Fini!

Well, Gentle Reader, it's all over but the limpin'. And I did it. I f'in did it, which evidently makes me a real Austinoid since the guy who runs RunTex claims that all Austinoids have run at least one 10K. (Yeah, right.)

If you're curious, Gentle Reader, yes, I met my goal for this race: I ran/jogged the whole damn thing. I didn't stop to walk once. I didn't stop for water once (I carried a bottle of Aquafina with me the whole route and didn't once remove the cap for a chug, even to clear my throat). I didn't run through the sprinklers/showers set up along the route to cool ya off. I just ran and kept running until I was across that finish line.

How long did it take me? Just under 101 minutes. Yeah, I know, not my greatest pace ever, but do I care? Somewhat. It would have been really nice to do this puppy in an hour or so. Was that realistic to hope for? Maybe. Maybe not. But I paced myself--which was the true challenge of this race--and I never stopped running. Hooray for me.

Things I Learned From My First 10K

• Running up real hills sucks. That 3.0 incline on the treadmill is nothing compared to some of the hills I climbed around downtown and the UT campus. That said, I've amped up the incline on the treadmill enough times to prepare me for some of those steep babies. All I had to do was remind myself to relax my shoulders and slightly lean forward, and I kept going without getting winded.
  
• Running downhill really sucks. I lost time on those declines because there was no way in hell I was going to let myself get taken over my momentum and blow out my knees. Crazy, non?
  
• Running a 10K is actually easier than a 5K. Believe it or not, Gentle Reader, but I found it easier to "settle in" to the run this time because I knew I had miles to go before I crossed that finish line. With the 5K, I'd barely made it to a place where I could run at a comfortable pace without running into people and discovered I was more than half-way through.
  
• Austin is really not a remarkable town. Really, it isn't. What's the big deal about downtown? About the campus? The buildings aren't terribly unique or picturesque. I guess if you aren't a Texas Ex, the route doesn't hold a whole lotta charm.

By the by, for you star-struck Gentle Readers, our "celeb" runners were Lance Armstrong and, I think, Matthew McConaughey. Naked Bonger Player was for sure there, dragged along by pal Lance, but whether or not he ran I'm not sure. But no gub'ner: Perry backed out to deal with the impending doom that is Gustav. (Nothing like declaring a disaster days before the storm approaches.) No mayor either: Willy Boy was otherwise engaged.

I got the hell outta downtown as quickly as I could retrieve my bag, turn in my timing chip and hike back to Republic Square Park, where the husband and I had agreed he'd pick me up. (The boys went to Central Markup and Half-Price Books while I ran. The husband scored some recent comics that were on our look-for list. Rock!) I noticed a bit of a twinge in my left knee when I first headed out for the rendezvous, but a little stretching removed it before I got into the car, where the boys presented me with a lovely bouquet of miniature red roses. How very sweet of them, non?

Here I am at just after 9 PM, writing up this blog and enjoying some fabulous green chile sour cream enchiladas (yup, I got 'em made long before we headed out for the race). Is that a great post-10K refuel meal? Dunno. But it's damn yummy!

I'm too lazy to insert the photos in key places, so enjoy 'em in a slideshow.

UPDATE
While I didn't spot myself in any of them, check out the photos from the Statesman. News8 also has a brief article and video up on its site. You can also see some nice stuff on Nike's page for the Austin run. Enjoy!

By the way, hot damn wahoo, Gentle Reader: I did complete the course in just under an hour. I checked my official results on the Nike site, and I clocked in at 59 minutes and 50 seconds. I reiterate: hot damn wahoo!


That time put in as the 90,379th-place finisher in the world! Woohoo! I'm in the top 100,000 runners!

And here's my result among the Austin runners. Hey, I'm in the same field as Lance!

Granted, not all the Austin runners had their timing chips on, but, hey, their loss.

Got Nervous Energy?

So rather than barking at the boys all day, I decided I'd expend my nervous energy in more productive ways.

First off, I took over the job of making (burning) pancake puffs for the boy this morning. Yes, the husband had the brilliant idea of "entertaining" the boy by making him pancake puffs for breakfast. (I stepped in because pancake batter was spilling all over Lumpy, and a 32-year-old man and a 5-year-old boy should never attempt to make pancake puffs together. Never ever.) As I informed him after the smoke cleared, "While I honor your intention, did you really think that I wouldn't freak out over the two of you doing something unsupervised in my kitchen?"

And because the husband didn't really pay attention to how much batter he was making from the Pioneer fat-free mix, after I tired of burning three or four 7-puff batches, I whipped out an old square griddle and decided to use up the 2 cups or so of batter to make good 'ol pancakes. Wound up making a dozen or so of them, much to my delight. (Yes, Gentle Reader, I'm being sarcastic--jokecastic, as the boy once called it.) Finally, about 90 or so minutes after rising, I finally got to turn my attention to preparing and eating my own breakfast. Joy!

A Cherry of a Sunday Morning
Since the misadventure with the pancake puffs only served to fuel my nervous (slightly furious) energy, I decided I'd whip up a batch of some kind of cherry-oatmeal-chocolate chip bars by modify a previously tested recipe--all while managing the morning laundry, for by this point the boys had wisely skedaddled off to the elementary school playground to play Jedis.

Naturally, right after I put the first two ingredients in the bowls, the phone rings. It's the yoga studio, searching for a sub for the hatha class that precedes my hatha flow nooner. Was I available? Hey, sure! Why not? It would beat beating the boys to a grisly death with a rubber scrapper.

Did I stop making the bars? Hell no. I figured I had just enough time to make the bars, clean up the dishes, take care of the remaining loads of laundry, sweep up the yoga room floor and get my body ready to teach not one but two classes of yoga. Need I mention, Gentle Reader, that all my nervous energy had me doubting my ability to teach my own class? That I was feeling uninspired for what to teach my own class? No, I thought not.

Long story short, I got the bars out of the oven and photographed with enough time to spare to wash the dishes I'd used to make the bars (didn't get the chance to empty the dishwasher as I thought I might have time to do), wrangle the remaining loads of laundry (including hanging half a dozen of the husband's dress shirts as well as folding the majority of the large load of colors that had just finished in the dry five minutes before I needed to hit the road), sweep up the yoga room floor, do some yoga, chug a Myoplex and fill my water bottle for classes. Yes, Gentle Reader, I do indeed have that much nervous energy.

Believe it or not, I was probably my least frantic (I won't dare use the word calm) while making the bars. I find cooking very soothing because it's me exerting control over something that has brought me great strife and turmoil for the majority of my life. Plus the damn things weren't that hard to make. Where the original recipe, for raspberry-chocolate chip bars, called for 10 ounces of raspberry jam, I used instead the light cherry pie filling I had left after yesterday's coconut-cherry bars misadventure (approximately 16 ounces since half a cup is 4 ounces and the can held 20 ounces).

