PIMENTO CHEESE (AKA CONVERSION TOOLS)

Food art created my daughter..this is pretty representative of what she eats.

This blog originally started as an outlet for the area in my adult life 
where I've been most consistently creative and focused....
FOOD.

I don't actually do much cooking now.

This is not a cause for sadness or consternation (for me).

I've got other creative outlets and when I do cook, I focus on pleasing myself....

and not so much on trying to prove my value. 

However, all of those years spent nuttering away in my home kitchen have given me mad skills.  I'm not your average home cook and when I break out the moves...watch out.

It's kind of like stepping back into a separate life...and remembering why it was fun while it lasted. Over the years, I have perfected quite a few recipes that are truly delicious and easily accessible to the home cook (I'm looking at you cornbread cobbler).  

Back to now though....my moves right now focus on chopping and roasting with an occasional folding into...

it is unusual for me to spend more than 15 minutes a day in the kitchen.

And my shopping time is about an hour a week.

Yep.  1 hour.
I get a lot online.

I swoop through the closest farmer's market or butcher.

While focusing on the easiest and healthiest things.

And then I move on.

I've just got other things to do.

Then come the holidays...when people who KNOW you don't really cook anymore 
still want you to make that favorite thing of theirs.

Mostly I decline.

BUT

There are still a couple of things that I'll break out for loved ones.

My Aunt Opal's Maple cremes.
My grandma's Lemon meringue pie. 
And.... 

Annie-Ruth's Lemon Meringue Pie

Pimento cheese!

Please don't start about how you don't like pimento cheese.  

No one wants to hear your finicky biases relating to foodstuffs 
(or politics or race).

Grow up.

You've tried in inferior incarnations.

Or you've been prejudiced by loud mouths.

Accept that you are not correct.

If you haven't tried this pimento cheese, then you truly 
don't know what you're talking about.

This is the pimento cheese that makes pimento cheese possible.

It is the pimento cheese equivalent of a revival.

A conversion has occurred often when even experienced 
people have tried this recipe.

Still whining?  
That's ok.  
I used to have a similar attitude towards lots of foodstuffs.

Let's have some confession time.

I used to hate tomatoes.

despised them really.

I could not understand how anyone could put that slimy, 
tasteless thing in their mouth.

Much less enjoy it.

My grandparents used to throw their hands up at my stubborn palate.

My brother would pop cherry tomatoes just to make me gag.

There were lines that could not be crossed-

and eating a tomato was one of them.

And then

in a fit of teenage rebellion

I had a TOMATO

Caprese salad with a rainbow of delicious tomatoes.

It was a mid-summer beauty, heavy with sunshine enhanced micro-nutrients.

I am not ashamed to admit that I became a overnight convert.

Tomatoes are phenomenal.

When they are done right, treated like tomatoes should be 

(not refrigerated ever)

, and are in season....

there is no fruit that is more versatile or flavorful.

I got it.

And I never let it go.

What was the difference?

tomatoes need to be treated right.

When they are wrong....

when they've been abused and mistreated...

there is no path to redemption.

I had tried multiple tomatoes that had been treated wrong.

And decided that was representative of the whole.

And threw the baby out with the bathwater.

That is how most pimento cheese is experienced.  

Let that go.

Step out on faith.

If all else fails...think of this as a cheese spread and 
the pimentos are holiday flair.

It is very very important that you buy well for this recipe to work it's magic.  

This is not inexpensive.

It is not healthy.

Nor is it possible to morph it into something 'healthy'.

It is worth it.

probably....i should have led off with this picture.

Ingredients:

12 ounces of best quality, white sharp New York Cheddar shredded

12 ounces of best quality, orange sharp New York Cheddar shredded

3/4 cup Duke's mayonnaise

1 jar of pimentos

juice from 2-3 lemons

1 tbsp cayenne (or more if you like)

Instructions:

All of the ingredients amounts are guesses.  Sorry about that.  You're just going to have to mix and fiddle until it looks more like a spread and less like grated cheese.  

You can use Vermont cheddar or really great Irish cheddar.  But it needs to be crumbly and more dry than moist.  Do not even attempt this with store brand or mass produced cheddar.  And SHARP.  It needs the bite.

