A buried fire hydrant:
Our frozen creek:
Our snow covered trees:
If you are missing snow, enjoy. If you are as cold as I am, here's hoping we warm up soon!
Showing posts with label Winter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Winter. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Winter Wonderland Wednesday
I have no words to describe the recent snowfall...so here are some pictures:
A buried fire hydrant:
Our frozen creek:
Our snow covered trees:
If you are missing snow, enjoy. If you are as cold as I am, here's hoping we warm up soon!
A buried fire hydrant:
Our frozen creek:
Our snow covered trees:
If you are missing snow, enjoy. If you are as cold as I am, here's hoping we warm up soon!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Theoretical Thursday
As a nod to our friendly neighbors to the North who will be hosting the rapidly approaching Winter Olympics, here is the first installment of theoretical Thursday:
If you were a winter Olympian, what event would you compete in & why?
Please. This is a no brainer. I would be a figure skater. I love sequins, schmaltzy music and gay men. It was meant to be. Problem is, I have never even put on a pair of ice skates because the idea of flying around a block of ice on two Ginsu knives has always terrified me. Assuming I could get over that fear though, definitely a figure skater.
Your turn...what winter sport would you medal in and why?
If you were a winter Olympian, what event would you compete in & why?
Please. This is a no brainer. I would be a figure skater. I love sequins, schmaltzy music and gay men. It was meant to be. Problem is, I have never even put on a pair of ice skates because the idea of flying around a block of ice on two Ginsu knives has always terrified me. Assuming I could get over that fear though, definitely a figure skater.
Your turn...what winter sport would you medal in and why?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
If Virginia is for lovers, than Utah is for Teetotalers.
I will say that I have an evil self-satisfied glint in my eye as I write this. I love my husband but sometimes it makes me giggle when the universe exacts its justice upon him.
Mr. Valentine went out to the West Coast this weekend for his little brother's 21st birthday. In short, this weekend is devoted solely to the purpose of drinking his face off. He left last night, which would have been fine if not for the following:
1. He flew out of O'Hare airport. If you haven't had the pleasure of flying in and out of O'Hare, go buy a lottery ticket. It's the busiest airport in the U.S. which means is packed with impatient people, the flights are never on time and the TSA people who don't look like bored fifteen year olds in study hall look like they should be getting shipped off to Gitmo. On its best day it's the gates of hell. Days like yesterday and today they should just shut the damn place down. We are in the middle of a massive snowstorm, so everything that already sucks about O'Hare has been ratcheted up about 6 notches.
2. He flew Northwest Air. If O'Hare Airport is Hell on Earth, than Northwest Air is the dark mistress of that bottomless pit of despair. Simply put, you should never, under any circumstances fly Northwest air. They lost my bag once for 2 weeks and sent me home with a tiny tube of baking soda toothpaste and a XXXL t-shirt with their logo on it. You know, because after an airline has RUINED your day you totally want to wear their shirt like a billboard.
Needless to say, this is not a recipe for travel success which is why my sweet little Latin love found himself in a Courtyard Marriott in Salt Lake City, Utah last night. It's the usual story, delayed flight, hour of de-icing the plane, missed connection, yada yada yada. Now, getting stranded is never fun, but Utah might be the worst place ever to be stranded in the middle of the night. Apparently there was no food available at the hotel so my poor hubs ate Hot Pockets from the sundries store. None of this would be all that bad if it weren't for Utah's Draconian alcohol laws. I'm no expert, but from what I understand you can only buy alcohol b/t the hours of 1:00-2:00, Egypt Standard Time and you have to go to one of 4 liquor stores in the entire state where your fingerprints are put into the "drunken infidel" database. Bad news.
Especially bad news when your intended destination is drunkytown, U.S.A.
It did lead to my not at all over dramatic hubs wailing that he should know better than to go away without me. Apparently the universe is on my side afterall. I knew it.