Initially I just put the leftover pie filling on top of the oatmeal crust and had planned to mix the chocolate chips (about three-fourths of a cup of carob chips I'd attempted to morsel-ize by running 'em in the Handy Chopper, with disastrous results that I couldn't bear to just throw out) into the streusel-ish topping as the original recipe instructed. But the cup or so of crust I'd set aside for the streusel-ish topping didn't look like it could hold up to all the carob chip morsels/dust I had, so I improvised!

No, I improved. I put roughly half of the carob chip morsels/dust into the streusel-ish topping and then dumped the rest into the pie filling, already in place atop the crust. Then I used a rubber scraper to careful blend the morsels and dust into the goo of the filling. The husband likes chocolate. He loves cherry cordials This way he gets more chocolate and perhaps something like is somewhat like a cherry cordial. He'd also get the winning combination of chocolate and oatmeal since the streusel-ish topping also had morsels/dust in it.

I must say, I was rather proud of how the pan of bars looked before it went into the oven. It looked pretty darn edible--which is something I haven't accomplished in the past few days in my kitchen. See for yourself, Gentle Reader:

Looks tasty, non?

And did they come out of the oven looking edible? You betcha!

I didn't cut into them right away because (A) I didn't make time to do so on my pre-yoga to-do list and (B) I didn't want to tempt fate by cutting into them while still hot as I had with yesterday's coconut-cherry bars. I left them cooling on the dining room table...

...and returned home after nearly 3 hours of teaching (and a quick trip to Target to pick up a wrist band so I can wipe my sweat away while I'm running this evening) to find them sitting on the kitchen counter, uncut. Still full of nervous energy (although the yoga did help some), I cut into those suckers so I could photograph one and blog about it (to, y'know, expend more energy).

Perhaps I should have left instructions for the husband to put foil over the pan and put it into the 'fridge to cool. Perhaps if I'd done that, the cherry filling wouldn't have oozed everywhere as I attempted to cut into the bars. Mind you, Gentle Reader, the goop largely stayed in place, and naturally it is going to ooze since it is, well, ooze. But I think a bit of 'fridge time would have helped it set better.

Still looks tasty, non?

Cherry-Chocolate Bars1 C flour
1 C quick oats
1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t NaCl
3/4 C brown sugar
5 T butter, softened
1/2 C chocolate chips, divided
10-16 oz. cherry pie filling

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
   
2. Combine the flour, oats, baking soda and NaCl in a medium bowl and set aside.
   
3. In a large bowl, combine the sugar and butter, then beat it at medium speed with a mixer until smooth.
   
4. Slowly add the dry mix to the creamed sugar and butter, using a spoon or rubber scraper to mix. The resulting dough will be crumbly.
   
5. Reserve 1 to 1 1/4 cups of the dough for the topping. Press the rest into an 8" by 8" pan sprayed with nonstick cooking spray.
   
6. Add half of the chocolate chips to the reserved dough.
   
7. Combine the remaining one-fourth cup of chocolate chips with the cherry pie filling, then pour and spread the filling atop the crust.
   
8. Sprinkle the reserved dough/chocolate chip mix atop the pie filling.
   
9. Bake the bars for 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. Then remove from the oven and let 'em cool on a wire rack.

Yield: 16 bars

I can't provide nutritional info for this recipe, but if you want the original version with the raspberry jam, I'll happily send it and its nutritional info along.

I wish I could give credit to the source of the original recipe, but I failed to write it down. I don't like that. I don't want to be like Cindy McCain.

Well, now I'm off to whip up some green chile chicken enchiladas for us to after once we return home from the 10K. Or perhaps we'll have 'em tomorrow since I have no idea if I'll feel like eating anything once we get home. I've heard from several folks that downtown is a nightmare thanks to the setup for the 10K, the road closures for Bat Fest, the road closures for all the ongoing condo construction and the general chaos that is downtown. Joy....

Doomsday

Yup, it's finally here. Time to see if I can do what I do on a treadmill on the streets. In the evening (I run in the morning). In the heat (I like my treadmill with its built-in fans).

If you want to see if I died somewhere along the course, Gentle Reader, you can check Austin's local TV stations:

• News8
  
• KVUE (ABC affiliate)
  
• KXAN (NBC affiliate)
  
• KEYE (CBS affiliate)

and last but certainly not, our favorite:

• Fox Comedy Hour

The local pay-for-it rag, the Austin American-Satan along with its affiliate, Austin360.com, has a piece up already on today's race. The local free rag, the Austin Chronicle, doesn't appear to have anything.

If you have a moment today, Gentle Reader, offer a few meatballs or mantras or a nice glass of chianti to the FSM in hopes that it will smile down on me and let me be able to run the whole race. No fast walking. All running. I know I should be able to do it. Can I do it? I'm going to try like hell to make sure nothing stops me from running every bit of those 10 kilometers. That's all I would really like to get out of this.

Well, that and to be able to walk to the husband's car afterwards....

Sometimes a Picture Says It All....

Screwed

Yeah, this image deftly captures my culinary misadventures today. And there's a great story to go along with the above image (which, if you can't discern, Gentle Reader, is a screw in the cork of a wine bottle), but you'll have to read the whole post to get to that story. So, Gentle Reader, suck it up and plow on!

Betty Crocker Is an Old Biddy and a Crock
My stockpile of desserts and treats is kaput, and I've been uninspired and unmotivated to replenish it. Last night, I told the husband that I'd probably spend some time this holiday (feh, holiday) weekend baking but needed him to sit down at my computer, go through the copious number of recipes I have bookmarked and select some. After some discussions of ingredient availability, he narrowed it down to Betty Crocker's coconut cherry bars.

I was up earlier than intended this morning, and I couldn't bring myself to just sit and enjoy more of the final book of King's Dark Tower saga, so I headed into the kitchen to whip up some coconut cherry bars before heading to the gym. I can do those things because I don't have an oven that take half an hour to preheat to a mere 350 degrees. Have I mentioned lately...

I Heart Lumpy!

Nothing too out of the ordinary occurred to the making of these bars, and while they were out of the oven in plenty of time for us to make it to the gym shortly before 9 to secure the boy a spot in the daycare, the bars.... Well, Betty Crocker is an old biddy and a total crock. I have no doubt that the visual presentation on the old bat's Web page for this recipe have no relationship to the actual end product. See for yourself, Gentle Reader:

Betty's Bars

The Faudie's Bars

And the husband was damn lucky to cut one from the pan that stayed in a reasonable bar form, for the topping was not very firm and easily oozed off the crust.

