I'm so happy to have you here with me sharing the delicious journey I have chosen! I am Carrie, a mom on a mission to find bliss in the kitchen. At least, as long as my kids allow me to. More of a baker than a cook, you'll find I love experimenting--baking is sort of like a mad scientist experiment, anyway, isn't it? It doesn't always turn out the way I plan, but that's part of the fun. ;)
Dislosure: As a member of the Stonyfield Clean Plate Club, I received coupons for free product for this post. All opinions remain my own. Thank you for supporting the brands that help make this blog possible.
It’s not easy being a mom.
You constantly feel pulled in a dozen directions at once. And it’s always a balancing act, trying to figure out how to fit in work, family time, and time for yourself. Sometimes you feel like you just can’t take another step…but step you must. You’re being counted on.
I’m not saying being a mom is like running a marathon. Yes, there is the constant trot forward in an attempt to cover ground, make progress, be better than you were yesterday. And both take practice and building endurance. But there’s no finish line in sight. This race goes on forever.
Stonyfield is the official yogurt sponsor of the Boston Marathon this year.
Not only will Stonyfield be handing out cups of yogurt to racers, their families, and race volunteers at the 118th Boston Marathon on Monday, May 21, 2014, but they also sponsored 10 runners who just missed the cut-off to the race. It’s so wonderful that they’re getting another chance at the big day! They also will be giving away a bunch of healthy living themed-prizes on the day of the marathon, including a year-long gym membership – all you need to do is tweet or instagram #StonyfieldSuperFan. That’s a conversation you’ll want to join in!
“Like the members of Team Stonyfield, we felt compelled to participate in this year’s race to show our deep love and support for the city of Boston and New England community,” said Gary Hirsherg, Stonyfield’s co-founder. “We’re so proud of our inspiring team and are excited to be working with the Boston Athletic Association to make this year’s race a celebration of Boston’s tremendous spirit and resiliency.” What a celebration it will be!
Stonyfield Greek helps me keep on keeping on.
Too busy in the morning for breakfast? I grab a cup of Stonyfield Organic Greek Yogurt for when I get to work. I’m really digging the Super Fruits right now. Stomach isn’t feeling too great? Up the Stonyfield Greek intake in hopes of finding balance again. There is no stopping for recovery! Baking or cooking, snacking or breakfasting, Stonyfield Greek is there for me. It’s my own little cheering squad contained in a cup. I can do it! I have a lot of miles ahead of me still…
Want to hear more about Team Stonyfield?
Join me in cheering them on! They’re all winners already!
I know there’s been a bit of an echo here during the last week and I apologize. It just happened to be one of those weeks when the joy in life was sucked right out of me and I was barely treading water to keep my head from submerging. I had no energy left for anything else.
I should have been happy. The seven months of dealing with my now-properly-deemed lemon of a new car are coming to a close. We received the repurchase agreement, signed and submitted it, and are simply waiting for the third party company to find time in their schedule for me to surrender possession of the car to them. But the thought of having to start all over with purchasing another new car is exhausting. I didn’t plan on doing this for at least 6 years. And every time I read reviews online, I’m disheartened by all the complaints across the board. There is no guarantee the next car won’t have problems, too, and that may just break me.
Friday night was the culmination of the suckage. I had loose plans to go out with a friend that ended up being canceled before I left work. I had built up the evening so much in my mind that the cancellation was a huge blow. It wasn’t the case, but it felt like utter rejection, and I couldn’t stand being rejected yet again. I went for a long drive (in my lemon) in the rain, eventually happening upon People’s State Forest. I parked the car and watched the rain fall as I chewed on a hunk of Asiago bread from Panera. What can I say? I find comfort in carbs. Then I dragged myself out into the drizzle. I wasn’t attired for this at all, in my holey-crocheted cropped sweater, no rain coat, and flats that make my unstable ankle wobblier than usual. Still, I strutted across the field. I was drawn to the river. I had to see it.
By the river, not much was different. The water level was high and it rushed by with great force. The pines surrounded me, not quite blocking the rain that was falling more heavily now. The weather suited my mood quite nicely. I took a selfie and posted it to Instagram, if for no other reason than to show where I was. I have this morbid obsession with establishing where I am when I’m out alone so my path can be recreated should something happen. I watch too many crime shows.
