1. You are a character on a soap opera, and are being accused of being your evil twin. The two of you can be distinguished by a tell-tale mole. In this instance the twin would probably also have to be nude and be in the picture.
2. The nude photo provides you with an alibi for a murder you are on trial for.
3. You are trying to prove to your grandchild that you really were one of Edward Weston's muses.
4. The Olympic judges believe that you are ineligible due to gender reassignment.
I have had two forgotten cosmetic flashbacks in the past month. The first occured at my Mom's house. I opened her medicine cabinet and saw a small, square, black Covergirl compact. It turned out to be powder, but when I saw it I was immediatly sure that it was a product that I had forgotten existed. Covergirl powder lipstick. It came in a flat compact with one pot of powder lipstick and another pot of gloss. The applicator had an eyeshadow wand on one end and a glossbrush on the other. I had orange and red. I told a friend of mine about it in the hopes that she remembered it (she did) and a few weeks later her mom gave her daughter her old caboodle (another thing I had totally forgotten -- mine was peach) and inside was the powder lipstick. Hers was sangria.
Then last night I had even more of a flashback moment, probably because this one was triggered by smell. I bought some Revlon foundation on clearance, and the smell was exactly like something else. I couldn't remember what, and then I remembered that whatever it was it came from a store in Carytown in Richmond. I don't even really remember buying any sort of moisurizer or foundation there, all I recall buying is a small pot of loose eyeshadow, but the association is so overwhelming that I assume I must have.
The flags around us are still at half-mast for Ladybird Johnson. I think I will be making the following cookies in her memory. The recipe is from The Congressional Club Cookbook, circa 1955. I would probably call these ranger cookies, but I defer to the First Lady.
Wheaties Coconut Cookies
1 c. shortening (1/2 crisco, 1/2 butter)
1 c. brown sugar
1 c. white sugar
2 eggs
2 c. coconut
2 c. flour (or 2 1/2)
1 tsp. soda, 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. vanilla
2 c. wheaties
Cream shortening and sugar. Add beaten eggs. Add coconut. Sift flour, soda, baking powder, and salt together, and add to mixture. Blend in vanilla and Wheaties. Roll in palls the size of walnuts and bake 12 minutes at 350.
Mrs. Lyndon B. Johnson
Texas
I am taking my miracles where I find them. Last night we all went out to dinner and everyone ate in peace. That may not sound all that unusual, but keep the following two things in mind: 1. there was no playground or playland 2. chicken fingers and french fries were not on the menu! So you can see why this has me reeling in shock and awe. We actually didn't eat where we had planned to. We had planned to eat at Niko Nikos, but after circling for ten minutes looking for a parking place we gave up. We went down the street to Pronto Cucinino and had a lovely meal. Not only that, but I had the following exchange with both of my children:
"There are green leaves in my sauce."
"It's just basil, it makes the sauce taste good."
"Oh, okay. Wow, this basil stuff really is good!"
The both ate not only their meatballs (expected) but their pasta, which was swimming in tomato sauce with visible pieces of herbs in it. I am attributing this uncharacteristic event to the following things: 1. The service was lightening fast. There was no time for whining. 2. Neither child ate very much lunch, so they were hungry enough not to be picky. So much as I would have liked to go have a gyro, my meal was quite tasty (I now want to see if I can grill lemon slices at home) and I left with the immortal words of Mr. Brooks stuck in my head, "Just because he doesn't answer doesn't mean that he don't care, Some of God's greatest gifts..."
A note: A few years ago I was weeding cookbooks and happened across a typo in the Mandola/Carrabba cookbook. The basic marinara sauce listed the ingredients as something like 1 or 2 cans tomatoes and 3 cups olive oil. At the time I assumed that either they had scaled down the tomatoes from a jumbo batch, or that they had meant to write 1/3 cup oil. Having been to Pronto Cucinino I now think that maybe the proportions weren't as far off as I thought. There was an amazing amount of oil in the sauce.
Not in ranked order.