Coconut Cherry Bars1 C all-purpose flour
1/2 C butter or margarine, softened
3 T powdered sugar
2 eggs
1 C granulated sugar
3/4 C chopped nuts
1/2 C flaked coconut
1/2 C chopped maraschino cherries, drained
1/4 C all-purpose flour
1/2 t baking powder
1/4 t NaCl
1 t vanilla

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease an 8- or 9-inch square pan.
   
2. In a medium bowl, mix 1 cup of flour, the butter and powdered sugar with spoon until flour is moistened. Press the mixture in pan, then bake for 10 minutes.
   
3. In a second medium bowl, beat the eggs. Stir in the remaining ingredients, then spread the mixture over the baked layer.
   
4. Bake 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown, then let cool completely (about 30 minutes). For bars, cut into 6 rows by 5 rows.

Nutritional Info
Calories: 110
Fat: 6 g
Saturated fat: 2 g
Cholesterol: 20 mg
Na:55 mg
Carbs: 14 g
Protein: 1 g

The Faudie's Futzings

• I used white whole wheat flour instead of all-purpose. I didn't even bother doing the half white whole wheat/half whole wheat thing. I had places to go, miles to run after all.
  
• I used good 'ol fat-free butter that wasn't softened because the stuff is pretty ooey-gooey to begin with. Was I worried about the added moisture? Not terribly since I was using a whole wheat flour, which tends to be a bit dryer.
  
• I used egg whites from a carton instead of eggs, even though I have eggs, believe it or not, Gentle Reader. Would the yolks have made a difference? Perhaps, but I'm no egg expert. I did beat them using the whisk beater for my handheld mixer until they were just a bit fluffy on top. Did that screw me over? Perhaps, but, again, I'm not egg expert.
  
• No granulated sugar here! Only Clabber Girl Sugar Replacer. I really wish that stuff weren't so powdery! I suspect granulated sugar might have helped the topping thicken better.
  
• I had no maraschino cherries, but I did have a can of light cherry pie filling that I'd bought for another dessert bar recipe the husband wants me to make. I didn't drain the goop away because I hoped it would give the bars a bit more cherry flavor. And yes, Gentle Reader, I realize including the goop is probably the biggest culprit in the topping ooey-gooeyness fiasco.
  
• The coconut is of an indeterminate age, but it didn't seem overly dry. Perhaps it should have been dryer so that it could have then absorbed some of the excess moisture. (Wishful thinking, I know.)
  
• Because I'm lazy and so is the husband, we dug out a package of chopped mixed nuts (about two-thirds of a cup) and made up the rest from a bag of chopped walnuts. We had pecans, but I'm not a big pecan fan. I know, I know--that's blasphemous in this part of the country.

After 25 minutes of baking, the pan of bars came out looking more like a frosted German chocolate cake than coconut cherry bars:

Mea culpa: I let the husband cut into them after only five minutes--if that--of cooling. The bars were, after all, what he'd requested, and I thought he ought to be able to taste them before heading off for two hours of torture (for me, bliss for me) at the gym. Despite the corner piece losing a bit of its topping and being roof-of-the-mouth-scorching hot, he loved them. Me? Eh, I'll pass.

Charles Kimball Is a New England Fuddy Duddy and a Crock
Okay, okay, I really don't mean that. I just feel so inept after screwing up a recipe from America's Test Kitchen. I'm not sure what I did wrong, but at least supper tonight, Pasta with Chicken, Broccoli, and Sun-dried Tomatoes sans Sun-dried Tomatoes, was edible. Hell, it was beyond edible since the boy asked for thirds.

Preparing this dish took much longer than expected thanks to an alcohol problem. No, really. I'm not lying to you, Gentle Reader. More on that in a moment. I also had problems with the other ingredients, such as having to chop an onion quickly because the 'fridge has swallowed the butter tub of chopped onion I'd prepared earlier this week; chopping fresh thyme is a ridiculous task since thyme leaves are iddy biddy to begin with; and I almost forgot the damn flour.

My frustration came with preparing the sauce. I failed to brown the flour along with the garlic, onions and red pepper flake, so perhaps that's how my sauce wound up screwed. No, I added it when I poured in the fat-free low-Na chicken broth and, after much culinary drama, the wine.

Yes, Gentle Reader, you read that right. Wine. I actually bought wine. Walked into HEB after picking up my race packet, happened upon a booze guy stocking shelves and asked him if he could recommend a dry white wine for cooking.

HEB booze guy: Sure, I can show you a few options. How much are you looking to spend?
Me: As little as possible. Sorry.
HEB booze guy: No problem. Now, are you going to drink it as well as cook with it?
Me: Nope. Sorry.
HEB booze guy: Not a problem. Here's this ::pointing to a chardonnay, I think:: that's only $6.50 a bottle. Or.... ::walks off to another aisle for a moment then reappears with a bottle in hand:: This one's six bucks a bottle.
Me: Six bucks works for me! Thanks!

So now I have wine in my refrigerator. It's shoved in the back and will surely be frozen by morning. Anyone want to swing by Chez Boeckman-Walker for a Sunday morning chardonnay slushie?

But the acquisition of the wine by this wino-phobe was not the drama. No, it was in getting the damn bottle open. What? You really expect tee-totalers to have a corkscrew in their domicile?

Ahh, but the husband declared he could get the bottle open with a knife. Which frightened me because I know the husband: he's not exactly the most sure-handed of people (i.e., he's a bit of a klutz and is known for dropping things). Thankfully, his attempt with a knife was short and fruitless. So then he announces he has just the solution:

Me: Cordless drill?
The husband: Cordless drill.

Of course, said cordless drill's battery was sapped. So while I'm trying desperately to get the sauce to cook while it waited for its final ingredient, the husband's trying to drill the cork out of the bottle by running the drill from the power adapter. That wasn't working so well, so he moved on to solution #2.

"What was solution #2?" you ask, Gentle Reader?

Inserting a screw into the cork and then using a human-powered screwdriver to remove it and the cork into which he inserted it. Yeah, you guessed it, Gentle Reader: Solution #2 worked about as brilliantly as asking the boy not to ask any Star Wars questions for a day.

Undaunted, the husband moved on to solution #3: Using brute (feh) strength and a fancy pair of pliers to yank the screw and the cork into which it was inserted out of the damn bottle. And that solution did work, although I was certain I'd end up with a husband with a broken nose (from slamming his elbow into it once the cork came free) and a bottle of wine shattered on the ceramic tile floor of the kitchen.

Okay, I'm a shitty storyteller. Just see the pictures for yourself:

The sauce never did thicken. I wound up pouring it in its thin soupy glory over the broccoli and pasta. But no one complained too much. The chicken had absorbed some of the flavor, and the pasta and broccoli were tossed in it enough to pick up the flavor too. And once you sprinkled a little cheese (we used fat-free mozzarella instead of Asiago because I'm a cheap bastard) on it, it's all good.

