Category Archives: food


Overheard last night chez DaisyBones: *Achoo!* “Don’t sneeze in mommy’s gluten!”

To make gluten “meat” from regular whole wheat flour, you mix up dough with cold water and about 4 cups of flour. Knead it for 15 minutes-ish, maybe less. Mine was a little chewier than I’d like.

Put it in a bowl and cover with cold water. Let sit 45-60 minutes.

Knead it under the water. The starches will come out and make it cloudy. Replace water, repeat until insane. I never did get my water clear but mine was OK. When it’s good and rubbery, pick of little pieces and drop into a big pan of boiling veggie broth with splashes of soy sauce and steak sauce added. Simmer about 20 or 30 minutes. If you wantto, pull out the gluten meat with a slotted spoon and add flour and whisk into the broth until gravy consistency.

Serve with instant mashed potatoes so that, like me, you can have a good laugh at yourself for making homemade faux meat but slacking on the potatoes but at least you fulfilled your craving for meat and potatoes with gravy.

Meat eating readers? Don’t laugh too hard. It really is edible;)

muffin love and teh holy grail(s)

I appointed myself Queen of the Honeycakes for ritual food tomorrow. Found some honey orange muffins and another honey muffin recipe, so the baking will be a hybrid of this + this. For non Wiccy peeps, Cakes & Wine is like communion sort of and also grounds you after energy raising. Being very Kitchen Witch myself, I exalt it highly and demand fresh baked goodness. The wine is never wine, because we have a recovering alcoholic in the group. We will be using pomegranate juice tomorrow, and because we have a germophobe and a chick with a raging mouth herpes outbreak (yes, it’s me- it’s a painful but not too visible one which is preferable actually, to me) we are doing individual chalices instead of sharing. I’m bummed- it’s less powerful to me this way, but I’m hoping to make it fun and dress up little plastic champagne flutes maybe. Or something. Hell, maybe we could sip juice outta fake eggs?

“fuck football; it’s all about teh snackage” superbowl sunday broccoli cheese poofy things

An invention!


1 head fresh broccoli
3 cups self –rising flour
1 tsp salt
1 cup milk
1 large egg
2 oz (1/2 stick butter, softened)
1 ½- 2 cups shredded cheeses (I used cheddar & Monterey jack)


Heat oven to 400 degrees (Fahrenheit, obvy)

Steam broccoli, or prepare as indicated on package. Cool, chop to bits or process in blendy thing or choppy thing. Or don’t cool and hurt yourself a tiny bit, depending on what time the party starts and how later your toddler went down for her nap.

Dump flour and salt in large mixing bowl.

Separately, whisk egg and milk.

Add butter and cheese to flour bowl, mix with hands until crumbly and well-mixed. Add chopped broccoli and mix in.

Fold in egg stuff carefully. Be gentle and fluffiness shall be your reward.

Form balls, roughly golf-ball size. Wonder if you should flour your hands or suggest that to your blog readers. Shrug and deal with teh sticky.  Drop them an inch or two apart on well-greased cookie sheets. Curse yourself for forgetting garlic. Garlic woulda been rockin’ in  these babies. Damn. Breathe deeply, say “whatev” and move on*.

Bake 20 minutes or until golden brown.

Makes fortyish poofs.

*Do add some garlic or something. These are yummy but would be drool-worthy with some spice:)

really yum potato soup

My recipe book reads kind of like a journal. Or a lab report.  There’ll be an original recipe then there are my notes and slashings through (and also dried, caked on splatters.) This is sometimes because I need math reminders when I half a veg recipe Bu won’t eat. Usually there are substitutions for cheaper, less exotic spices:) And occasionally I just want to feel adventurous and can’t bear to follow a recipe perfectly.

I have perfected a Potato Soup Experiment. Let me show you. The original recipe is here, for reference. My version is this:

  • 5 small potatoes, peeled & diced
  • some margarine, butter, vegan stuff
  • 1 medium white onion, chopped
  • 2 cups veggie broth
  • garlic powder and minced garlic (b/c I dumped the powder in, then found the minced stuff. Use as you will. Lots is good.)
  • chives- a whole buncha
  • 2 cups of milk mixed with 2 tbs all-purpose flour
  • 1 cup instant mashed potatoes. (always a staple for teh Birdy, seemed easier than blending*.)

