Ladies who Brunch

A Mother must have invented Brunch. What a perfect concept: early enough to still be (somewhat) awake but no one judges you for drinking vodka with your eggs. You just can't do that on a Tuesday. 

G2GUL Friday!

It is Guaranteed 2 Get U Laid Friday! In honor of Gourmet Magazine, which is sadly ceasing publication next month, here is a recipe that (trust me) will dazzle the carnivore in your life. Make it wearing a negligee and you will be set for the week. 

Steak Sandwiches With Tomato Pesto

Gourmet 

2 garlic cloves, chopped

6 tablespoons olive oil

1/3 cup drained bottled dried tomatoes packed in oil

1/3 cup packed fresh basil leaves

1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

1 pound sliced medium-rare steak (about 2 cups)

eight 1/2-inch slices sourdough bread, toasted lightly

In a small saucepan cook garlic in oil over moderately low heat, stirring, until softened and cool.

In a small food processor or blender purée tomatoes, basil, oil mixture, and vinegar until pesto is smooth.

In a bowl toss steak with half of pesto and spread remaining pesto on bread.

Divide steak among 4 bread slices and top with remaining 4 slices.

Hunter Orange is the New Black

When we adopted our dog recently, it was just the excuse I needed to go for daily walks and widdle down the muffin top. I had visions of early morning jogs with pooch and baby, evening walks with tea, our strolls silhouetted against the Harvest Moon. 

Then it rained for two weeks. Then my sneakers (that I've had since 1998) completely collapsed. Then one of the "jogging stroller" tires went flat. 

But that was nothing compared to what my husband tossed in my general direction as I was  ordering a leash that goes around my waist; no more choosing over carrying my phone or wine. 

It was a hat. A BRIGHT ORANGE itchy looking hat. 

"Darling," I said through clenched teeth. "What a sweet thought. However, that, um, particular color isn't in my palate of flattering..."

"It is so you don't get shot," he mumbles over Megan Fox magazine that I apparently didn't shove deeply enough into the recycling bin. 

So, I don't get SHOT? When did we move to Compton?

Apparently, in the 300 beautiful acres behind our house, people go back there and shoot at the deer and bunnies and eagles and all the citizens of the living zoo I planned on homeschooling Darling Boy in several months of the year. 

This color looks good on nobody. But Darling Husband had a point that is better than being mistaken for a buck, getting shot in the face, stuffed and hung over some redneck's bricked-in fireplace. 

Hunting season has begun and today, after catching Dog eating about 45,000 calories of cookies, I donned than damn hat and went for a walk. I was so uncomfortable the whole time. I couldn't put my finger on it until 3 miles later, I realized my thong was on sideways. 

Well-Dressed Business Woman, Take One

Two weeks ago, I auditioned to be in a commercial for the local jetport. I read for the role of "Mother Taking Children to Disney World." I ended up with the part of "Well-Dressed Business Woman." Since, having never been a business woman, and if you read yesterday's entry, I am no longer well-dressed, finding an outfit as well as channeling this character was a challenge. 

Today's biz culture is all about Casual Friday and teleconferencing, so I figured as long as I looked appropriate from the waist up, I was golden. I managed to find a somewhat pressed Pink shirt and Banana Republic linen blazer. I didn't want to wear a skirt because A) who flies wearing a skirt? B) I hadn't waxed my legs nor spray tanned and I wasn't going to be on TV looking like an albino porcupine. 

As I was getting my make-up done, the director came in to "approve my wardrobe." He took one look at me and asked what other options I brought. My instinct was to tell him that since the advent of TiVo, no one watches commercials anyway so as long as I looked decent in fast-forward mode, I was fine with that. Rather, I blinked deliberately and said, "Oh, has my girl not brought the rack in yet? She must be held up at security."  

 The only "could potentially pass for work pants" I had were way too big, so I had, McGruber style, custom tailored them with a clever rigging including duct-tape. This was fine until the sound guy attempted to fit my microphone pack onto the waist band and witnessed a small landslide of bobby pins. 

My scene was shot as I sat at the airport bar (realistic), reading the Wall Street Journal (unrealistic), drinking plain iced tea (very unrealistic). I told them I would feel more genuine drinking gin, as I usually do when frequenting airport bars, but my requests were ignored. So much for method acting. 

I read my lines flawlessly and was done in time to get home before naptime was over. If only all those bobby pins taped to my ass hadn't set off the metal detector I would probably be home right now finishing off a gin martini rather than sitting here trying to convince security I have no grand plans with all the bits in my pants.

Giant Pile of Shirt

As mothers we wear lots of different hats--chef, cleaning lady, teacher, kiddie stylist, lady of the night...In doing so, we tend to neglect everything from the brow on down. Today's Sexy Naptime tip is to start gutting your closets and drawers. I finally dumped everything on the floor and forced myself to sift. I have shirts from college that I didn't wear then, so heaven knows what I am clinging to. My plan is to keep and toss in a 1 to 1 ratio. 

Those giant yellow Planet Aid bins everywhere makes it easier to part with stuff. I keep telling myself those cute African kids NEED my old Polo tees and LL Bean sweaters. A lot of the things I have are slutty frocks from my husband searching days. Even with all the nostalgia attached to my white spandex pants, they are heading to Kenya. Maybe it will inspire Madonna to adopt the 13-year old that gets them. 

I love XCVI's linen pants. They are sexy while being user friendly. I was wearing them the other day with a black tunic and my mother, who used to tell me I dressed like a French hooker (at least I was European), said, "It is so nice to finally see you dressing like a mother."

