Pickles & Dimes

Yesterday, Jason took me to CiCi’s Pizza. We had been wanting to go there ever since we saw the commercial featuring macaroni & cheese pizza. Pizza with macaroni & cheese – could there be anything better?

We arrived and the cashier introduced herself and the two buffet cooks, one of whom delivered each new pizza with a booming incantation: “Spicy pepperoni at the buffet! This one’s like Bobby & Whitney, like Tina Turner – it’ll bite you back!”

We loaded up our plates with pepperoni, cheesy alfredo, sausage. Delicious. We went back for seconds. “How you doing, miss?” the buffet man called out. “Sloppy joe pizza fresh for you!” Jason came back to the table, excited. “This one’s buffalo chicken!” he exclaimed. And it was; it tasted just like a buffalo wing. I stopped eating the crusts to make more room for pizza. I went up again for a slice of the buffalo chicken. Wonderful. I was aware that I was eating way too fast, but every time I thought I was finished, a new pizza came out. “Fresh garlic bread on the buffet!” sang the buffet dude. “We had some cornbread, but you’re too late. Take this instead and put it on your plate!”

And then, as I folded up my napkin and pushed away my plate, I heard the call: “Fresh macaroni & cheese pizza at the buffet!” I had to try it.

It was just OK.

But that may have been because I had already eaten nine pieces too many.

This is my favorite time of day, for a few reasons:
1. I’m done with work
2. It’s light out now when I’m done with work
3. And, the light looks like that

It’s so pretty and simplistic: trees made of silhouettes and the sky made of blues, oranges, pinks and purples. I just love it.

I have some kind of tooth issue that I am ignoring, inasmuch as one can ignore shooting pain when chewing on the affected side, random cheek tingling and extreme facial sensitivity. I’m sure it’s nothing.

I am going through my 2nd cookbook looking for new recipes, and it’s called The Newlyweds Cookbook. It’s so sweet and cute and not true to life because the recipes break down the duties, like this:

He does: Cuts the chicken breast into bite-sized pieces…

She does: Brings the chicken mixture to a boil, stirring often…

Whatever. Jason & I get all irritated with each other if we’re both in the kitchen at the same time, because we have a smallish kitchen and it’s not conducive to being toe-to-toe with someone when boiling water and exact measurements are involved. There’s a lot of “excuse me’s” and “watch out, boiling water coming through’s” and “are you sure that’s enough onion powder” comments, and it never ends well. So here’s our version.

Whenever Jason cooks, I:

Play floor hockey with the cats (they’re surprisingly nimble)

And whenever I cook, Jason:

Catches up on emails.

It’s win-win.

My favorite recipe from this cookbook, the one that made me exclaim “WHAT?!?” and curse my laziness at not noticing it sooner: Bacon-Wrapped Chicken in Cream Sauce. Yeah!

I’m going to page through my mountain of cookbooks that I never use and compile my favorite recipes into one binder. Today’s cookbook is titled Best of the Best from Minnesota Cookbook, so you know it’s full of hot dishes, wild rice and lefse.

So far, here are my favorite-named recipes:

- Norsk-Svensk Suppe (fruit soup)
- Double Decker Knox Blox (gelatin)
- Versatile, Variable, Dependable, Commendable Coffee Cake
- Cheez Whiz-Corned Beef Casserole (it’s not Minnesota without Cheez Whiz!)
- Trainwreck Pork Chops
- Ham Loaves (mmmm…loaves….of ham)
- Spam Casserole
- Drunken Bear (calls for 4 tablespoons of bear lard)
- Bear with Chocolate (calls for 4 servings (!) of bear round steak)
- Prairie Beer Cake
- Aggression Cookies

But before I make any new recipes, I feel it is my duty to make this, courtesy of Shelly and dozens of my coworkers: The Bacon Explosion.

Bacon stuffed with italian sausage and MORE BACON. Ooh, baby!

Do you have any favorite regional recipes? Bonus points if it calls for bear.

So I was about to enjoy an afternoon snack of my just-purchased-on-Saturday package of snack-size cheddar cheese cuts, when I went into the office fridge and found my cheese missing. The fridge didn’t smell like death on a hot day like it normally does, so I figured whoever cleaned the fridge moved my cheese. But, no. My cheese was gone. (I even dug tentatively on the top layer of the trash ala George Costanza, and had there not been a busload of greasy chicken bones there, dug even further to see if my cheese was salvageable.) Nope – GONE.

And I know there are worse things in life, blah blah blah economy, etc., but dammit, I was really looking forward to eating some cheese. My 401(k) may be hemorrhaging money, mortgage refinancing at this time seems unlikely, and it’s about to turn into winter here, but good god almighty, can’t a person be assured of eating their still-within-expiration-date cheese snacks? I mean, come on!

So naturally, I called Jason to whine, and he told me that at least four times in the past few weeks, someone at his workplace has stolen his string cheese from the fridge. I ask of you, what is this dairy-deprived nation coming to that we are stealing cheese bits from our fellow man?

And if you have your own work fridge story, let’s hear it.