In a 2 quart saucepan, cook the onions in some butter until soft.
Add the potatoes and the broth. Simmer on medium until reduced by half-ish and potatoes are soft.
Stir in the milk/flour stuff. Add spices and simmer a bit.
Stir or whisk in the instant potatoes. Salt & pepper to taste. Yum.

*The original version tells you to puree half of the soup then add back in. This is how I make my black bean soup thick. I saw a groovy tip on TV: if you’re blending hot stuff, take the middle part of the lid off of your blender and put a rag over it. Then the heat won’t explode your stuff.

winter blues have me

I’m so eyeball deep in the January Funk. I feel like my limbs are lead and my brain is opiated. I want to eat bread and butter by the loaf, or maybe two or three pizzas, and enough chocolate to boost entire South American economies. I want to lie in bed with TV & movies and sleep until May.

Damn parenthood. I can’t. I am grateful for Her Pixiness and the cuteness and perkiness of her, but it’s like swimming against the current or walking up a really steep hill to resist my whole being wanting to coccoon.

Interestingly enough, it’s been unseasonably warm today and yesterday. This is depressing me more, sitting in an office and knowing that by the time I get home it’ll be dusk and cold again. I have a horrible laziness with house stuff after work, and when it’s dark out it’s so much worse. whinewhinewhinewhine.

Ah! New moon. This is PMS, the extra SAD-enhanced version. Lovely. OK. So, one minute at a time, gentle internal crazy-girl pep talks, attempts to force the Wiccanself to appreciate All Four Seasons even the one that is longandstupidanddarkandevilcold and try to reframe my day to day stuff as small comforting rituals. The house is a sacred hearth to be nested and nurtured, not a disgusting pit of filth and cluttered sanity-stealing chaos. Repeat until I believe.

Am running seriously low on self-talk positive energy be a human being at all mojo. Must. Resist. The Funk.

the burgh & the boobs

We are safely in our hotel near Pittsburgh, despite the torrential rain and a teeny wrong turn that cost us .75 and 30 minutes on a toll road. We’ve been to dinner with Laura who is adorable and interesting in person- much as she is on my instant messenger, and Dan, who is freaking gorgeous very interestingly geeky and quietly smart. Dinner was delicious- did you know they can make tofu-ish stuff from wheat gluten? Then they can saute it in really good sweet sauce and sprinkle sesame seeds on and it’s so good meat & potato guy liked it? I had no idea. Was telling Laura that I think gluten is a dirty word from work. (It’s a common avoidance diet for autism & PDD.) This dish is fabulous though. I fear my doggie bag will not survive until lunch.

So the breast pump I brought is a pain in the ass, thank you Evenflow. Great suction, but it backs up if I don’t keep it at exactly 90 degrees vertically. Also, dumping breastmilk down the drain is painful, as I’m sure if I’d only tried I could find a little preemie in the area who needs some expressed milk and would be more grateful than my baby. She flat out won’t touch breast milk in a bottle anymore. So, I dump. I had a small internal pep talk that if Molly would be one of the rare toddlers who decide to wean after a short separation from mom, I still nursed 18 months, which earns me Milk Goddesshood in my culture so yay. (And the sleep… there would be sleep…) The chances of that are so small they may not actually exist outside of second-hand anecdotes.

I have done amazingly well with the mama separation anxiety. It helps knowing Molly’s not having any. I still hate that I spend less time with her than I’d like to, but it’s incredible that I have the grandies’ safe happy home where she loves to visit. I miss her little sugar cookie self but I’m so, so excited about this king size bed in a nice clean room in a place not-home.

Also helpful is Molly’s great timing in deciding that today would be a good day to learn to talk back to the telephone. Hearing “Mama!” and some babble and “Bye Bye” was delicious. She’s at a kind of crossroads phase between baby baby and big toddler that is a roller coaster between clinging and exploring and it’s wonderful.

 And now I surrender the laptop- actually in my lap for once, on a nifty lap desk thingy- back to Bu the Master of Flash, making damn fine babies, and driving in the rain at night.  

sa-weet! spurlock attacks consumerism

Just discovered this: Morgan Spurlock’s “What Would Jesus Buy?”  Rock on. Because my lack of spending is a radical activist statement that in no way springs from my abject poverty.

I am such a fountain of holiday fucking cheer today. Can you stand it? The perky Daisy will rear her little lovebead-adorned self when I wake up in the morning and realize it’s Sweet Potato Casserole Day. We do not believe in marshmallows; we use crushed walnuts and then we burn it a little and it is crispy, crusty heaven.