Surprisingly Delicious

I’ve been a very naughty girl lately.  (I’ll get to my irritation with the linked good vs naughty characterization of food someday when my shorts aren’t a bit more snug than I’d like.)  Yes, my last post was for my love of eating out and this one is going to be as well.  This was a wee bit different; I spent about fifteen hours in my car during the past couple of days.

On campus interview at Miami University (the one in Ohio).  Driving was cheaper than flying but lord-a-mighty!  Between the drive-a-thon and the nine hour interview my brain’s a limp noodle and all I want to do is sleep.

And sleep.

And sleep.

But I won’t.  I have a passport to get processed and odds and ends to get done before I blink again and it’s Sunday.

Whoa.  Sidetracked just al little bit.

Back to Miami.  (And not Will Smith’s ‘Welcome to Miami,’ Miami.)  Oxford, Ohio: a really nice small town in the middle of agrarian hell.  My best friend worked at the University once upon a time and since the day I told her that I would be traveling there, she’s had one consistent mantra: BAGEL N DELI, BAGEL N DELI, BAGEL AND DELI.

Being the kind soul I am, I volunteer to go to this mythical land of ‘Bagel and Deli’ at some point during my less than twenty four hours in Oxford.

I’m so glad I did. 

Per her recommendation, I had the Cosby.  While it also probably promoted it’s blockage, my heart sang loudly and (because this is me we’re talking about) way off key.

This is happiness on an onion bagel.

I don’t like onion bagels.

A mound of roast beef, bacon, cheddar, lettuce, tomato and mayo piled on that hot onion bagel really was the perfect amount of cheesy beefy goodness.  They steam the bagels and that is where the happiness comes from.  The whole lot ends up this warm, chewy amalgamation with a happy little crunch from the simple iceberg lettuce.

There is no picture.  I ate it too fast.

I know where I’ll be living should I actually manage to get this job.

Livin’ Life in the Drive Thru

So lately I’ve been spending entirely too much time in the mystical land of drive through.  I have a special affinity for the digestive mecca that is Taco Bell, but have been known to stop by a Taco John’s when I have the inclination.

Potato Oles have a particularly place in my hot fried potato nirvana.

Question is: What’s there to feel guilty about?

I mean…there are circumstances in my day-to-day life that make eating at home at once uncomfortable and worthy of aversion.  Yes, my budget does get strained mightily by my escapades in taco-burger-diet Coke land, but I’ll live with it until environmental situations change.

I won’t get into it here as a) entirely too much pathetic involved and b) while I don’t expect related parties to actually read this-or anyone for that matter-I maintain a healthy respect for the open book that is the interwebs.  Some discretion is called for and I will heed that.

So, back to the topic at hand…the guilt I end up feeling every time I pull up to the grated voice box to place my order of fat-o-rama.

The voice in the back of my head that’s saying: NO NO NO NO.

Ethically, I would like to say that I avoid McDonald’s as often as possible.

Honestly, that would be a lie.

It’s food. It gets me from point a to point be without much thought.  There’s a certain appeal to that, I will admit. 

I do miss having the freedom to play in MY kitchen (and to suffer the consequences of ill advised playground antics).  I guess that’s the guilt and I’m working on improving that situation as soon as possible.

Annoying, this is the truth, but I can live through it.

So I’ll embrace my guilt, I suppose and strive to explore new drive-thru options the next time I hit the road.

Getting Started

Get your head out of the gutter, folks. I'm not nearly as entertaining as all that, though I suppose I could have selected my title with a little more sagacity than I did.  Fat Girl Fantasies, indeed.  Please not that there is not a .xxx after this.

Oh well.

I love food. Most food, that is. I really don't like anise. Or sauerkraut.

Inspired by the myriad foodie blogs in the bloggosphere, I will strive to show my inspiration through mediocrity.

I'm pretty sure I'll talk about food...a lot, hopefully as a way to keep me from eating that which I am discussing, though I'm not sure what the efficacy of that will be.  There may even be moment to moment ponderings of books I've read, movies I've watched and TV shows I'm obsessing over (True Blood, anyone?).

The other day, my best friend and I were on the phone discussing that which sustains us all: Macaroni and Cheese.  I'm not picky.  I like a good box of Kraft Mac & Cheese Spirals or the salt laden stickiness of Velveeta Shells & Cheese as much as anyone when I have the NEED for some noodles in a pool of orange.

Doesn't sound as good when I put it that way.

So after spending way too many hours debating the ways in which I could get my cheese fix, I stopped by the Sentry today and saw that the Land O'Lakes American Cheese was on sale.

Yay!  Said my stomach.

*phew* Sighed my wallet.

I trundled up the the counter and after only a brief blip in which the nice deli lady thought I wanted merely one half pound of cheese (gasp! NO NO NO!!! I need a FULL pound!), I snagged half a gallon of milk and a bag of broccoli, headed home to do some damage in the kitchen.

This evening's dinner: Cheese Sauce with broccoli served over noodles AKA lazy mac & cheese.

It went as follows:

3 C milk

a couple of shakes of onion powder

a couple of shakes of red pepper flakes (I wanted some zing with my cheese)

In a heavy pan that I had set in a skillet (to hopefully prevent grody scorching), I turned the heat on the stove up to eight (out of ten) and set about watching milk heat up.  With my silicone whisk handy, I periodically gave it a swoosh (seriously, I'm paranoid about the scorching that milk always does.  Always.)

When it got kind of steamy and hot to the touch, I started breaking up my American cheese.  About this time, my dog came a knocking, looked at me all handsome like and was also partaking of the cheesy goodness.  (Slices, that is.  Not out of the pan.)

Adding a couple of slices at a time, I gently whisked the cheese until it was incorporated into the milk.  This is a to the taste kind of thing.  I kept adding American until the sauce was a pretty dreamsicle orange color, broke up a few pieces of sharp Cheddar (I like the sass that a sharp Cheddar will add to the relative mildness of the American) and whisked until the mixture was at a nice boil.

Then I tasted it.  Added a couple more slices of cheese to it and let it bubble along nicely.  (I ended up using two slices of Sharp Cheddar and probably close to half a pound of American.  Get the good stuff that isn't in wrappers.  Hie thee to a deli counter.  A little more expensive, but sooooo worth it.)

I wanted my sauce to be a little thicker than the consistency of a cheese soup so I mixed about a tablespoon of corn starch with water, added it and continued the gentle boiling with frequent stirring until the starchiness was out of the mixture.

Trust me, you'll taste the starch.  Blech.

Usually, this would mean that I am done and I can eat (hooray!), but I had some broccoli I wanted with my cheese & carbs.  Rather than get another pan dirty I thought AHA! I will cook the broccoli in the sauce.

So once the starchiness was out of my cheese sauce, I tossed in my bag of frozen broccoli.

Yum.

Finally, I grabbed a couple of bowls, and served it up over some Barilla Cut Spaghetti.*

I garnished with a dash or two or three of red pepper flakes.

Because I am in fact that awesome.

 What's your mac&cheese secret?

*Stay tuned for a treatise on my love of all things pasta.