A Tasty Disaster

If you want to try this meal for yourself, here's the recipe:

Pasta With Chicken, Broccoli and Sun-Dried Tomatoes4 T unsalted butter
1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken breasts , trimmed of fat and cut crosswise into 1/4-inch slices
1 small onion, chopped fine (about 2/3 C)
Table NaCl
6 medium cloves garlic, minced or pressed through garlic press (about 2 T)
1/4 t red pepper flakes
2 t chopped fresh thyme leaves
2 t all-purpose flour
1 C dry white wine
2 C low-sodium chicken broth
1 bunch broccoli (about 1 1/2 lb.), florets trimmed into 1-inch pieces (about 6 C), stems discarded
1/2 lb. penne pasta (ziti, cavatappi or campanelle)
2 oz. grated Asiago cheese (1 C), plus extra for serving
1 jar oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes (7 to 8 1/2 oz.), rinsed, patted dry and cut into 1/4-inch strips (about 1 C)
1 T minced fresh parsley leaves
Ground black pepper
1 lemon, cut into wedges (optional)

1. Bring 4 quarts of water to a rolling boil, covered, in a stockpot.
   
2. Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon of butter in a 12-inch nonstick skillet over high heat until just beginning to brown (about 1 min.). Add the chicken in single layer; cook for 1 minute without stirring, then stir chicken and continue to cook until most, but not all, of pink color has disappeared and the chicken is lightly browned around the edges (about 2 min. longer). Transfer the chicken to a clean bowl; set aside.
   
3. Return the skillet to high heat and add 1 tablespoon of butter; add the onion and 1/4 teaspoon of NaCl then cook, stirring occasionally, until browned about edges (2-3 min.). Stir in garlic, red pepper flakes, thyme and flour; cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant (about 30 sec.). Add the wine and chicken broth; bring to a simmer, then reduce heat to medium and continue to simmer, stirring occasionally, until the sauce has thickened slightly and reduced to 1 1/4 cups (about 15 min.).
   
4. While the sauce simmers, add 1 tablespoon of NaCl and broccoli to the boiling water; cook until the broccoli is tender but still crisp at center (about 2 min.). Using a slotted spoon, transfer the broccoli to a large paper towel-lined plate. Return the water to a boil; stir in the pasta and cook until al dente. Drain, reserving 1/2 cup pasta cooking water; return pasta to pot.
   
5. Stir the remaining 2 tablespoons butter along with the Asiago, sun-dried tomatoes, parsley and chicken into the sauce in the skillet; cook until the chicken is hot and cooked through (about 1 min.). Remove the heat, then season to taste with pepper. Pour the chicken sauce mixture over the pasta then add the broccoli; toss gently to combine, adding pasta cooking water as needed to adjust the sauce consistency. Serve immediately, passing additional Asiago and the lemon wedges (if using) separately.

Serves 4 (4 very large servings, take it from me)

The Faudie's Futzings

• I used olive oil--maybe a teaspoon--when I browned the chicken then added another teaspoon, maybe a teaspoon and a half before browning the onion and garlic. I didn't add any butter to the sauce whatsoever.
  
• Instead of all-purpose flour, I used white whole wheat. Again, I failed to brown it, so that might have screwed up the sauce.
  
• I didn't put any cheese into the dish before serving it. A cup is a lot of cheese, even if it is fat-free stuff. Also, the boys sprinkled a little Parmesan on their servings, so there's an option.
  
• I didn't opt for the lemon. I'm not sure what counterpoint it might serve to the dish, and I just didn't have time to slice up a lemon (and I do actually have one).

As I noted throughout this section, the sauce's shortcoming is totally my fault. I just haven't had any luck ever get a sauce that's not tomato-based to thicken. I don't know what I do wrong.

And yes, Gentle Reader...

I Still Heart Christopher Kimball

Saturday Delights

You probably remember, Gentle Reader, that I enjoy the frosting arts. While I don't intend ever to take my experiments professional or, hell, even take a Wilton class, I do marvel at cake decorating creations.

And abominations.

If you want to laugh your ass off at buttercream gone wrong, check out Cake Wrecks. I learned about this gem from yesterday's WSJ, and truly this is one of the Web's gems.

Enjoy! And happy Saturday!

What the Bloody Hell Was I Thinking?

Sunday's Race Course

I picked up my race packet today, filled with needlessly wasted paper, some "energy food" gimmes, my very own Livestrong bracelet (proudly made in China) and my t-shirt/race number. Ooh, I also got a timing chip that I must return either after the race or mail back or else get smacked with a $30 lost chip fee. Didn't know we were all to get chips, but, hey, guess that means this race is some kind of real deal, huh?

While I was waiting in the line that winded its way toward the back of the 24 Hour Fitness in Hancock Center, I had the opportunity to come face to face with the race course map (seen above) several times--and reality hit me like a bit 'ol Mack truck. And flattened me good.

After all, what the hell was I thinking even entering this race in the first place? (Ooh, maybe I'll get a nifty t-shirt, is what I was thinking, Gentle Reader.) I must be certifiable if I think I can run all that. Because doing a 7.25 to 7.5 miles on a treadmill is one thing; doing less than that out of doors on pavement of varying quality, breathing in air of varying quality--that's totally different.

Yep, I'm f'in nuts. Totally gone.

I keep telling myself I'll be able to do it just fine if I remember to pace myself. Yeah, right! I've never paced myself in anything. I'm notoriously impatient. I was notoriously impatient during my first 5K: The only reason I finished in the top 50 was that I wanted to get the race over and done with so I could go home. And that's honestly how I'll be approaching Sunday's race: All right, let's just get this over with already! That's not exactly a strategy endorsed by Runner's World.

Ugh.

Well, if I can get the boy or one of the feline kids to cooperate, I'll get pictures of my spiffy (and ultra-disposable) t-shirt uploaded. But don't hold your breath on that, Gentle Reader.

UPDATE
After initially turning me down--even after I pleaded with sugar and sprinkles on top--the boy finally acquiesced and donned my jersey for Sunday.


Devant


Arrière


Devant Encore
(He makes a spiffy model, don't he? He's got that "I'm so above this" look models wear down pat.)

The Case Against Cursive

Why oh why, Gentle Reader, is cursive writing still taught? In this day and age of hands and wrists cramped by keyboards, of forms and other written matter than must be entered by another human or scanned by machine into some database, of accusations flying against doctors' illegible chicken scratchings, why is cursive writing still taught? Couldn't we spend that time on learning much more meaningful, modern endeavors, such as...I don't know, some computer programming language?