Also....if you are even thinking of using a store bought mayo that is not Duke's.  Just stop.  I don't know how to help you.  Possibly there are twelve step programs or some hypnotic cleanse.  I'm not capable of helping you overcome anything if you don't use Duke's.  You CAN substitute your own homemade mayo in place of Duke's as long as it's not sweet and not 'low calorie'.  
That is absolutely heretical.

Eat on everything.

Here are some ideas:  

as a dip for cucumbers, carrots, tomatoes (green or red) and pickles

on sandwiches (with turkey and bacon and pickled red onions and arugula!)

on crackers 

on a spoon in the middle of the night

on top of just scrambled eggs

with some jam or some Valentina (or both)

It is literally good with everything.

Including family holidays.

which is saying something.

BE PRETTY

A while back I shared my recipe for forgiveness.  
My recipe is simple and has been very effective for me.  

Often when I'm describing my recipe, people get stuck on what...exactly... has to die.  
How do you even know what has to die for you to forgive?  
Aren't we supposed to want life and living things?  

My answer to that is complicated.

My answer is ......sometimes.  

All things that are truly alive have a time span that should end.  

Keep something past its lifetime and you have a zombie.  

Just to be clear....we're talking metaphorically here.  

I'm not recommending actual murder.  

That would just lead to more problems.  

I'm recommending getting rid of the ideas 

that are mentally holding you in the spot 

where you are so that you can grow past them.

One of the hardest things I think to envision is 
the death of the things we hold dear.  
How can you ever let go of the perspectives, 
identities or just crutches that you have used 
your whole life?  

How do you even recognize the stuff that you need to let go of?
Most of that stuff has just been lying around so long you 
don't even see it anymore.

Here's an example of how I stumble across these ideas 
(and also how camouflaged they are within thought patterns or norms).

************************

A few weeks ago, my husband was walking our daughter to school.  
On his way home, he saw a mom sending her daughter off.  
What a cute, touching scene.  
Until he heard the mom's send off:  
Be pretty!

He said he stopped and thought...what the f*ck?  

Who tells their daughter that her job is to be pretty?

My answer:  The whole damn world.

Welcome to the rage party my friend.  

Most of us here are women.

We got told this was the happening place to be and 
now most of us can't figure out how to escape.

Probably because we keep getting told to be pretty.

When that is literally the least important thing about any of us.

If you are a daughter, this will likely resonate with you.
If you are a son, you probably have other adjectives that make you twitch.
Daughters tho...I hear you. 
 This Pretty Monster is our demon.  

A small, unscientific poll suggests these options for daughters: 

1. Pretty is something that you work really hard to always be 

2. Pretty is something that you can never achieve (and so you feel like a failure)

3. Pretty is an expectation you have decided to ignore

I've never met a woman who didn't understand on 
some level that pretty was expected of her.  
I've met a very few bad-ass women who are 
effective at #3 as a response.
Very very few.

Above is a picture of me in a beauty pageant.

My mother was so happy that I was participating.

Amazed that they even let me in the door with all my nerd tendencies.

I just wanted to try and earn scholarship money for college.

And probably have her be proud of something that I was doing.

I was top of my class, a soloist musician, awarded and 
praised and successful in school.

I do not remember her ever attending any school event 
except when I was a representative for homecoming.

But she was sooooo into this pageant thing.

And the cheer leading thing.

And the boys-did they like me?  Was I too smart for them?  
All of the the pretty things.
That was all she wanted for me...and from me.

I am unlikely to forget that lesson...Be pretty.

In my personal experience, being physically attractive 
(to men) was ingrained in me as the primary way 
to be loved and successful.
I received this message from my mother.  

She made it clear there was no higher goal.  

There was only one thing worse than being ugly. 

(In case you're wondering, the worse thing was 
being ugly AND overweight).

My rebellion formed around those seeds of expectation.

In my twenties, I decided to disconnect from 
this body as much as possible.

To be chubby and un-made up.

To wear baggy clothes and in general...
not give a shit about what this body looked like.