My mood was not improved, but the quiet felt comforting. I could disappear in the immenseness here, evaporate from existence. In the forest, the little things don’t matter.
In spite of being ill-prepared for a hike, I made my shaky way down the path to the river’s edge and found a beach. The mist in the distance was swirling in as the sky darkened. It was as if I was controlling the scene subconsciously. And it was absolutely beautiful.
The rain started coming down harder and I was growing colder. I returned to the car just as humans proved to still exist. My peace was shattered.
Friday night, I returned home and slept for 12 hours.
Saturday I watched my nephew. I took the kids to an Easter egg hunt that was over before it even started. A false start couldn’t be stopped and the kids took over the field as the Parks crew looked on in defeat. My nephew didn’t mind–he didn’t seem to know what was going on anyway. My kids made the best of it. Nobody was really disappointed, but it seemed like a perfect metaphor for my life–left behind as everyone surges forward.
Saturday afternoon I felt exhausted again. I should have been outside enjoying the sunshine and warm temps. Instead, I curled up on the couch, hiding under a blanket, shutting out the world. I napped for at least 2 hours.
Sleep doesn’t make the world go away, though.
My husband insisted I go out Saturday night. I would be alone–as I often am when I go out–which is a mixed blessing. I can do what I want, when I want–I am in control of my destiny. But it gets lonely, and I grow tired of fiddling with my phone before events start so that I look like I belong. Or like I’m waiting for someone to show, instead of being that loser girl all by herself again. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to take on another event alone, even though I had been looking forward to it.
In the end, he won. I showered, dressed, and headed out.
The night began much the way I described. I awkwardly selected a chair in the corner, alone and yet accidentally in a patch of light where I couldn’t hide. I felt exposed. And I was terrified. I knew an old friend would be at this event, but we hadn’t spoken in almost four years. The last time we did speak, I was on a path of self-destruction and tried to drag him along with me. There wasn’t enough vodka in my smoothie to muster the courage I was pretending to have.
And then, what I feared most happened: he talked to me. And it wasn’t to kick me out. Somehow, the tension of these past few years was broken, in an instant, and it was over. It no longer was there to hang over my head, and I was free to enjoy myself. Or, at least try.
Free. As free as one can be when she lives in the same town where she grew up. At least I was mostly anonymous in that crowd.
Slowly, the music I had been looking forward to hearing lured me out of my shell. I bopped a little in time to it, despite my complete lack of rhythm. By the time the second band came on, I was much looser and even accepted the outstretched arm of one of the more passionate patrons, overcoming the fear of tripping over my gimp left foot as I pranced across the floor with him. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know this guy. In fact, that probably helped. I was having fun.
At the end of the night, I was sweaty and tired, but in a good way. I didn’t feel quite so drained anymore. My cup was starting to fill up again. I’m still working on getting it to half full. At least I’m heading in the right direction now.
Disclosure: Jones Dairy Farm sponsored this event. No other compensation was received for this post. All opinions and photos remain my own.
Saturday morning we re-convened with our hosts at The Culinary Institute of America for our day of learning and good eats. Breakfast was served from the Jones Dairy Farm kitchen in Farquharson Hall, a space straight out of Hogwarts. No house elves here though–just students and their instructors hard at work at what they love.
Rick Lowry, Executive Vice President, welcomed us and gave us a little history on Jones Dairy Farm, maker of my favorite breakfast sausage. Did you know that Jones Dairy Farm has been around for 125 years? On top of that, it has been 100% family-owned for its entire history! That’s amazing! Milo Jones, a government land surveyor from Vermont, founded the farm when he moved to Fort Atkinson, Wisconsin in 1838. He and his wife, Sally, worked a 500-acre dairy farm that was self-supporting, including having its own brickyard, tannery, and blacksmith shop. Their son, Milo Cornelius Jones, was expected to take over the farm in the 1880s, but he was plagued with debilitating rheumatoid arthritis. This setback was the catalyst for what Jones Dairy Farm is known for today: sausage. Milo C. Jones began selling sausage made from his mother’s recipe and the rest is history. By 1910, Jones Dairy Farm sausages were being shipped nearly nationwide. Today, the recipe remains almost unchanged from its original form: pork, salt, and spices. They leave out the MSG, chemical additives, gluten, and other common allergens found in other brands of breakfast sausage. This must be why it all tastes so good!