Among the papers we received at kindergarten orientation a week ago was a copy of how the boy must learn how to print his letters so he can make the transition from print to cursive "easier" (so sayeth the photocopied paper). Looking at the steps prescribed (and I do use that word in the fullest meaning of definition 1 per Merriam-Webster) for forming each letter of the alphabet, I have to restrain myself from dashing my head into the nearest hard object. This is all so asinine! Must we continue to be slaves to long-dead arbiters of what an educated adult ought to know and be able to do?

Not only is this cursive endeavor asinine, it's all so very pointless. Gentle Reader, when was the last time you wrote something using a pen or pencil that wasn't a signature, a to-do list or some other ephemeral jotting? When was the last time you wrote using a pen or pencil a long-ish note, letter, missive or diatribe? How frequently do you take out your Montblonc or Cross pen and your Crane paper? When did you last write a check?

Yup, that's exactly what I thought. No one really in this day and age whips out a Bic and a Mead loose leaf for squat. You want to communicate? You send an email--or just pick up the damn phone (or, the FSM forbid, use those opposable digits that separate you from so many members of the animal kingdom to text your BFF using a collection of consonants that seem to defy comprehension). You need to wish someone some kind of greeting? You buy a Hallmark--or just opt for a freebie online. And screw those checks--that's why the universe created the debit card.

So why do children living in the 21st century, full of wonders of communication, need to learn cursive? So they can write legibly? I'd argue that's bullshit of the highest quality: Why should a Q look more like a 2 other than to be high-falutin'? Furthermore, many kids such as the boy must learn a "transition" method of writing to prepare for cursive, but this transition method isn't universally taught or a different one is taught, which can further screw up the kid's ability to write legibly. My own little sister was "taught" to write in italics starting in the first grade, and ever since, her penmanship has been...well, it has this belabored look about it, like it didn't flow naturally from her body.

While seeing what other folks had to say about this topic, I came across a Washington Post article from 2006 that presented this little tidbit: "But academics who specialize in writing acquisition argue that [learning and using cursive writing is] important cognitively, pointing to research that shows children without proficient handwriting skills produce simpler, shorter compositions, from the earliest grades."

Obvious question: Who the hell equated cursive writing with "proficient handwriting skills"? Writing in cursive is not going to make me a better writer and thinker. It's not going to prevent me from leaving morphemes off words because my fingers aren't as fast as my brain and thus they deposit those phonemes on other words later in a sentences. (The husband alerted me to this pattern of mine, and it's the only explanation we can determine for why an -ly or -ing will appear attached to a word about four or five after the word it was supposed to appear on. One day there will be a machine that can read my thoughts, and that will spell the end of my misplaced morphemes problem.)

Educators of today's children, do the world a favor and teach your students how to write legibly in a way that comes naturally to them. That's all that matters. Connecting letters to make writing pretty and frilly and "educate-looking" doesn't really mean jack in the end.

Won't Someone Please Think of the Children?

The End of Freedom

No, not my freedom, Gentle Reader. The boy's freedom. He's now a prisoner of the public school system and, after he ends his education, he'll be a prisoner of the labor system.

Happy first day of school, kiddo!

The Boy's Last Day of Freedom
It was a bloody one, actually. I was three miles into my seven-mile run Monday morning when one of the daycare attendants came up beside me as I trotted along on a treadmill and let me know that the kiddo had hurt himself while playing in the playscape and had a bloody lip. Of course, I hopped off the treadmill to go check on him. I did ask if he'd cried at all when the accident happen and, as I predicted, the attendant said no, the boy had shed no tears. No surprise: The boy can bean himself good and not blink. He's a Timex: takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'.

In the few minutes it took me to get my sweaty, peeved self (I do not like to be interrupted when I'm running) to the daycare, the kiddo's lip had stopped bleeding, and he told he he'd slipped while playing. I bit my tongue when he said this because he'd insisted upon wearing socks in the daycare so that he could "slide down the slide." Uh-huh. But then I did say something really dumb: I asked him if he wanted to go home. With little crocodile tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, he nodded. And with all eyes on me, how the frig could I deny that request?

Yes, Gentle Reader, it was ultimately my dumb ass that asked the question that ended the run.

Later, after treating him to lunch at Sonic, the boy had me twisting in the wind again. I'd treated him to a 14 oz. Sonic Blast with M&Ms for dessert, but after a dozen or so small bites--hardly getting into the ice cream itself--the boy declared he was finished and ready to ride his bike back home. So there I am with about 14 ounces of ice cream I don't need to eat, especially since I didn't get in my full run, but there was no way in hell I was just going to pitch it and there was no way in hell it was going to make it home in any kind of state to be "remade" with a visit to the freezer and eaten later. Yes, Gentle Reader, I wound up eating most of it on our walk home. I did get him to take some more bites, but not too much. Grrr....

First Day, Shmirst Day
I didn't sleep much the Monday night/Tuesday morning because I was a bit nervous about the boy's starting school. I think I've voiced a few times in this blog my trepidation about him joining the ranks of public school students thanks to the state of public education, and that concern was only minorly allayed after meeting his teacher. (She strikes me as a highly competent, down to earth woman who has her own concerns about the state of public education, but it's not like she can just pitch what she doesn't agree with and do what she knows is right.)

The boy, on the other hand, actually slept later than usually Tuesday morning. The husband woke him up about an hour before we needed to hit the pavement, and he seemed in a chipper enough mood. Choosing a food for breakfast wasn't the usual tussle (thank the FSM for small favors), and the boy didn't pull that "but I can't!" crapola when it came time for him to get dressed.

The highlight of the morning for the boy: strapping on his backpack "because Anakin had a backpack too, but it was black, not red like mine."

The highlight of the morning for the boy's mother: Being able to walk out of the room without blubbering or looking all lost like some of the parents I saw because, well, this whole "being left behind" thing is totally old hat for the boy. Every morning he'd get "left behind" at daycare. He knows that Mommy and Daddy have their places to be and that he has his place to be--it's just that now he has a new place to be in the morning.

Aftermath
After finally being released to walk the two yards from the corner of the building to where his mom was waiting, the kiddo didn't announce that he had no intention of going back to school, that he wanted to go back to his old school (i.e., daycare) or that he wanted to keep staying home with his mom. No, my monkey boy took the banana I brought for a snack (we'd been warned that the kiddos would probably be hungry since there's no afternoon snack any longer) and was wolfing down on that as we promenaded home.

Good news: He has a new friend, who happens to be the kiddo who sits at the table with him. (They're at a table by themselves, which is probably a good thing for my Chatty Kathy.)