If you liked me in spite of all of that....
then maybe you were worth knowing.

If I needed to be pretty for you to value me, 
then I needed to know that up front.

So that I could then use that attractiveness against both of us.

It was a tool in the toolbox that I broke out when needed.

A beautiful, murderous tool.

Then I had a daughter.

Who is sunshine on a mountaintop.

Fierce like a lion.

Chaotic and hilarious and gentle.

Who revels in her body.

And her mind.

And her spirit.

All three.

And I realized that this divorce from my body was not 
really hurting the people who tried to sum me up into my body.

This divorce from my body was actually hurting me.

I had to forgive them (all of them) for boiling me down
 to my physical attractiveness.

For my value as an object of desire.

For requiring me to be pretty before I could be anything else.

I had to accept that I too got value from being pretty.
I had to forgive myself for using it.
Before anything else.
I had to recognize that I traded on my own attractiveness
 and used it to control myself and others.

So what had to die?
One of the things that I had to let die was the idea that I was a
 beloved, protected, nurtured 
daughter.  
One who was enough for just being part of my family and 
showing up with the gifts that God gave me.

The truth is more complicated and less safe.
I avoided seeing it for a long long time.

I was not protected or beloved.

I was abused and hurt.

I was abandoned in times of need.

I was bullied into believing it was more important 
for me to play small than to live in my truth.

I was taught to make sure everyone else had their comfortable 
view of the world before I was allowed to make myself comfortable.

I know how to make everyone around me feel special, 
important and comfortable-even (and especially if) 
they were violent, destructive or a predator-
because that was my role in this world.  

That is not beloved.

That is not protected.

That is an idea that had to die.

So that I could see the reality and feel the feelings
 that are attached to those expectations.

It's pretty scary realizing that you have been telling yourself one thing...

for years...

and the opposite is actually more true.

So...I killed off that idea. 

Mostly.  

Sometimes it comes back up when I am tired, sad, or lonely. 

Lurching around like a half-formed zombie with the voice of my abusers ranting around in my head.

But I've killed it off once.

I know I can kill it again.

With enough rest and prayer and centering.

And fun.

Don't forget the fun.

LIAR LIAR

Art by me, available at SazeracStars

What does it mean to tell the truth?

I have recently found out that another detail about my family history was in fact....a lie.
It was actually a series of complicated cover ups.
I still don't think I know what actually happened.
I doubt I ever will.
So many decisions and relationships were predicated 
on the lie that began it all as if it were truth 
that it is impossible to extricate 
fact from fiction.

The fiction has become the fact.

I should not actually be surprised about this.

It has happened many times before.

It will most likely happen again.

Humans are liars.
Not just my family.
Not just me.
All of us.
It's part of our nature.

We lie so much we create nicknames and value gradations for lies.

White lies.

A whopper.

We skirt the truth
or we stretch it
or misdirect it.

We fabricate.

We cover up.
It's not a lie, it's a tall tale.
A fairy tale.
a story.

It doesn't take much for us to justify why we MUST keep telling ourselves and others things that just aren't quite true.

We don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.
Or shatter their world view.
or feel exposed or vulnerable.

It's not anyone else's business.
It's our precious, private bit of knowledge or shame.

Except nothing really belongs to just one of us.
We are all connected.
What we do, our actions and our in-actions-
all have a ripple effect.
When we lie
about anything
we create something else.
We are makers
and lying is creating something.

It's like creating a shadow where only light should be.
You can spend a long time chasing shadows.
An even longer time undoing all the decisions and what-ifs that were based on your understanding of the shadows.
It can be so hard to just find the truth...much less try to speak it.


The best of us are so good at it that we can lie to ourselves.
We can believe what we have fabricated as though it is truth.
When it is definitely not truth.
Just a 'better' version of what we wished could have happened.
Instead of what actually happened.
Which may have been awful
or may have just been boring.
At any rate...someone decides that they need to 'fix it'
or change the truth
so out comes a lie.
Or usually more than one lie.

Part of the work is to both seek the truth 
and realize that it doesn't really exist in most moments.
Or that's what I tell myself.