Spicy Tomato and Blue Cheese Soup and Shaved Fennel Salad with Oranges, Lemon, Dill, and Arugula – Symon Sundays

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So my brother is leaving today for a week-long trip to Argentina.

(This is the point at which, if my parents were reading this, they would look at me in utter shock and amazement. I swear he told them at least twenty times that he was going. And each time he did. They reacted as if it were the first time they were hearing any of it. I had to actually sit them down at one point and explain to them that no matter how many times they tried to repress their memory of this event, it was still going to happen.

Just because you don’t remember something, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It just means you’re going senile.

They didn’t like that very much. But their ability to recall this little nugget of information vastly improved immediately after I said it.

Oh, THAT trip. Of COURSE we remember. Sure you do.)

Why is he going? Funny you should ask.

But before I get to that. Let’s imagine Argentina. A beautiful South American country. In the middle of summer. Filled with beautiful South American women. Why would any 20-year-old boy not want to go?

That being said. It’s a homework assignment. Of sorts.

You heard me right. His school is requiring him to go. It’s tough being in business school. It really is.

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Spicy Turkey Burgers on Avocado-Guacamole Buns

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Let’s start off with a hypothetical, shall we?

What would you do if……you woke up to 60 degree weather. In the middle of March. In New York. (Because if you lived in, say, Hawaii then you’d probably throw on a winter jacket and turn up the heat. Not exactly the answer I’m going for here.)

But Joanne, you say. That’s a ridiculous question. It’s like asking what five things you would bring to a deserted island should you happen to foresee that you will be stuck there for the rest of eternity. (Seriously though. If you knew you were going to be stranded like that. Wouldn’t you do everything in your power to avoid that fate rather than plan what things you would bring with you? Sheesh.) Because that would never. Happen.

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Sausage and Eggplant Polenta

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To each his own. That’s what I want you to remember as we go through this post.

Also. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Words to live by.

I love the mafia. The Godfather. The Sopranos. The episode of Law and Order that I watched at the gym yesterday. For a long time, I was pretty sure that Tony Soprano was my long lost boyfriend.

Err. Uncle. I. Meant. Uncle. Sure you did.

Grocery shopping is one of my favorite recreational activities.

I can’t post what the other ones are. (Where is Donna when you need her?)

Running is my oxygen. And with that being said, it is amazing that you haven’t found me lying on the floor turning blue from hypoxia yet. Damn you hip strain. Damn. You.

I knead bread when I’m stressed out.

I like vanilla more than chocolate.

I like caramel more than vanilla.

I like cinnamon the most.

I am a firm believer in the idea that. A Friday night without dancing. Is a waste of a Friday night.

I have a (not so) secret aspiration to be the next Food Network star.

I know all of the words to the Wicked soundtrack.

Justin Timberlake was (and is) my favorite member of N’SYNC.

I used to listen to N’SYNC. And the Spice Girls.

Peanuts are one of my five food groups. So is ice cream.

I get cravings for broccoli. Intense ones.

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Cinnamon Butterscotch Bars

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I learned something yesterday.

Yeah. I was surprised, too.

Okay I learned two things actually. Now that I’m thinking about it. (Wow. Yesterday was a really. Good. Day.)

First. I learned that Bill Nye. The Science Guy. Is still alive.

I used to watch him on PBS. Daily. And he seemed old then. Now he’s veritably ancient. (Maybe it was really just a hologram of him. Being projected from the past into the future. If anyone could figure out how to traverse time like that. It would be Bill Nye. That man. Knows. Everything.) But not so ancient that he’s too old to be contacted by CNN to talk about the earthquake in Chile.

Which is where I saw him. On a television. At physical therapy. Being consulted by some nondescript news anchor about the current state of the world’s rotation. (All I have to say is. Better him than Dr. Oz.)

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Baba Ganoush on Pesto Pine Nut Bread…and the Regional Recipes Round-Up!

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Two knocks on the door. Timid. Yet hopeful. Knocks.

Come in!

Enter Sophie.

“Hey Joanne, I was just wondering. Ummm. Did you mean to leave your pesto thawing on the counter?”

Notice the gleam in her eyes. The bated breath. (Diaphragm contracted. Chest expanded. Intrapleural pressure rising. Waiting to exhale.)

Why so tense, you might ask?

You see. I am a hoarder. (They made a television show about me on A&E. You may have seen it. It’s called…wait for it…Hoarders. Yeah, for an arts and entertainment channel they need to work on their creativity. Talk about eponymous.)

But only when it comes to food. (Things like class notes? They go in the garbage as quickly as possible. The sooner, the better, in my opinion.) But the pantry is a different story. My freezer contains probably eight bags of cranberries. And six containers of homemade pesto. Not to mention all of the cans of pumpkin and jars of peanut butter that are sitting on my bookshelf. And don’t forget that partridge in a pear tree. (I wish. I’ve heard good things about partridge meat.) I collect these things. Just in case. In case of what I’m not sure. Because I amass them. And then when it comes down to it, I have an aversion to using them.

Because. I start to think. What. If.

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