Bad news: Because nap time, which only lasts the first 6 or 9 weeks (we've gotten conflicting info in the take-home documents), is barely half an hour, which is a fourth of the time he was able to nap at daycare. So, naturally, the boy wound up crashing in his room about an hour after we got home. Not such a great thing. We've already readjusted his bedtime so he gets more sleeping opportunity, so keep your fingers crossed, Gentle Reader, that that adjustment helps.

I took some video footage of the boy yakking about his first day, but I haven't had time to do anything with it since I had a fabulous massage/physical therapy session this evening after supper to relieve my achin' hamstring (and SI and QL and quads and rhomboids and so many other body parts that don't appreciate me overworking them). I'm hoping perhaps to get onto the ancient Mac and whip out a few videos to post online for you to enjoy, Gentle Reader. In the meantime, enjoy some photos.

Frightening Food Finds

This find isn't so much frightening as it is just funny as hell. This one was waiting for me in my inbox this morning, courtesy Tarla Dalal, a well-known cooking maven in India.

It's a Mexican fiesta by way of India, folks. Yummy!


Now I realize that for folks in India, Mexican food probably is very exotic and foreign. For most of us, especially those of us living near the border, Mexican food is commonplace and, well, a way of life--including that bastardized, lard-laden version dubbed Tex-Mex. But to see if presented to an audience that's relatively inexperienced with the stuff--and to see the phonetic translations of familiar Mexican dishes--it's just damn hilarious and makes you take a moment to consider just how much we take for granted in our culinary palettes.


Mmmm.... The husband loves him some faheetas. They go well with kehso.

If you're somewhat familiar with Indian food and want a good laugh, check out this other recipe for making fajitas--including the tortillas--from scratch.

About This Running Thing

Friday morning, this very helpful tidbit arrived in my inbox, courtesy FitBits:

Running Decreases Disability and Prolongs Life in Old Age

Although regular exercise is known to improve health and reduce disability, running in particular is known to produce frequent and chronic injuries. Nearly 60% of runners have to stop training at some point each year because of injury. Consequently, it was thought that runners, especially those who began to run during the running craze in the 1980s, would suffer more arthritis and may require joint replacement in greater numbers than their inactive or non-running exercise counterparts. Recent studies have indicated otherwise. Now there is more great news for runners…less disability and a longer life. [Emphasis is mine, Gentle Reader. --Ed.]

Researchers at Stanford University followed more than 500 runners for over 20 years starting in 1984. Participants completed annual questionnaires that enabled researchers to evaluate running and exercise frequency, BMI, and disability. More than half of the original runners and less than half of the controls completed the study, which ended in 2005. Date and cause of death were determined for those who did not live through 2005.

Baseline differences existed between runners and controls. For example, in 1984 the runners had a lower BMI, were more likely to be non-smokers and were younger than the control group. Runners ran approximately 4 hours weekly initially, but had reduced running to less than 3 hours by the end of the study. Disability scores were higher in the control group throughout and increased more significantly than in the running group. Moreover, the first inkling of disability in runners occurred 16 years later than in non-runners. After 19 years, less than half of the runners had died compared to controls, 15% and 34%, respectively.

The results indicate that older adults who run regularly can reduce disabilities, maintain a higher level of activity later in life, and reduce mortality.

Chakravarty, E.F., et al (2008) "Reduced disability and mortality among aging runners. A 21-year longitudinal study." Archives of Internal Medicine. 168(15):1638-1646.

Rise and Shine

Sometimes supper just needs to be fast and easy. Saturday, the human residents of Chez Boeckman-Walker found themselves in need of a fast and easy supper since we'd stayed out a bit later than usual on our Saturday afternoon adventures in consumerism. Since the husband has expressed a desire for some kind of "citrus-y chicken recipe" earlier in the day, I had three chicken breasts thawed but was undecided in how to produce a "citrus-y" dish.

Then it hit me: I have some kind of OJ chicken and rice recipe. Sunrise chicken or sunshine chicken or sun-something chicken. Sure enough, Gentle Reader, my memory did not fail me this time.

Back when I started trolling some of my favorite recipe sites for recipes, I'd bookmarked one that called for using OJ as the liquid in which to prepare the rice for a basic chicken and rice dish. I recalled making the recipe and being disappointed that it lacked a strong orange flavor, but I'd nevertheless written down the recipe. The dish is dubiously dubbed Sunshine Chicken, which called to my mind visions of South Koreans putting on happy, sunny faces when dealing with North Koreans in hopes that they could all just get along, with all of this smiling happening over a big dish of boring-ass chicken and rice.

Yeah, I know, Gentle Reader, I'm a little bit deranged. But doesn't Sunshine Chicken sound more like a breakfast dish? Here's the recipe so you can decide for yourself:

Sunshine Chicken2-3 t curry powder
1 1/4 t NaCl, divided
1/4 t pepper
6 chicken breast halves, boned and skinned
1 1/2 C OJ
1 C uncooked long-grain rice
3/4 C water
1 T brown sugar
1 t ground mustard
Chopped fresh parsley

1. Combine the curry powder, 1/2 teaspoon of NaCl and the pepper, rub it over both sides of the chicken.
   
2. In a skillet, combine the OJ, rice, water, brown sugar, mustard and remaining NaCl and stir well.
   
3. Place the chicken atop the rice mixture, then bring to a boil. Cover and simmer 20-25 minutes.
   
4. Remove the heat and let the dish stand, covered, until all liquid has absorbed (about 5 min.).
   
5. Sprinkle with parsley before serving.

Yield: 6 servings

Nutritional Info
Calories: 304
Fat: 4 g
Protein: 30 g
Carbs: 36 g
Cholesterol: 73 mg
Na: 66 mg

I'm not sure how accurate this info is because the recipe notes said info is based on a serving without salt. I have to ask why the help you'd calculate a serving without NaCl when the recipe calls for 1 1/4 teaspoons of the stuff without noting that it's optional.

Also the nutritional info notes a serving has no fiber. Long-grain white rice per TheDailyPlate has roughly two-thirds of a gram of fiber per cup, but I'm not sure if that's a cup of cooked rice or uncooked. Long-grain brown rice has just over a gram per half-cup serving (cooked, I believe). While the fiber content is negligible, there's still some there.

The Faudie's Futzings

• Because I was short on time, I didn't combine the curry, NaCl and pepper into a rub. After trimming the fat from the three breasts, I dried each one with a paper towel--a tip I learned from America's Test Kitchen that helps improve browning times--then sprinkled curry powder on one side, rubbed it in, flipped the breast over then rubbed some more curry powder on the other side. Once I placed the three curry-rubbed breasts into the skillet, I sprinkled some more curry powder and just a bit of pepper on them. I likes my curry powder! Plus I recalled that the two to three teaspoons called for in the recipe was just a waste--it didn't yield any flavor impact.
  