Mr. Valentine went out to the West Coast this weekend for his little brother's 21st birthday. In short, this weekend is devoted solely to the purpose of drinking his face off. He left last night, which would have been fine if not for the following:
1. He flew out of O'Hare airport. If you haven't had the pleasure of flying in and out of O'Hare, go buy a lottery ticket. It's the busiest airport in the U.S. which means is packed with impatient people, the flights are never on time and the TSA people who don't look like bored fifteen year olds in study hall look like they should be getting shipped off to Gitmo. On its best day it's the gates of hell. Days like yesterday and today they should just shut the damn place down. We are in the middle of a massive snowstorm, so everything that already sucks about O'Hare has been ratcheted up about 6 notches.
2. He flew Northwest Air. If O'Hare Airport is Hell on Earth, than Northwest Air is the dark mistress of that bottomless pit of despair. Simply put, you should never, under any circumstances fly Northwest air. They lost my bag once for 2 weeks and sent me home with a tiny tube of baking soda toothpaste and a XXXL t-shirt with their logo on it. You know, because after an airline has RUINED your day you totally want to wear their shirt like a billboard.
Needless to say, this is not a recipe for travel success which is why my sweet little Latin love found himself in a Courtyard Marriott in Salt Lake City, Utah last night. It's the usual story, delayed flight, hour of de-icing the plane, missed connection, yada yada yada. Now, getting stranded is never fun, but Utah might be the worst place ever to be stranded in the middle of the night. Apparently there was no food available at the hotel so my poor hubs ate Hot Pockets from the sundries store. None of this would be all that bad if it weren't for Utah's Draconian alcohol laws. I'm no expert, but from what I understand you can only buy alcohol b/t the hours of 1:00-2:00, Egypt Standard Time and you have to go to one of 4 liquor stores in the entire state where your fingerprints are put into the "drunken infidel" database. Bad news.
Especially bad news when your intended destination is drunkytown, U.S.A.
It did lead to my not at all over dramatic hubs wailing that he should know better than to go away without me. Apparently the universe is on my side afterall. I knew it.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
No Soup for You!
Just kidding. You can have all the soup you want my pets.
Growing up, I ate the typical California fare: lots of fish, fruit, veggies & Baja style Mexican food round the clock. I ate the obligatory In-n-Out burger obviously, but maintained a largely healthy So-Cal food lifestyle. About 5 minutes into my first Midwest winter, I become keenly aware that my new climate required some heartier fare. All the sudden I wanted, no needed, to eat things like meatloaf and mac'n'cheese and ribs and did I mention meatloaf? 6 years after I packed my life into my little red Jetta, me and the Midwest have kicked that former iron deficiency's ass.
You can only consume so much beef & whiskey though until you are slapped with the reality that you are going to need to be fork lifted out of your apartment one day if you don't throw some veggies down your gullet. So, in an effort to feed both my husband's Midwestern appetite and my need to not ever wear an elastic waistband, here is the super easy, super delicious, super healthy soup I made last night. It is adapted from a Food & Wine recipe and is a perfect meal for a snowy pre-Christmas night:
Spicy Kale Chowder with Andouille Sausage:
Ingredients:
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
9 garlic cloves, minced
2 large onions chopped
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
1 lb. Andouille sausages, slices 1/4 inch thick
28 oz. can of Italian tomatoes, chopped, juices reserved
3 quarts stock (either homemade turkey or chicken or low sodium store bought)
3/4 lb. Kale stems & ribs discarded, leaves coarsely chopped (I used green & purple Kale, it was gorgeous)
1 can of cannelinni beans, drained and rinsed
Salt & Pepper
Directions:
Heat the olive oil in a large soup pot. Add the garlic and onions and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 12 minutes. Add the ginger and andouille and cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the tomatoes and their juices; bring to a boil. Add the stock, beans and kale; return to a boil.
Reduce the heat to moderate and simmer the soup until the kale is tender, about 10 minutes. Season the soup with salt and pepper and serve, or let cool and freeze.
