I woke up in the middle of the night to pee, and then I started writing a blog post in my head (it was profound, as only middle-of-the-night, written-in-your-head blog posts can be), and then I couldn’t fall back asleep. Not good. Now I’m tired and have no energy to recreate my middle-of-the-night profundity.

Except I wrote that yesterday and now it’s today and I’m no longer tired because I couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead I’m tired because my older daughter spent the night puking (and while I didn’t take care of her—thanks honey man—I suffered vicariously, poor me), and then I spent the morning on the sidelines of the K’ekchi’ Mennonite church women’s retreat. They made cake donuts and I washed dishes and didn’t say much because I had no idea what was going on. So now I’m tired from that. And I smell like smoke from the kitchen fires even though I got a shower as soon as I came home.

Last week I fell head over heels in love with a new-to-me blog called Jamie The Very Worst Missionary. She says many of the things I want to say about missionaries and missions, and it’s utterly refreshing and spot-on. I took to referring to her by her first name, as in “Jamie says this,” and “Listen to what happened to Jamie!”

My husband rolled his eyes so much I was afraid they’d get stuck up inside his head.

Here are some of my favs:

Using your poor kid to teach my rich kid a lesson.
On turning 37: read between the lines.
Picaken (I read this post and have been craving a picaken ever since. Have you tried one?)
Sex: why wait?
Short-term missions: a win-win.

I don’t call myself a missionary because of all my hang-ups. Jamie has all the hang-ups but calls herself a missionary because she wants to redefine the word. Good girl, I say.

I made a cake. It’s called Magic Cake and I can’t decide if I like it or not. Even after three tries, I still can’t make up my mind. Either it’s weird or I am. Or maybe both?

In the oven, the cake separates into three layers: a gelatinous, rubbery bottom later (my least favorite, can you tell?), a creamy, dreamy middle layer (the best part), and a spongy, cakey top part (nice). I want more of the middle part, so I baked the cake in a water bath, a la a cheesecake or a egg pudding, but it turned out the same as the straight-bake method.

My kids, the neighbor kids, and everyone else who ate it loved it, or at least appeared to enjoy it, so I think it’s a good cake.

Have you seen this cake around the internets? Have you tried it? What’s your opinion? (And you’re allowed to have one even if you’ve never tasted this particular concoction.)
 

Magic Custard Cake
I read an assortment of recipes, but don’t remember which one I got my exact measurements from. Here are three to get you going: Jo Cooks, White On Rice, and Kitchen Nostalgia. And because I’m waffling a little, a review from a hater: Food, Family, and Finds.

It’d be especially delicious with a fresh berry sauce. And, oh! what about a tangy lemony version?

4 eggs, separated
1 1/4 cups confectioner’s sugar
2 cups milk, warmed
1 tablespoon water
1 stick butter, melted and cooled
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon vanilla

Beat the egg yolks with the sugar. Whisk in the water and melted butter. Mix in the flour and vanilla. Gently whisk in the milk—the batter will be soupy. Beat the egg whites into stiff peaks and fold them into the batter.

Pour the batter into a greased 8×8-inch pan. Bake at 325 degrees for about 45 minutes, or until the batter is set and the top is puffed and beginning to crack. Cool to room temperature, chill in the fridge for an hour or two, dust with lots of confectioner’s sugar, and slice and serve.

Ps. Did I really just start this post with puke and end with cake? Oops.

Last week the boys and I spent our afternoons studying Spanish in Cobán. The whole schedule was rather grueling.

Like they do every other weekday morning, the boys left home for school at 6:45. At 10:00, they’d hand their pass to the gun-wielding guard at the school’s gate, catch a bus back to town, and then walk the 20 minutes to our house. The next couple hours were spent resting, eating lunch, and doing chores.

At 1:15 we’d tromp back into town together, catch the bus for Cobán, and then walk over a bridge and down the road to the school where, for the next four hours, we had one-on-one Spanish instruction with our respective instructors.

After thinking so hard our brains shriveled up, we’d do the whole travel thing in reverse, though since it was dark we’d take a taxi for the last little stretch. We’d arrive home at 7 pm, or a little before if we were lucky, and after a quick S&S (supper and shower), the boys tumbled into bed and zonked out. Five-thirty the next morning, we’d wake up and do it all over again.

Like I said, grueling.

By day two the boys were threatening to revolt. But we made it through the meltdowns and the crammed buses and the zany wiggles (my younger son’s teacher held up admirably well) and the groggy mornings and sloggy afternoons and it’s all over now.

Except this week my husband gets to do the whole jig, but this time with the girls. Wish him luck!

Ps. Got a hankering for some Spanish study? Here’s what you do: buy yourself a plane ticket and zip on down here. Stay with us (hard bed, cheap housing, good food, loud housemates), and for 100 bucks a week at this school, you can get 20 hours of hardcore language study. It’s totally worth it. 

Tayuyos: stuffed tortillas

This is the Guatemalan version of the Big Mac. In fact, people call them MacTayuyos.

In the Chamelco market, there is a woman who makes fresh tayuyos. She’s there every day (except Sunday, maybe?) patting stuffing the masa with cheese, potatoes, pork, or refried beans and then patting them into tortillas. They cost one quetzal each, except for the pork ones which cost a little more. She puts the hot tayuyos into a plastic bag and then ladles chili sauce directly onto them. I like mine a little less soggy and spicy, so I always ask for my chili in a separate bag. A bit of sour cream with the potato tayuyos is absolutely divine.

Churrascos: grilled beef

One Sunday on our way home from church, we stopped at a food cart in Chamelco. The guy was selling grilled liver and onions. Because no one but me likes liver, I ordered one meal, just to try it. Back home, we opened the bag and promptly devoured every last morsel. The next Sunday I was all eager to buy six liver and onion lunches, but the guy wasn’t there. So we bought churrascos instead.

For ten quetzales, less than a dollar and a half, we get a styrofoam plate of grilled beef (marinated in a parsley-garlic-oil type sauce) with slaw, refried beans, lots of onions (the best part), and three tortillas layered across the top in lid-like fashion, hot sauce on the side.

While I wait for our order, I sit on one of the little stools by the cart. The women are in constant motion, cutting more onions, scooping mounds of raw meat out of a kettle and slapping it on the grill, basting, filling plates, fanning the coals, adding another bag of charcoal to the fire (literally: they burn the plastic, too), turning the meat, etc. The raw meat touches the cooked meat and they never wash their hands. The food is delicious.

The liver-and-onion guy has yet to reappear, but we’re pretty content with our Sunday churrascos. They’ve become such an integral part of our weekend that last Sunday when we didn’t go to church, I hiked into town for the sole purpose of fetching lunch.

Elote Loco: crazy corn (i.e. field corn on a stick)

‘Tis the season for fresh corn, and this delicacy is everywhere. My kids have been begging me to buy them some, so the morning of the race, I did.

It’s simply (field) corn-on-the-cob, smeared with mayonnaise, squirted with red ketchup and green hot sauce (which my kids said no thank you to), and then sprinkled with salty cheese. It’s surprisingly good, and very filling.