• Recalling that the orange flavor was lacking the first time I made the dish, I replaced the 3/4 cup of water with the 3/4 cup of OJ I had left in the pitcher after adding the initial 1 1/2 cup. Not only did I get a good orange flavor, but I finished up the OJ I'd made for a previous culinary misadventure that was taking up space in my refrigerator. Woohoo!
  
• Screw parsley.
  
• Screw letting a dish stand for 5 minutes. When you've got a hungry 5-year-old monkey boy to feed, you don't have time to let a dish stand.
  
• I used probably just under a teaspoon of kosher salt. "Why kosher?" you ask, Gentle Reader? Because Cook's Illustrated found it to be a good all-around cooking salt, plus I have a big-ass box of it sitting on my counter by the stove because I have no room for it in my spice/medicine cabinet. (And yes I know, Gentle Reader, I'm a hypocrite for keeping the meds in a cabinet near a heat source after writing so many articles about keeping meds in a cool, dry place. But I have no cool, dry places in my home that are also inaccessible to monkey boys.)

The curry powder adds a nice kick to the orange flavor. While the very strong orange color of the finished dish does--at least to me--conjure images of the breakfast table, this is definitely not a breakfast food. Perhaps I'll rename this dish something more descriptive, such as Curried Orange Chicken. I already have one smiling South Korean at my table, after all.

Update
Did anyone else notice from Saturday morning's post how much the Gaido's crab looks like the FSM? See for yourself:

All hail the FSM!

All hail the GRC*!

*Gaido's Roof Crab. Roof crabs are fifth cousins twice removed of the infamous rock lobsters.

I Didn't 'Just Do It'

I nailed it. Booyah!

This Fish Is Delish!

The human residents of Chez Boeckman-Walker took their summer vacation yesterday. We roadtripped it to Houston (well, Nassau Bay) so that the boys could check out a Star Wars display at Space Center Houston before it closes on September 2. Knowing how close the NASA facility is to Galveston, I decided we'd head on down so the boys could see the gulf and, as we told the boy, "play in the ocean." And being on Galveston meant one thing: lupper (that's the meal that replaces lunch and supper, sort of like how brunch is the meal that replaces breakfast and lunch) at Gaido's for fabulous red snapper and to-die-for key lime pie.

Houston, You Have a Problem
The trip to, the time at and the departure from Space Center Houston was, well, trying. First of all, the exit from I-45 to the facility has been closed for damn near a year now due to construction, so you'd think the directions to the center on its Web site would note that, right?

Wrong.

And you'd also think that a tourist attraction would have a few more signs along the route to it, right?

Wrong.

And you'd think this tourist attraction would have some, well, attractions, right?

Wrong.

If you want to pay an outrageous price to let your kids run around in an oversized (and probably very unsanitary, Melissa) McDonald's playland, then Space Center Houston is the place for you. But if you're wanting to see space memorabilia or quality educational exhibits about NASA and its 50 years of space exploration, save your money because you won't find that at Space Center Houston. But this we already knew after previous research when the boy first went gaa-gaa over space shuttles last year.

Even the Star Wars exhibit wasn't worth the price of admission, at least in my opinion. Then again, I don't live and breath and devote the majority of my brain power to Star Wars the way the husband and the boy do. But I'm a great enabler, so I hefted around camera (digital still and digital video) equipment when I could, I hefted the boy up so he could better see inside glass classes of light saber handles, I stood by patiently and did whatever I could so that the husband and the boy could enjoy some production art and maquettes from the recent Clone Wars release, some weapons props from all the movies and a full-size Jedi fighter (which, thanks to Space Center Houston's paltry budget, no doubt, was exposed to a steady drip thanks to a leaking roof or AC--I couldn't tell which).

We probably could have only spent maybe 30 minutes at the center if it hadn't been the damn playscape and another non sequitur attraction, Daredevil Island. Billed as an "'Indiana Jones' type of experience, it's great fun, I'm sure, for kids who are not into McDonald's playland and not into the 20-year-old "learn about space" exhibits (half of which were not working) with its elevated (by, like, 3 feet) ropes course, "Mayan" maza (looked like it was built from old bathroom stall partitions), tower of rubber bands and "European bungee jump" that uses a small trampoline and a crotch harness rigged up with a bunch of exercise resistance tubes to help jumpers get some good air.

Yeah, the boy loved it. Didn't seem to matter to him that we waited 30 minutes in line for roughly 5 minutes of jumping time. Didn't seem to matter to him--at least, not until later--that he cut his leg when the trampoline attendant, decked out in a blue NASA jumpsuit, allowed him to careen off the trampoline not once but thrice. Didn't seem to matter that the attendant wasn't nearly as helpful as the one stationed at the trampoline right beside the line where we waited for 30 minutes, who really helped each kiddo on her trampoline launch themselves. He said he felt like a "real Jedi" because Jedis jump. They jump a lot--at least in the boy's mind they do.

Fish Can Be Beautiful
Our escape from Space Center Houston took f'in forever thanks to (1) a never-ending train and (2) a short train that first went east through the intersection, then stopped, sat there a minute or two after the guards went up then went right back west to whence it had come, blocking traffic for a third time. Joy.

Taking that big bridge that connects the mainland to Galveston Island was quite a thrill for the three of us. And the boy seemed to delight in reminding his parents that "I've never been to an island before." As soon as we hit the other side of the bridge, I stressed to him that he couldn't say that any longer because he was now on an island and continuing to say that he'd never been to an island before was incorrect--and annoying.

We headed straight to Gaido's because it was already 2 PM and the husband was starving. We took a moment to marvel at the giant green crab on the restaurant's roof, then we headed inside, were seated and promptly began salivating over the menu. Instead of offering various fish, the menu offers preparation methods--a bevy of 'em. I opted for red snapper prepared with a coating of diced pieces of green, orange and red peppers and shoestring potatoes. The husband originally wanted a cracker crumb and herb coating, but on the waiter's advice, switched to a Parmesan and herb coating that he enjoyed with gusto.

My pepper-and-potato snapper was...just so damn beautiful I felt I was committing a crime eating it. The red and green pepper diced pieces just popped against the lightly browned potatoes strings. I so wanted to take a picture it was such a work of culinary art--at least in my eyes. The husband even offered to run out to the car to nab the camera, but I begged off. How gauche.

The taste? Just incredible. I'll have to give this preparation method a shot in my own kitchen. I'm crazy for red bell peppers, and I couldn't live with myself if I only had this type of prepared fish once.