So what does Jones Dairy Farm have to do with The Culinary Institute of America anyway? Surprisingly a lot.
Philip H. Jones, a Paris-trained chef and President of Jones Dairy Farm since 2001, gave The Culinary Institute of America a substantial amount of money to establish the Jones Dairy Farm Endowed Scholarship fund. This fund makes it possible for three students per year to receive aid toward their pursuit of a Bachelor of Professional Studies degree in culinary arts management. What a huge difference that makes! Recipients must be the cream of the crop–they have to excel academically, demonstrate community service on campus, create a recipe utilizing Jones Dairy Farm products, and explain how Jones Dairy Farm’s history may affect their future in the culinary world. That’s a tall order to fill, but it ensures they are helping the best of the best fulfill their culinary dreams.
After breakfast, we moved into the teaching kitchen. There, we received a bit of a pork anatomy lesson. Thank goodness we weren’t expected to perform surgery after! Rick told us about how sausage is made, let us examine different kinds of casings that are used, and showed us where the piggy parts we love come from. He shared their dry aged bacon–a rarity, as it takes a lot longer to produce, but it also is a heck of a lot more flavorful for that time investment. Mmm… bacon. He also showed us one of the more disgusting things I’ve seen in my life–mechanically-separated turkey meat. Or white slime, as some call it. This mushy slurry is an assortment of all the leftovers when the bones have been picked nearly clean–and other unscrupulous companies will not hesitate to use it in their products to cut costs. Bottom line: you get what you pay for. Jones Dairy Farm is not the least expensive in the grocery store for a reason: their goal is to produce the best quality product they can. Cutting costs results in cut quality, too, and none of us wants that to happen.
We followed up the pork lesson with a knife skills class with Chef Justin Ward. I have been wanting to take a knife skills class forever. I manage just fine, but there is no art to what I do with a knife; it is as utilitarian as possible. Chef stressed over and over again that stability is key. You need to trim down what you’re cutting until it will sit securely on your cutting board; you don’t want a carrot to roll while you’re cutting. That’s how accidents happen. A small part of me resisted at first–my frugal mother taught me not to waste anything and all that paring away to a rectangular shape made me a little nervous. But Chef assured us that what we cut off could be saved for making stock–no waste here.
Each of us had a station set out for us equipped with a massive cutting board, a chef’s knife, an apron, a towel, a toque, and a plate with a single carrot and a lonely, already-peeled onion. Our challenge: to cut our carrots into 4 cuts: batonnet, medium dice, julienne, and small dice. For the onions, half needed to be julienne and the rest was to be diced. I managed just fine, but I panicked a little when I was being watched by one of the culinary students. She offered encouragement and was very positive–I’m just not used to having someone watch me work a knife. Regardless, I’m pretty happy with the results:
Next came the ham. Ham! Makes me think of that claymation pirate movie that my kids love–oh, how those pirates love their ham night. Me, too! Rick demonstrated for us how to find the line where the bone goes through the ham so you can find the meatiest part to carve from. Don’t forget to cut a piece off to stabilize it when cutting, just like with your veggies. It looked so darn easy! We then sampled two of Jones Dairy Farm’s hams, which were both delicious. Then again, when isn’t ham delicious? If you’d like a primer on how to carve ham, too, try this video from their website:
The real challenge came after this: the cooking challenge. We were divided into 4 groups and each was given a tray of ingredients–a secret until the unveiling. I was seriously nervous about this task. Being more of a baker than a cook, I had some anxiety about what would happen with the big reveal. Luckily, I was given some awesome teammates: Cristina of Cooking with Jeff and Cristina, Dan of The Food in My Beard, and Cate of Sweetnicks. Their fresh perspective on seasonings saved the day when we were given whole heads of broccoli and cauliflower, kale, lettuce, bulgar, oranges, and Greek yogurt. We also needed to select at least 2 Jones Dairy Farm products to feature in a main and side dishes. Cate, fortuitously, had just made a spicy whole roasted cauliflower the night before that could be easily replicated with the cauliflower, Greek yogurt, and juice from the oranges. We sprinkled bits of bacon over the finished product. Cristina and Dan were talking lettuce wraps and making a sort of salad filling with the bulgar, some loose sausage, roasted broccoli, and the kale. The direction they were taking was a new one for me, but an exciting one, too.
