag!
On the reading front, yesterday I finished My Life in France by Julia Child. I was reading it so I could go see Julie & Julia when it comes out (backgrounder, of sorts). It was a great read, and really has me itchin' to hop the first plane to France, then go buy Mastering the Art of French Cooking when I return.
I really did not know what to expect from the book, but it was a wonderful overview of the French lifestyle, esp. their gastronomy, and I was encouraged to learn that Julia Child did not start cooking until her late 30s (she married at 35, moved to France at 37) and did not start writing Mastering the Art until well into her 40s. Julia, having not done her most important work until later in life, gives me hope that my best is yet to come, as well. Fo' shizzle.
On a totally unrelated topic, but one that has come up with some frequency recently, please allow me a short rant of sorts on cleanliness. In the past week, I have had the same conversation with two different folks about people's homes and cleaning. More specifically, how some people can stand live in total and utter filth.
Now, while B. is not a neat freak, my house is always clean. The difference, you ask? Well, sometimes, clothes may be piled on the bed, or the newspapers may stack up for a few days in the corner, or the kitchen counter may have a few more bags or boxes sitting on it, but, by God, you will NEVER have to leave my house to use the bathroom (true story from a friend who had to go to a gas station to pee when visiting a relative).
Some stories I have heard shock me. Black rings in the toilet. Indescribable things ON the toilet seat. Chewing gum stuck on hardwoods (five pieces!). Half-eaten food all over. The inability to walk across the floor because of strewn, dirty clothes. Pet hair on every touchable surface. No shittin'. What I don't understand is why anyone would want to live--or, better yet, let their children live--in that kind of filth. That? Is just plain nastiness.
We didn't have much growing up, but, by God, it was clean. And you don't have to clean all the time to keep a clean house. You just have to maintain. We (the hubs helps) do deep cleaning (dust, mop, etc.) every 3 weeks. On alternate weeks, I do "maintenance" cleaning (clean counters, toilets, vacuum, etc.). And I use a lot of Febreeze. And Bath & Body Works Wallflowers. Because no one will EVER smell "animal "in my house. Yo.
I, mean, really, it's not that hard. Not fun, yes, but def not hard. Any monkey can scrub a toilet. And the Dollar Store sells cleaning supplies. Trust me. I know. I will step off the soapbox now. And go wipe down the counters.
Well, I am off--lots to do this evening. See you later, taters! Bunch