1. Strong Poison - Dorothy Sayers
2. Deception on His Mind - Elizabeth George
3. A Dry Season - Peter Robinson
4. Daughter of Time - Josephine Tey
5. Cover Her Face - P.D. James (or An Unsuitable Job for a Woman)
6. The Shortest Way to Hades - Sarah Caudwell
7. The Chimney Sweeper's Boy - Barbara Vine (Ruth Rendell)
8. Sacred - Dennis Lehane
A.S. Byatt
Mr. Bennett (also Bread Pudding)
Chex Mix - I don't actually like peanuts in mine, but sometimes I put in baby Goldfish and M&Ms.
Daturna
Escargot
Four Weddings and a Funeral
Gelato
Hoodies
Jonah (also Japanese Woodblock Prints)
Lasagna
Mike (also Matzoh Ball Soup and Magnolia Trees)
Nutella
Orangette (also Orange Slice Bars)
Persuasion (also Peonies)
Quilts
Rainier Maria Rilke (also Rats Saw God)
Sushi
Toby (also Tulips)
Umber, Burnt - and all the other discontinued Crayola colors
Veronica Mars
Xeriscaping
Yakisoba
Zero, Coke
Clearly if I made an Abcedary of myself I would have to use the letter I for "Indecisive" (or perhaps V for "Vacillating.")
Today we attended "Meat-a-thon", a recently resurrected annual Memorial Day barbeque. There were more types of sausage there than I think I've ever seen outside of a butcher counter. We came armed with bacon breadsticks, a Sandra Lee-esque invention of J-Dog's that involved twisting strips of refrigerated dough around pre-cooked bacon before baking them. Somehow they were a big hit, probably because we had figured out a way to incorporate meat into the bread. But what I found most exciting was the linguica. I have wanted to try this sausage for a long time, and a Massachusetts native brought it to the party. I may have to run to Central Market this week and find out if I can buy it locally. It would be so tasty in some sort of egg and potato breakfast dish. Mmmm... If only he had brought some coffee syrup too...
T-bone and I were at Chuck E. Cheese (!) and we had the following interaction.
T-bone: What is 2 and 2?
Mommy: 4
T: What is 4 and 4?
M: 8
T: What is 8 and 8?
M: 16
T: 16 and 16?
M: 32
T: 32 and 32?
M: 64
T: 64 and 64?
M: 128
T: 128 and 128?
M: 256 (I am wondering if I am going to be able to go much higher, at which point T-bone switches tactics)
T: What about a toilet and a toilet? What would that make? Am I funny mommy? Isn't that funny?
He then burst into maniacal laughter and ran out of the bathroom in search of animatronic animals.
I have a lot of "collected" cookbooks. The kind that the Junior League or the PTA put out. I love this type of cookbook. I love that all of the recipes have been tried and tested by many hands. I love the feeling of community they give you. I especially love how each one is almost a snapshot of what the average family was eating at a specific moment in time, or in one city, or in some cases what celebrities would send to such a group. (Do I really believe that Nancy Regan was cooking a lot of macaroni and cheese? I'm not so sure.)
That said, sometimes I read a recipe and I just can't believe that anyone at any time ever thought it was edible, let alone suitable for submission to a publication. This is just such a recipe.
Cabbage Salad
chopped cabbage
miniature marshmallows
dry roasted peanuts
Miracle Whip salad dressing (not mayonnaise)
Combine ingredients, mixing in salad dressing just before serving. Delicious.
Not only do I not buy that this is "delicious", I don't buy that I would be able to swallow it. Later in the cookbook the same woman has a recipe for tomato aspic salad that contains frozen peas and canned shrimp. Now, I think that my fear of that recipe is generational, but I'm pretty sure that if I am ever in Pioneer Grange and she invites me to dinner I will come up with an excuse not to go.
We went out to dinner tonight to this restaurant that caters to families with small children. There is a wonderful covered patio with a giant sandbox in one corner. The kids were totally occupied the entire time we were there. It was almost like dining without children. Almost, except my food was pretty bad. I think Mike's food was not much better. I'm not sure about the couple we went with. The truly sad thing is that I am unwilling to let go of the possibility of this restaurant. I find myself thinking, "Maybe if I had ordered a margarita and we just had appetizers?" Hope springs eternal.
That is funny, gotta love these kidlets. read more
on Conversation in the Bathroom