Instructor chefs and culinary students were available and assisting the entire time we were in the kitchen. And I must say, cooking in a professional kitchen is quite different than at home. Spider burners! How I love you! And what an endless assortment of ways to add flavor–nothing like my often inadequate pantry at home! Each of us got to work on our components. I felt a bit like a fish out of water–you know my history with cooking–but I can make bacon like nobody’s business. I slice the bacon before cooking if I want bits–this keeps you from getting bacon shards in your eyes–and sauté in a pan. In less than 20 minutes you have perfectly-cooked bits that are better than potato chips for munching. At least, the chefs in the kitchen seemed to agree on that. We had to hide our bacon from roving hands seeking a snack.
Lunch was to be what the teams prepared, plus we each had to plate 4 portions for the judges. It was a little surreal–were we part of a television show?–but fun, all the same. I’m so proud of my teammates! I would have been lost without them!
In the end, team 4 won with their Boston lettuce and pear salad with bacon and onion vinaigrette and scrapple croutons and swiss chard ricotta pesto stuffed mushrooms topped with slab bacon. Great job, Sarah, Lisa, Ashley, and Otis!
The day was capped off with a tour of the facilities. The grounds were blanketed in snow, so we remained in the main building, but there was plenty to see there. Typically there are 2500 students enrolled at any given time, with the average student age being 19. The 5 restaurants on site (one is being renovated currently) serve food prepared by the students–which had already impressed me the night before at The Bocuse Restaurant. I was very interested in the baking classrooms on the top floor but, since it was a Saturday, there was no action to spy on. The work stations, the mixers, the marble–oh, my! That would have been my calling, had I decided to go to culinary school. And the thought did cross my mind several times.
The drive home was full of fond memories. Being located only 1.5 hours away will make it easy for me to return–I must check out the other restaurants on campus and see the view of the Hudson River! In the meantime, I have Jones Dairy Farm to thank for all the food, fun, and learning of the weekend.
Disclosure: Jones Dairy Farm sponsored this event. No other compensation was received for this post. All opinions and photos remain my own.
I don’t like bridges. I never have; I never will. I don’t think people should be suspended precariously high above water, just waiting to drop to their deaths. And I hate driving on them.
This past summer, I joined Nutmeg Nanny on a road trip to the Big Summer Potluck. She drove us over the Hudson River. It was the first time we had met in person and so I had to try my best not to hyperventilate, lest she think me a freak. Nearby, another bridge perched even higher, a walk- and bike-way where people could get more intimate with the dizzying height. I looked straight ahead, pretending we were on any other road. I did not want to encounter this bridge again.
Unfortunately, because I make a better co-pilot than pilot, I not only encountered it again Friday, I had to drive over it, too–twice.
You see, I was invited by Jones Dairy Farm to participate in a blogger event at the Culinary Institute of America this weekend. For many years now, I have wanted to visit this well-known campus and see for myself the wonders that lie inside. It was a dream come true to be chosen for this quest! Not only would I be participating in a day of fun at the campus, but they offered to put us up for the night at the famed historic Beekman Arms Inn in Rhinebeck, New York. What an opportunity! I couldn’t wait!
I get nervous about travel. I don’t do it often, and almost never alone. I plan my route far in advance and try to take into account any- and everything that may come up. I also prefer traveling in daylight hours, so I took half of a personal day off at my day job so I could ensure I was safely ensconced in my room before darkness fell.
It was a gorgeous day for a country drive. The snow from the storm 2 days prior had been mostly cleared and the sky was a perfect shade of cerulean blue. Barely a cloud dared smudge this canvas. Perfection. I tried my best to take in all the countryside had to offer, but for some reason, the speed limits in New York are really high. I can’t imagine any corners we’d be allowed to take at 50 mph in Connecticut, yet here, they’re encouraged. With two cars following closely behind, and no shoulder to pull off on, I had to keep my eyes mostly on the road. Mostly.
When I arrived in downtown Rhinebeck, I had 20 minutes to spare until check-in. I figured I’d take a little drive down Route 9, knowing at some point I would come across the Culinary Institute of America itself, and at the end of Route 9 was Poughkeepsie. It was too nice to sit in a parking lot and wait, so I pointed my car south and carried on.