Whaaaaaat? Sorting through my mountain of clothes now, I see I have indeed started wearing things that don't even know what "Dry Clean Only" means. And I love, love fashion. I watch The Rachel Zoe Project like it is porn. But I can't be spending hundreds of dollars on clothes every season when we have college to pay for. I will say, when my brilliant Baby gets a full scholarship to Dartmouth, I am flying straight to Paris and Milan and blowing his American Funds account on Chanel and Stella McCartney. 

So as I part with bags of clothes, I am starting to feel cleansed. From my old life, I am keeping all my shoes and bags, a classic St. John LBD, crisp white shirt, some vintage cocktail dresses and my Hudson wide legs jeans--classics. Everything else doesn't fit in with finger painting, family hikes and bathing the dog. I am now 95% "off the rack" 

If all this means I am finally dressing like a mom, I hope it is one that can still channel her inner French prostitute so she can justify keeping her Christian Louboutin shoes--I don't think the Planet Aid people would quite know where to send those. 

Make Love, Not Bread

Isn't Fall such a sexy season? You can find an exact match of the leaves' vibrancy in several shades of OPI nail polish, the crisp air keeps the nips at attention and the cold nights are perfect for sexy snuggles. 

It's a theory. 

Darling Husband has been having an affair with a nasty cold so the nights of late have been filled with minty oils and wet wads of tissues--and not for the reasons one would hope. Last night I was climbing the walls needing some a-ten-schee-on, but the hocking and sneezing was keeping us as close as Jon and Kate. 

The madness drove me to the kitchen where I found an outlet for my ignored passions: bread. Something about this time of year has me nesting in a way. Right now, Baby Boy is napping to a blend of (a new batch of) bread in the bread machine, garlicky pork loin in the slow cooker and apple cake in the oven. 

So last night, at 10pm, I decide I am going to make bread. From scratch. Screw the bread machine! That is for rookies! I am going to make a big, stunning loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. It feels so Little House on the Prairie as I assemble the ingredients, punch the silky dough and cover the bowl with an embroidered cloth. By now it is close to 11 pm and I am way too tired to sit for god know how long as the dough "roughly doubles in size."

There is something else I want to roughly double in size and bread is not it. 

As much as I hate to waste food, I scrape the contents of the bowl into the trash. I grab a mask and hope I can catch him before the Nyquil kicks in. 

(I didn't)

So fast forward to this morning. 6:30 am. Go down to get Baby Boy his bottle and go to throw away a magazine with Megan Fox on the cover that keeps appearing in the bed and....what the fuck is THAT??

A giant gooey monster is crawling from the trash. Its long shiny fingers have pried the lid open and are creeping its way across the floor. I am so horrified I can barely move. What is it? What is....OMG. 

The dough I had carelessly tossed away last night gets the last laugh. It had easily multiplied by 5,400 and swelled to fill a better part of the bin. 

Huh. 

At that moment Darling Husband comes downstairs excited at the prospect of toast but I cut him off at the door and take him upstairs for a check up. 

It's G2GYL Friday!

Best day of the week. Every Friday I post a recipe to make tonight that is Guaranteed 2 Get You Laid. At the end of the day, the biggest aphrodisiac for a man is an amazing meal made by his sexy chef. After a long, hard week I know it is easy to order a za, flop down with Netflix and pass out by 8. But that ain't helping get the sexy back. These recipes are designed to be easy and delicious leaving time for all the...dessert. 

I read a study a few months ago that concluded if a couple goes for more than two weeks without having The Sexy, certain chemicals in the brain stop being produced and the two of you start falling into "roommate" status. By keeping up the naked relations, the chemicals keep you seeing each other through the rose-colored glasses so dishes left in the sink and his mixing Baby's $6.00 organic juice with vodka doesn't matter as much. 

The following recipe is vegetarian, but everyone I have ever made it for begs for a copy of it...after they try and violate me that is. It is that delicious/effective. 

The ingredient today that is a known aphrodisiac is BASIL. How does smelling that sweet spice not get you wanting to romp in an Italian vineyard?

Assemble this during naptime and pop in the oven 30 mins before dinner. Serve with a big red wine, crunchy bread and a crisp green salad. 

3 TBSP EVOO, more for brushing

3 med zucchini sliced lengthwise 1/4 inch thick

2 long, narrow eggplants, peeled and sliced lengthwise

Sea Salt and freshly ground pepper

1 large shallot, minced

1 lb plum toms cut into 1/2 inched dice

3 oz crumbled Feta

1/4 cup shredded fresh basil

1/3 Panko

1. Preheat oven to 425. Oil 2 large rimmed baking sheets. Put the zucchini slices on one sheet, eggplant on other. Brush all over with EVOO and season with S/P. Bake 15 mins until tender

2. Meanwhile, in a large skillet, heat 2 TBSP EVOO. Add shallot and cook over med heat until softened, abt 3 mins. Add the toms and cook over high heat until slightly soft and bubbling, 1 min or so. Season S/P. 

3. Oil a large shallow baking dish. Lay half of the eggplant in the dish and spread 1/4th of the toms on top. Scatter with 1/2 of the feta and basil. Layer half of the zucchini on top, followed by another 1/4 of the toms and remaining fets, basil and eggplant. Top with remaining toms and feta. Mix the panko crumbs with 1 TBSP EVOO and sprinkle over the top. Bake in the upper third of the oven for 20 mins until bubbling and crisp. Let stand for 5 mins before serving.