OK, so I know that sausage isn't particularly healthy, but look at the rest of it! Tomatoes! Kale! Beans! Ginger! You'll love it, your husband will love it and your ass will thank you.
Growing up, I ate the typical California fare: lots of fish, fruit, veggies & Baja style Mexican food round the clock. I ate the obligatory In-n-Out burger obviously, but maintained a largely healthy So-Cal food lifestyle. About 5 minutes into my first Midwest winter, I become keenly aware that my new climate required some heartier fare. All the sudden I wanted, no needed, to eat things like meatloaf and mac'n'cheese and ribs and did I mention meatloaf? 6 years after I packed my life into my little red Jetta, me and the Midwest have kicked that former iron deficiency's ass.
You can only consume so much beef & whiskey though until you are slapped with the reality that you are going to need to be fork lifted out of your apartment one day if you don't throw some veggies down your gullet. So, in an effort to feed both my husband's Midwestern appetite and my need to not ever wear an elastic waistband, here is the super easy, super delicious, super healthy soup I made last night. It is adapted from a Food & Wine recipe and is a perfect meal for a snowy pre-Christmas night:
Spicy Kale Chowder with Andouille Sausage:
Ingredients:
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
9 garlic cloves, minced
2 large onions chopped
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger
1 lb. Andouille sausages, slices 1/4 inch thick
28 oz. can of Italian tomatoes, chopped, juices reserved
3 quarts stock (either homemade turkey or chicken or low sodium store bought)
3/4 lb. Kale stems & ribs discarded, leaves coarsely chopped (I used green & purple Kale, it was gorgeous)
1 can of cannelinni beans, drained and rinsed
Salt & Pepper
Directions:
Heat the olive oil in a large soup pot. Add the garlic and onions and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 12 minutes. Add the ginger and andouille and cook for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the tomatoes and their juices; bring to a boil. Add the stock, beans and kale; return to a boil.
Reduce the heat to moderate and simmer the soup until the kale is tender, about 10 minutes. Season the soup with salt and pepper and serve, or let cool and freeze.
OK, so I know that sausage isn't particularly healthy, but look at the rest of it! Tomatoes! Kale! Beans! Ginger! You'll love it, your husband will love it and your ass will thank you.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
"Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies." - Demetri Martin
I like to think of myself as a guy's kind of girl. I love beer, whiskey & basketball and have on more than one occasion made some dude my bitch when it comes to sports trivia. That said, I am a total chick too, and said "chickness" seems to flow a little more freely around the holidays.
My most recent expression of girlishness is surrounding Christmas decorations. Mr. Valentine & I braved the snow and got our tree on Monday. You may remember that my Christmas ornaments were STOLEN last year by someone who has a cold dark pit where their heart should be (my money's on Kanye West. I DO live in Chicago). But I finally accumulated a respectable new collection of trimmings for the tree and they are fabulous. Even the hubs thinks so, saying that we replaced our old ornaments with better ones. I concur that this fresh crop of ornaments is better and I can tell you why in one word:
GLITTER.
I am not talking about the ill-conceived Mariah Carey movie. I'm talking about Martha Stewart meets overzealous scrapbooking with a hint of 5 year old girl thrown in glitter. My tree looks like Glinda the Good Witch of the North decorated it. I mean there is glitter EVERYWHERE. And it is fantastic. Glitter snowflakes, glitter balls, glitter bows and the Pièce de résistance, glitter tree topper from Pottery Barn that cost as much as the damn tree. (Not joking, not even a little bit.)
But I, like a magpie, am attracted to the sparkle which in my mind makes it a logical investment. Because if you can't drown yourself in glitter at Christmastime, when can you?