This area of New York is full of history. Alright, just about anywhere is full of history, but you are bombarded with signs for historic sites: Vanderbilt mansion, Roosevelt homestead, Mills mansion, etc., etc., etc. In the warmer months, I may return to check these out. For the time being, I ventured on.
Eventually I did find the CIA and tried to quickly assess where I’d be going the next day. But then I got a little confused. Marist College? Oh, hey. I didn’t realize that was here. And the next thing I knew, I was merging onto the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Mid-Hudson Bridge. The bridge from last summer. And I was in the driver’s seat this time.
My eyes remained glued to the car in front of me. Mostly. Oh, look, ice chunks in the river! It must be really cold way down there… Eeek! My heart was pounding. I crossed the bridge in very little time, but it felt like an eternity. And once I finally exited the highway, I realized I would have to cross it again–and pay for the privilege! Darn tolls. We don’t have those in Connecticut…
So I paid my $1.50 and tried again. This time, in front of a cop. As if I wasn’t nervous enough! I found my way back to the East side and onto Route 9 again without incident. Phew! I survived the bridge and lived to tell the tale! Let’s not do that again…
Back at the Beekman Arms Inn, after struggling to find a parking spot in the maze of spaces behind the building, I checked in. They claim to be the oldest continuously-run inn in America. And it’s rumored to be haunted. Have you watched The Innkeepers? I have. Many times. Because it’s based on our own purportedly-haunted inn in Torrington, the Yankee Pedlar Inn. It made for a very rough night sleeping. I’m not ashamed to admit I left the light on all night.
The inn is charming. Just what you’d expect an old establishment to offer. My room was on the 3rd floor at the end of the hall, set off in a corner by itself. It was adorably cute and cozy, and far more than I expected. A fantastic way to start the weekend.
After having a breather in my room, I met up with some of the other bloggers who would be attending the event at the CIA–as well as representatives from Jones Dairy Farm and their marketing company–for a meet-and-greet cocktail-and-appetizers hour in the lobby. It was casual, allowing us all to get to know each other a little better while sampling treats made with products from Jones Dairy Farm. My favorite: the risotto balls with bacon. What isn’t improved by bacon?
From there, we caravanned to the CIA campus for dinner at The Bocuse Restaurant. What a treat! Bocuse is the French restaurant at the CIA–a white table cloth venue where dressing up is a must. As you walk in, you are greeted by an illuminated wall of wine. Swanky!
We started with a champagne toast and then Black Truffle Soup. There were the cutest little mushrooms ever enveloped in that pastry crust! For my entree, I chose Braised Beef Short Rib with celeriac-potato puree, hibiscus-infused parsnips, wild mushrooms, and beef jus. WOW! I am not much of a cook, but I want to know how to prepare this–it was phenomenal. The beef was so tender it could be cut with a fork and the mushrooms were so flavorful. I had to keep myself from licking the plate!
Dessert was, in a word, amazing. I’m not entirely sure what we ate, but they prepared blood orange ice cream tableside with a KitchenAid mixer equipped with a hand-crank and a little bit of liquid nitrogen magic. Each scoop was served with a pizzelle wedge. Following that came an assortment of chocolate delights including a sugar capsule that was ceremoniously cracked open to reveal a liquid interior that seeped out. I envy anyone who can master sugar arts–after my candy cane endeavor, I’m not sure I’m ready to try that again any time soon. And if the chocolate on the rest of the plate wasn’t enough, out came another plate with fruit gelees, nougat, espresso truffles topped with gold flakes, and olive oil cake bites. The perfect finishing touch to an already amazing meal.
Back in Rhinebeck, the group divided. A few of us went for a drink at The Liberty Public House before calling it a night. Others couldn’t resist the pull of their pillows, eager to get the night’s sleep over that lay between them and the big day at the CIA. There was much to look forward to… (which I will discuss in the next post…)
I'm so happy to have you here with me sharing the delicious journey I have chosen! I am Carrie, a mom on a mission to find bliss in the kitchen. At least, as long as my kids allow me to. More of a baker than a cook, you'll find I love experimenting--baking is sort of like a mad scientist experiment, anyway, isn't it? It doesn't always turn out the way I plan, but that's part of the fun. ;)
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