Hola Darling Ones,

Since I learned I was diabetic I have become one of those people who care about carbs and protein. I hate that for me. People who talk about their diet are insufferable. I do not care. Eat what you want.

I’m also not a fan of people who talk about “earning” food or being “naughty” when eating certain foods.

Diet Culture makes my skin crawl and at 52 I’m still trying to get myself out of that toxic quagmire. And now I’m both fat and diabetic. The horror.

There is a large portion of society that believes I deserve diabetes or that I brought it on myself. I do not like those people and wish that when they try to open something where it says “open here” that it never opens there again, ever.

Because I want to continue living and I enjoy when my doctor praises me for having a good A1C I’m conscious of my carb intake and try to cram protein in my body whenever I can.

However, I do love food — making it, watching other people make it, reading about it, eating it, talking about it. All of it. Food is good. And fun.

Now that I’m diabetic I try to be more thoughtful about the food I consume. I didn’t too bad a job pre-diabetes. That’s why I don’t an air fryer because I know I would live on mini corndogs until my heat exploded or my pancreas fell out.

Since I have more time on my hands and little money Supergenius HQ has become more of an ingredient household than it was before.

This is why I’m in the process of making homemade hoagie rolls.

You gotta really want a meatball sub to go through the hassle of making hoagie rolls. Darling Ones, I really want a meatball sub.

Last week I really wanted chocolate cake so I made a chocolate pound cake. My mom & Sister #4 really love this new era of my life because I give at least half of everything sweet I make to them.

They aren’t getting any of these hoagie rolls though. These things are making me nervous. I’m scared any time I use yeast. It makes me feel like a sorceress calling on the dark arts. RISE my dough, RISE!

Baking with yeast requires both magic and faith and I’m not good at either of those things. Not a fan of “trusting the process.” What if the process is bullshit and you trusted it and now you have a lump or crap?

Thank you for reading 447 words of yeast-anxiety. This is what I did while waiting through the first proof.

Your spicy meatball,
Jodi

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Hiya Darling Ones,

It’s roughly 823º in Supergenius HQ at the moment and I am not a fan. Seriously, I’m breaking a sweat just typing, The oven’s been on for an hour and there’s nothing my house enjoys more than roasting me alive.

Opening the windows is a no go. Old ass, nearly impossible windows + stroke imbalance + Floppy Scoop = hella stuffy in here.

When I planned this week’s meals it was like 50º out and meatloaf sounded perfect. I like eat seasonally and meatloaf is totally an autumn food. The only summery food I have left are Neapolitan ice cream sandwiches, and those are bad for a diabetic’s dinner.

I’m telling you all this because I want to talk about this meatloaf. If I get to choose my last supper, it will totally be meatloaf, but probably not this one.

The one tonight I kinda freewheeled and it will be either my greatest creation or an abomination in the eyes of the lord. It’s still in the oven, so right now it’s Schrödinger’s meatloaf.

My cooking instincts are generally pretty decent. I grew up in restaurant kitchens and learned a ton from two, old Wisconsin ladies who worked for my dad in the late eighties. Carol and Delores are the ones who taught me use my instincts and that recipes were merely suggestions.

While my instincts are good, my hubris is even greater.

So this meatloaf (now resting on the stove) contains: Old Dutch Onion & Garlic Chips instead of breadcrumbs; roasted red peppers; diced red onion; eggs; ground beef; Worcestershire sauce; some minced garlic; two scoops of garlic chili crisp; and 22 turns of the pepper grinder.

It’s glazed with a sauce made of ketchup, red pepper jelly, some more chili crisp, and four or five shakes of Louisiana hot sauce.

If it tastes as good as it looks (see above) and smells (trust me), y’all better get my James Beard nomination in. I’m a little afraid, but I like to live dangerously.

Chef’s kiss,
Jodi

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Hiya Darling Ones,

In case you don’t have all the minute details of my life committed to memory, I have a big deadline coming up. I have vowed to myself, my family, God, my friend, Em, and anyone else who who will listen that I will finish the catghan by the end of the month.

If you’re unclear of the date, today is March 1537th, 2020. That means I’ve got three days to finish the catghan.

Just to brag, I’ve been crocheting my Floppy Scoop, janky-visioned ass off.

The catghan has 24 panels. So far I’ve created 6 strips of 4 panels and joined 3 of the 6 strips. Three more strips to go and a border and that bad boy will be done.

Instead of bitching about how hard it is to work with black yarn, I’m going to tell you about my two new obsessions, making a bundt cake and baking donuts.

You see while I crochet I either listen to audiobook mysteries or I watch baking/cooking shows. In the past few weeks I’ve watched about 59 episodes of the Spring Baking Championship. I suddenly have a lot of opinions about cream anglaise, pâte à choux, and royal icing.

This is mostly a load of bullshit because aside from monster cookies & banana bread, I hate baking. Too much chemistry, zero room for error, and you don’t know you fucked up until it’s too late.

So why a bundt cake? Because I have a bundt pan, and I’ve never, ever made a bundt cake before. Plus, Sister #4 and I have a birthday next week.

The donuts are for obvious reasons. Donuts are my favorite and I just learned you can make them in the oven. I refuse to deep fry anything in my house ever again after the fried chicken debacle of 2014.

Now when I’m unable to sleep at night I look at bundt cake and donut recipes. It’s oddly soothing.

What are you obsessed with?

Love,
Jodi

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Hello Darling Ones,

I don’t know how your day started, but mine started with an awkward phone call with the Brain Injury Alliance.