And speaking of not being to live with myself, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd passed on dessert. One of my strongest memories of the trip to Galveston Mum and I took back in April 2000 was of the key lime pie slice we shared. And the slice the husband and I shared (the boy declared he didn't like it after one small bite) was just as to die for as the one I had more than eight years ago. We also got a slice of peanut butter pie (a peanut butter mousse-like fluff atop an Oreo-like crust and sprinkled with chopped Reese's Pieces), and while it was yummy, it didn't do it for me the way the key lime pie did. Oh! I was in heaven!

From the restaurant, we whipped a U on a side street to find a parking spot along with sea wall. We all changed our shoes (because unlike the extra batteries I passed on bringing along and wound up needing and the backup SD card for the digital still camera I passed on bringing, I planned fairly well for the beach trip), locked up our goodies and hit the beach.

Let me just say this: If I lived in Galveston near the sea wall, I'd be jogging that stretch every day. The breeze off the Gulf is refreshing, the sidewalk is wide and flat and well maintained and the view is so much better than the latest crap on celluloid (okay, celluloid's been out for ages) the gym's showing in the Cardio Cinema.

The boy had declared well before we got to the seawall that he didn't want to go. He just didn't want to go at all. (He'd asked about sharks and, I think, was still concerned about them despite his parents' repeated explanations that he didn't have to worry about sharks in the water not more than 2 feet from the shore.) Naturally, when we actually reached Seawall Boulevard and he could see the beach, he decided he'd wanted to go all along.

::smack::

Within five minutes, the boy was drenched head to toe. He ran in the surf, he collected sea shells, he tried to run down some sea gulls. Then he found a stick and started playing light saber with it. He'd throw it into the water and water for it to wash back up on the shore. He'd take it out to where the waves hit him about waist level and tried to use the Force against the waves. To what end, I don't know, but it kept him entertained.

We left the beach behind shortly before 6 and after a stop at HEB for supper for the boys and gas, we hit the road back to Austin. "We spent the whole day away from home," the boy observed repeatedly until he finally fell asleep (thank the FSM for small favors). He still had a bit of sand clinging to his shins when we got home just after 10 PM and got him to bed.

The boy's already planning our next trip to the ocean.

Revisiting My First Culinary Misadventure

Thursday, as you may know already, Gentle Reader, was quite the day for me initially. But thankfully my tooth issue was resolved (albeit in a longer-term temporary way) in 15 minutes, which enabled me to get supper ready and on the table well in advance of Kindergarten Orientation on what turned out to be a very rainy (praises be to the FSM!) Thursday evening.

Suspecting I'd be very pressed for time for preparing supper, I whipped out a recipe card from my stack that I knew had minimal prep time and minimal cooking time: The Faudie's Thai Chicken Stir-Fry. If you were back with me in early June, I mentioned the creation of this recipe in my very first culinary misadventure post. At the time, I didn't actually include the recipe, just the links to the recipes I based my creation on, nor did I include photos. So I'm taking this opportunity to remedy the situation.

Thai One On
If you're a fan of stir fry recipes, Gentle Reader, then you should stock certain ingredients in your pantry and freezer: soy sauce (I keep House of Tsang low-sodium on hand), rice vinegar or rice wine vinegar (I've read they're the same thing), frozen sugar snap peas, julienned carrots (or carrots you can julienne if you've got the mad knife skills), a red bell pepper or three, green onions, a can of water chestnuts and sugar or brown sugar. With those ingredients, you can stir up a delicious stir fry in no time.

If you want to get Thai with your stir fry, then I recommend keeping a bottle Thai sweet chilli sauce on hand as well. This stuff just rocks. I've seen it referred to as Mae Ploy sauce since that's the best-known brand of it, but it's not the brand I have (and I don't recall which brand I bought, so my apologies, Gentle Reader). You can also make your own if you're that industrious or anal about home-made stuff. However you go about getting your mitts on some, this sauce adds a terrific sweet heat to any dish.

When it comes to making stir fry dishes, some folks swear by their woks while others have sworn off woks because of uneven heating conditions. My wok came from IKEA back in 2000 or so, and while I've drooled over and had wet dreams about the Le Creuset one I saw in Round Rock about a month ago, I guess I'm going to have to be satisfied with my IKEA one because the residents of Chez Boeckman-Walker can't afford to drop that kind of dough on a kitchen item. Le sigh....

Anywho, whether you use a wok or a skillet or frying pan or crepe pan or saute pan, just make sure, Gentle Reader, that it affords you even heating. There's nothing worse than hot spots and cold spots in a pan because then your veggies and/or meat don't end up relatively uniformly tender and cooked. Just some advice from this faudie that I picked up from other places.

And when you choose your ingredients for your stir fry, go for color. You want the stir fry to visually pop as well as flavorfully pop in your mouth. Don't go for bland because eating and cooking are as much about tantalizing the eyes and the ears and occasionally the tactile senses as well as the taste buds. Your final doesn't have to rival Warhol's color palettes, but don't go for white-on-white mush.

Colorful, non?

Okay, enough preaching. Here's my recipe:

The Faudie's Thai Chicken Stir Fry1 (3.5 oz.) boil-in-bag long-grain rice or 6 oz. rice noodles
2 T sugar or sugar replacement
3 T low-Na soy sauce
2 T rice vinegar or rice wine vinegar
1 t ground ginger
1/4 C Thai sweet chili sauce
1 C julienned carrots
1 sliced red bell pepper
1/4 C water chestnuts, sliced and drained
1/3 C chopped green onions (about 3)
1 C snow peas
2 C cubed chicken breast meat

1. Prepare the rice or noodles and set aside.
   
2. Combine the sugar, soy sauce, rice vinegar, ginger and chili sauce in a small bowl, then set aside.
   
3. Prepare the wok with either cooking spray or a small amount of olive oil then begin to heat it over medium-high heat.
   
4. Saute the carrots and bell pepper pieces (2 minutes).
   
5. Add the chicken and peas, cooking until the chicken is no longer pink (6-10 minutes).
   
6. Add the water chestnuts and green onions, sauting for another few minutes.
   
7. Pour the sauce over the meat and veggies, gently tossing said ingredients to coat them in the sauce.
   
8. Bring the contents to a boil for about a minute and a half, stirring constantly, until the sauce thickens slightly.
   
9. Reduce heat and serve.

Sorry that I can't provide you with nutritional info, but you can check out the recipes for the Thai dish and the generic Asian-esque dish I...leveraged for my own dish. They both, I believe, include nutritional info, so you can get an idea of what my dish contains nutrient-wise.

Gorgeous, non?

Orientation
If you're curious, Gentle Reader, the boy's kindergarten teacher seems like an educator who has her wherewithall all within (er, whatever). Believe it or not, I'm thinking of volunteering at least once a week since I'll be working from home and will have time. With 19 kids in the classroom (which is a pretty small space)--including my rambunctious boy--she's going to need some help.