My most recent expression of girlishness is surrounding Christmas decorations. Mr. Valentine & I braved the snow and got our tree on Monday. You may remember that my Christmas ornaments were STOLEN last year by someone who has a cold dark pit where their heart should be (my money's on Kanye West. I DO live in Chicago). But I finally accumulated a respectable new collection of trimmings for the tree and they are fabulous. Even the hubs thinks so, saying that we replaced our old ornaments with better ones. I concur that this fresh crop of ornaments is better and I can tell you why in one word:
GLITTER.
I am not talking about the ill-conceived Mariah Carey movie. I'm talking about Martha Stewart meets overzealous scrapbooking with a hint of 5 year old girl thrown in glitter. My tree looks like Glinda the Good Witch of the North decorated it. I mean there is glitter EVERYWHERE. And it is fantastic. Glitter snowflakes, glitter balls, glitter bows and the Pièce de résistance, glitter tree topper from Pottery Barn that cost as much as the damn tree. (Not joking, not even a little bit.)
But I, like a magpie, am attracted to the sparkle which in my mind makes it a logical investment. Because if you can't drown yourself in glitter at Christmastime, when can you?
Monday, November 23, 2009
Damn you Tom Skilling. Damn you to hell.
I just saw a commercial for the local news weatherman, Tom Skilling, which can only mean one thing.
Snow.
My mortal enemy. My arch nemesis. My bete noire.
I have lived in Chicago for almost 7 years now and I've come a long way since my sun-drenched California days. When I moved here, 60 degrees required a coat. Now I consider that bikini weather. 7 years ago, 45 degrees would have given me a petite mal seizure. Now? That's prime grillin' weather baby! That said, I have never, ever, ever gotten used to the snow.
Don't get me wrong, it's pretty. The first one of the year is always so festive...big fat flakes falling onto streets lit by Christmas lights. It's like a Rockwell painting on a Jose Conseco steroid bender.
But then it keeps falling. And falling. And falling. And pretty soon those virginal white flakes have melted into the mucky grey city sludge that turns a grocery store run into a cold, slippery, white knuckle ride that would make Mad Max pee his pants.
When I lived in California, I could smell the ocean. Now I feel the snow. I feel it before it's even started. A chill seizes upon this place and it's almost like a fog rolls in...a fog that won't lift until my tulips start to push towards the sky next May.
I felt it today for the first time this season. Another snow about to fall. Another season of cold weather and warm hearts. And I never thought I'd say this, but I like it. It makes me feel alive and hopeful for the next warm days. It makes me happy for the good cheer and love we feel this time of year. And it makes me ache for the people I can't see, which is why I'm not quite ready for Tom Skilling to tell me what I already know...that snow is coming.
Snow.
My mortal enemy. My arch nemesis. My bete noire.
I have lived in Chicago for almost 7 years now and I've come a long way since my sun-drenched California days. When I moved here, 60 degrees required a coat. Now I consider that bikini weather. 7 years ago, 45 degrees would have given me a petite mal seizure. Now? That's prime grillin' weather baby! That said, I have never, ever, ever gotten used to the snow.
Don't get me wrong, it's pretty. The first one of the year is always so festive...big fat flakes falling onto streets lit by Christmas lights. It's like a Rockwell painting on a Jose Conseco steroid bender.
But then it keeps falling. And falling. And falling. And pretty soon those virginal white flakes have melted into the mucky grey city sludge that turns a grocery store run into a cold, slippery, white knuckle ride that would make Mad Max pee his pants.
When I lived in California, I could smell the ocean. Now I feel the snow. I feel it before it's even started. A chill seizes upon this place and it's almost like a fog rolls in...a fog that won't lift until my tulips start to push towards the sky next May.
I felt it today for the first time this season. Another snow about to fall. Another season of cold weather and warm hearts. And I never thought I'd say this, but I like it. It makes me feel alive and hopeful for the next warm days. It makes me happy for the good cheer and love we feel this time of year. And it makes me ache for the people I can't see, which is why I'm not quite ready for Tom Skilling to tell me what I already know...that snow is coming.
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