“Why was it awkward?” Sister #2 asked.

Uh, because I was a part of it. That’s why it was awkward. I’m a feral beast with a damaged brain. I should not be foisted upon the general public. I thought that was obvious. Not to her, apparently.

I called the Brain Injury Alliance because I’m toying around with the idea of maybe, perhaps witnessing a Stroke Support Group to see if it’s something I might benefit from. That is, I might, maybe, perhaps join if I can get over my whole “I don’t want to be a part of any club.”

I’m a loner, Darling Ones. A rebel.

As I’ve made clear, I’m struggling a bit in the mood department. BFK ending our 22-year-friendship without even a discussion is a tough pill to swallow. I don’t know what upsets me more, the loss of a relationship that is very important to me or the realization that I’m easily dismissed and so maybe I was the only one who found the relationship important. It fucking hurts, man. And, also I’m recovering from a stroke and trying to come to terms with my disabilities and then there’s the absolute lack of income.

No worries, I’m having a med check with my doctor tomorrow to discuss upping the Lexapro since I can feel the anxiety creeping in again.

In other disappointments or perhaps victories, depending how this works, I had to bust out my Top Chef ingenuity for dinner tonight.

Now that I’m broke I’m doing my best to eat down all my hoarded food. The smug part of me (which is about 89% of me) is all See? SEE! I knew I’d be poor again one day and this food would come in handy. Who knew trauma from childhood poverty would be so useful?

My plan tonight was to eat the other half of the Tator Tot Hotdish I made last month. I froze half the meat/veggie mixture sans cream of soup and froze it. All I’d need to do is mix in the soup and top the sludge with tots and cheese.

Easy peasy.

For the record my Tator Tot Hotdish is made with ground beef, charred corn, jalapeños, onions, green chiles, and cream of jalapeño soup. I’m spicy.

Turns out that of all the food I hoard, cream of soup is not one of them. There was zero soup in my cupboards. No Cream of Jalapeño. No Cream of Celery. No Cream of Broccoli. Not even a lowly can of Cream of Mushroom.

Heaven help me, Campbells!

After feeling a bit like a failure as not just a homemaker, but a Minnesotan, I thought What would Padma do?

She’d pivot.

So I added kidneys beans, chili powder, more green chiles, and tomato sauce to my meat & veggies then I topped that shizz with tots and cheese.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. It should be out of the over in about 10 minutes.

Your favorite hot dish,
Jodi

P.S. I know Padma isn’t on Top Chef anymore and I adore Kristen Kish as the host, but the joke works better with Padma’s name.

P.P.S. The hotdish pictured above is what the first batch I made that produced tonight’s leftovers.

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Ugh, Darling Ones,

This week has been utter shit and it’s bringing me down.

1. I’ve had the song “The Freshmen” by The Verve Pipe stuck in my head since Christmas time. It’s 100% my fault. A few years back I made an incredibly singable playlist of one-hit wonders from the 90s. My sibs & nibs all love this playlist and whenever it’s on someone is bound to burst into song. It’s fun. At least it was fun for that week in December when they were here. Having “The Freshman” on repeat in my brain whenever I’m not actively listening to music grows less and less fun as the weeks go. I just caught myself softly singing the stupid song and immediately strapped my cans to my head and turned on some Material Issue (“Freak City Soundtrack” if you’re curious).

2. My nephew and his live-in girlfriend of three years broke up and he’s moving to Portland. He moved a bunch of his stuff into my loft Tuesday night and last night he spent the night here. It was fucking rough, man.

He’s so tired and broken and it sucks. It sucks so much. I thought dealing with my own heartbreaks was tough, but fuck. . . I’d go through every break up I’ve even been through to save him from this. I don’t know how parents deal with their children and this kind of suffering. It’s the worst. Like, I know the only way is through and this is part of being a human, but it sucks.

It doesn’t help that I’m a giant cry baby. I cry when I’m happy and sad and angry and hilarious. If someone cries in my presence, they never cry alone. So I cried with him. After BFK fetched him to to bring him to the airport I cried a bunch more for myself and how much I’ll miss him. I liked having him near. I’m crying again just remembering crying earlier. Also, shedding a few tears over how much I love BFK and how it makes my heart warm that she’s family.

3. Everything I touch turns to shit. Or at least that’s the way it feels. I’ve had some fuckups at work. One that I’m about 89% is my fault and one that is not so much my fault but I should havre been smart enough to prevent it. It sucks. Making mistakes sucks and taking responsibility for it only made me feel moderately better. I’m so so so so burnt out and I’m really hoping that lull comes to visit.

4. On top of all this, I still have ever-present, free-floating anxiety I cannot shake.

Everything is a drag right now. Every thing.

Despite my vow to curtail frivolous spending, I decided to shove some capitalism into my soul full of holes. I was banking on this making me feel better. Shoppers high? Shiny new thing?

Instead of buying a thing, I decided I would buy myself a fancy treat. Cookies. Chocolates. Something like that. I found some cookies that looked really good and I was in, until I learned it was $27 for four cookies. FOUR COOKIES FOR 27 DOLLARS! That’s craziness. So instead I bought myself some Little Debbie Valentine’s Snack Cakes for $2.49. This still seems like a ridiculous price for Little Debbies, but what can you do?

At least the free grocery store flowers I got last week are still going strong (pictured above) so I got that going for me.

Blah,
Jodi

The post $27 Cookies & Other Tales from a Cruddy Week appeared first on I Will Dare.