DOING THE POT-HEAD FACE-PLANT

 

I never understood the whole chia thing. You know what I'm talking about; those old "Cha-cha-cha-chia!" commercials. People would take some clay-fired shaped statue, wet it, roll it around in chia seeds, and then supposedly chia sprouts would act like hair on the statue.

They never worked right, though.

So, someone invented potting containers that looked like human heads. Yup, you put your plant into the pot and . . . voila . . . your "pot-head" becomes a "face-plant."

I've seen these containers with all kinds of plants in them. However, I've never come, well, face-to-face with one until I am shopping in Maine with my sister. We are searching for small pots to put herbs in for her kitchen windowsill. Regular old planters with irrigation holes in the bottom. Clay pots, perhaps.

Instead, we find faces. Lots of them. All sizes of them from teeny to massive. Just like real faces but glass.

There would be something creepy and disturbing about pots gazing back at us as we sit at the kitchen island and play cards. There would be something abnormal about ceramic eyes following us from one end of the kitchen to the other. Oh, sure, the faces could be spun around, but passing by the window to see glass eyeballs staring at us doesn't seem right, either, nor does it seem comforting to have the planters watch us sledding.

In the end, we cannot pull the trigger. If anyone likes the pots, you can find them in stores like Target or Michael's. Hurry, though. I'm sure everyone but my sister will be clamoring to buy pot-head face-plants this summer. 

EGG-CELLENT MORNING

 Apparently, I am becoming a food blog. 

Last week I focused on the homemade sweet potato fries that I concocted based on some random recipe that I found on the Internet. I rarely follow a recipe to its letter if I'm cooking (baking is a bit more precise, though) because, like my school chemistry experiments, nothing ever works quite right. More often than not, disaster looms.

This morning is no different.

I decide that I want an omelet. Easy enough, right? I know how to make omelets. I even have a microwave omelet pan for those times when I am too lazy to take out a fry pan. 

I'm not much of an egg eater, but there are times that I get on a roll. For a while last summer, I had to have a soft-boiled egg with bread cubes mixed in every morning. I am known to make scrambled eggs with enough spices to grow hair on your toenails. When I fry an egg, it's always over-hard because runny eggs are ONLY for soft-boiled eggs. Anything else is just disgusting. Okay, I'll also admit that I won't eat anyone else's egg salad except my own (Paprika? Anyone?).

Back to today's egg adventure. I don't have any bacon, so I'm leaning toward a simple cheese omelet. That is, until I open the fridge to get the eggs. Oh, look!  Ham! And here is some chopped red onion and half a tomato. Spinach! I can make a spinach omelet.

Before I know what's happening, I have the world's most over-stuffed two-egg omelet oozing all over my plate with cheese and veggies and some ham struggling to stay inside the actual omelet itself. It isn't pretty, and my omelet will not win any awards for its presentation, but it is utterly delicious despite its ugly demeanor.

I'm not ready to take on the world, and I doubt very much that any professional chefs are in danger of losing their television shows to my amazing culinary skills. I won't be winning any blue ribbons, that's for damn certain, but I won't end up in food jail, either. The best part of all of this experimenting means that if I accidentally burn down the complex with a misstep in my kitchen, at least I'll be well-fed while running from the fire.

SO SWEEEEEET!

I love sweet potato fries. And not just a little. I mean, I loooooooove them. I love them so much that I ordered haddock at a restaurant recently because the fish came covered in sweet potato crumbs.  After all, the restaurant did not have sweet potato fries, and I had to have a fix.

Before you start telling me that they sell sweet potato fries as take-out orders in many places or even as frozen food at many stores, understand three things:  #1 = I am too lazy to get take-out most of the time; #2 = I despise grocery shopping almost as much as I despise having surgery without anesthesia; #3 = I am a mediocre (at best) cook. Okay, actually, I can and do cook -- I'm just lazy about that, too.

So imagine my great delight when I decide that the sweet potato I have in the wooden bowl might be better served as fries rather than microwaved with butter and salt. Yes, I decide to . . . (gasp) . . . COOK.

First things first, I find a recipe. Then, I completely ignore the recipe. That's right. I ignore the damn thing. Folks, THIS is why people always wanted to be my partner when I took chemistry in both high school and college: I sort of follow directions, and then I blow things up or set them on fire.

I cut the potatoes sort of the way they are supposed to be cut. Then, I toss them in olive oil. (That is the one part of the recipe that I actually follow.) Then, the recipe calls for a few seasonings, like salt and pepper and maybe a pinch of sugar to caramelize the edges a bit. Instead, I grab a lot of random spices: Onion powder, garlic powder, paprika, and seasonings mixes of sweet basil, dried onions, and more. Then, I coat everything loosely with a touch of parmesan and some sugar.

Okay, I won't lie: It sounds like a sickly combination, but, to be honest, the dang things turn out great! They are addicting, and they're better than the restaurant fries. Yes, I am pleasantly surprised. 

However, much as I'd like to tout my success, I am disappointed that I neither blow anything up nor set anything on fire. As far as recipes go, I suppose this can be considered a good thing. 

As far as I am concerned, I am a little disappointed that I didn't need the fire extinguisher. I think my neighbors are, too, and I think the local firemen feel a little left out.  Either way, the sweet potato fries are a success, and I might even attempt to make them again soon. If you see flames shooting from my general neighborhood or hear sirens, you'll know it has been a success!

MISSING COVID ALREADY . . . NOT REALLY

 The pandemic is over. Over and done. Want to know how I know?

The government is giving the stuff away. That's right. GIVING it away. FREEBIES.  Stuck with millions of counterfeit masks? Give them away. About to lose millions of dollars on test kits no one will need? Give them away. Can't get rid of test kits through the free mail giveaway? Encourage people to partake in FREE pool testing. 

Good gawd. It's like we're stupid.

You know the real kicker? Insurance companies will now cover the cost of Covid tests. That's right. Now it's FREE. Why? Because no one has to do it anymore. Insurance companies will pay for it now that no one will be doing it.

Oh, you naysayers. You think I'm wrong. I called it two weeks ago, though. This week, contact tracing at my school district has stopped for both staff and students. That's right. Two weeks ago, the virus was deadly and we had to stay home. But now, magically two weeks later, everything is FINE. We're all FINE. You don't even have to stay home if you're sick nor if you test positive.

Anyway, I just want to know what I am supposed to do with all these masks now. Do I burn them? Wear them as hats? Make little paper bras out of them? Turn them into disposable g-strings? Create origami creatures with ear straps? Use them as toilet paper (which still somehow makes random disappearances from store shelves for no good reason)? Wear them as some kind of retro decoration? Make party hats out of them?

You want to know the part that truly aggravates me? Now I have to actually look between my teeth after eating lunch. No more surprise leftovers stuck in my jaw. Now I'll have to make sure my lipstick is fresh, my teeth are sparkling, my breath is minty, and I won't be able to mumble to myself without people knowing it's really me talking.

Damnit. I miss Covid already.