• (Gingerly) Back In The Saddle

    Yesterday I lied. I said that I was “still down, sort of”. There ended up being no “sort of” in sight. Once I finished my post, I went back to bed and spent the rest of the day there, sleeping off and on, too headachy to even read. Then I fell asleep with The Baby Nickel and slept the whole night, too. I don’t think I’ve had that much sleep in ages.

    I got up at six this morning and have been on the go, albeit a bit slowly and gingerly, ever since. I washed the kitchen floor, put two trays of Romas in the oven to roast, made breakfast and lunch, got a French toast casserole in the fridge for tomorrow’s breakfast, made mustard eggs, read to Miss Becca Boo and Yo-Yo Boy (we’re reading Pinky Pye by Eleanor Estes), collected seeds from my heirloom lettuce, and so on.

    Obviously, we skipped church. I wasn’t feeling that good.

    I’m going to tell you about the smashed potatoes next, but before I do, I have a trivia question for you. When I boil my red beets, the edges turn yellow-ish.


    But, after letting them sit for an hour or so, the red color comes back into them.


    Why is that? Is it because the boiling water just sucks the color out of them and then as they cook they keep bleeding red from the middle outward? Is it the type of beet I have? Any scientific reason for this? Anyone?

    Okay, now on to the smashed potatoes.

    Smashing Potatoes
    I read about these potatoes on Sarah’s blog, and she says she read about them in some fancy cooking magazine, as well as on the Pioneer Woman’s website. I’m not going to give exact measurements since it’s really more of process then a recipe. I hope that doesn’t frustrate you too much.

    These potatoes go with anything—eggs at breakfast, hamburgers, corn-on-the-cob and tomato sandwiches, salads, spicy red beans, and they make an excellent snack when dipped in ketchup, or gobbled up plain (I had made the potatoes, the ones in the following photographs, for an after-work, pre-supper snack). You can bake them with fresh herbs, or serve them up with sour cream, salsa, bacon, and black olives. I’m sure you’ll get a chance to eat them a variety of different ways, because once you have tried them, you will make them again and again and again and…. Yep, that many times. No joke.


    12-24 smallish potatoes, about the size of golf balls (this time around I used French fingerlings)
    olive oil
    coarse salt
    black pepper

    Wash the potatoes (no need to peel them) and cook in boiling water till tender. At this point you can continue on with the recipe, or you can store them in the refrigerator until a later time that’s more convenient for you. (Or, if you’re like me, you’ll boil up a big kettle of them so you have them ready to go whenever you get hit with a craving.)


    Coat a heavy-bottomed ban with olive oil, and sprinkle it with some coarse salt and black pepper (this helps the potatoes to keep from sticking to the pan, as well as giving flavor to the bottom side). Set the potatoes on the pan, leaving ample space between each potato.


    Using a potato smashing device, roughly smash each potato.


    The goal here is to get the potatoes mashed fairly thin. If they crumble apart, just push them back together with your fingers.


    Generously drizzle olive oil on top of each potato (about one teaspoon per potato) and sprinkle them with more salt and pepper.


    Bake the potatoes on the bottom rack of your oven, preheated to 400 degrees, until the undersides are crispy and golden brown (10-15 minutes). Flip the potatoes over and continue baking until the other side is also nicely browned. Serve hot.

  • Still Down, Sort Of

    I think I’m in the in between stage: I’m not fully sick, but I’m not fully well. I’m tired and sleepy and have zero energy. I don’t want to do anything. I can’t stand loud noises or commotion. My head still hurts. But I’m bored. Maybe tomorrow….


    In the meantime, here’s the view from the couch where I slept for three hours, yesterday afternoon.


    And from my flat-on-my-back position, I had a good view of Yo-Yo Boy, who also succumbed, though briefly, to this illness (we knew he was out-of-order when he didn’t want any potato chips at lunch—he loves potato chips).

    Mr. Handsome took Blackie to the vet this morning for his booster shots. He took all the kids with him, bless his heart. I think they’re going to stop at Mickey D’s for breakfast. The thought makes me feel queasy, but I guess if they’re all happy, then I’m happy, too.

  • Down For The Day

    Yep, I’m feeling punk (that’s what my father-in-law says when he’s sick, but he says it with a New York accent which makes it sound really cool).

    It started coming on last night with a headache, sore throat, achy feeling in my chest, and a cough. I shivered and had nightmarish fever dreams (which revolved around trying to can peaches but they kept rotting instead) and tossed and turned till two in the morning when Mr. Handsome brought me two Tylenol and some water and an extra blanket and I finally fell into a real sleep.

    Mr. Handsome stayed home from work this morning and took the kids to their dental appointment (hopefully they’ll have time to run to the library for lots of books so they’ll be entertained for the rest of the day and to the grocery store for a bunch of processed foods so I don’t have to think about cooking), so I have the morning to myself. I was feeling okay enough to wash the dishes and get some laundry started and talk to my mom on the phone and do this post, but now I’m starting to get shivery so I think I might go back upstairs and crawl into bed.

    I hope this punk feeling doesn’t last too long (no longer than one day, please) because I hate being stuck in bed. I’m not a pleasant, well-mannered sick person. I like being up and about, doing work, bossing people, yapping on the phone, eating…

    There’s nothing like being sick to make me appreciate the minutia of my life.