Balls

Posted by Missy in Food | 4 comments

There’s a word that likely calls up very different images for different people. Depending on your maturity level and where your mind is currently located, you may have thought,

“Heh. She said balls.”

“Oooh. Maybe this is a post about fancy parties and she will have pictures of ball gowns.” (In which case, you are either new here or you haven’t been paying attention. Not a lot of ball gown-wearing opportunities around here.)

“Balls? Soccer balls? Footballs? Is this a sports blog?” (Again, only the uninitiated could be so misled.)

Probably, though, you thought,

“Heh. She said balls.”

In which case, you’re my kind of gal (or guy).

I won’t keep you hanging any longer (and yes, pun intended). The balls to which I’m referring are chocolate. And peanut butter. And they are slap-your-mama, rub-in-your-hair good.

My dad has been making chocolate balls every Christmas for 40 years. These things are legen – wait for it – dary.* If you have known my parents for more than 15 minutes, particularly at holiday time, you know chocolate balls. Chances are pretty good that you have eaten enough of them to make yourself sick. That’s part of the fun.

Someone, who shall remain nameless – but it starts with M and rhymes with Rahm, and she gave birth to me – once had way too many chocolate balls and a few too many gin and tonics. She couldn’t even look at a chocolate ball for several years after that. My dad continued to make them, though, because everyone else in the family and friends circle expects them.

The true beauty of these balls? They are not only crazy delicious, but they also provide comic relief. For our purposes here, my dad’s name is Joe. At least once at every holiday gathering, someone shouts out one of the following gems:

“Have you tried Joe’s balls yet?”

“I’ve been waiting all year for Joe’s balls!”

“Oh, Joe’s balls are delicious!”

You, because you are my very favorite reader (shhh, don’t tell the others), are in for an amazing treat today. After some careful deliberation, we – me and my dad, uh, Joe – are sharing the recipe with you.

The official name of these little balls of goodness is Lazy Cookies, but do not be fooled. While not overly complicated, this recipe is time consuming. It’s worth your time, though, because you end up with somewhere in the neighborhood of seven dozen chocolate balls to share with your friends and family; they transport well and they freeze beautifully.

Speaking of freezing them… The year I was pregnant with H, I was paranoid about my upcoming glucose test, so I didn’t eat any sweets at Christmas. My parents sent a bag of balls (yes, again, intended pun) home with me. I stuck them in the freezer, and promptly forgot about them.

Cut to a month later: glucose test over – as in I came home from the test and immediately ran to the freezer because what’s done is done, and I just remembered there are chocolate balls stashed in there – and I’m sitting on the sofa, feet propped up, making myself absolutely ill on chocolate balls. That’s a delayed Christmas miracle, if you ask me. Although in all honesty, like my mother before me, I passed on the chocolate balls the next Christmas.

The moral here may be that while these little round pieces of heaven are delicious, moderation is key. Eat a few, share the rest.

Do Not Eat In One Sitting.

Chocolate Balls

To make balls:
2 Sticks unsalted butter, melted
1 Cup graham cracker crumbs
1 Cup flaked coconut
16 oz. powdered sugar
6 oz. crunchy peanut butter
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract

To make chocolate coating:
2 oz. (1/2 bar) of Gulf Wax (paraffin wax)
12 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips

Combine melted butter, graham cracker crumbs, coconut, powdered sugar, peanut butter and vanilla. Mix well (using your hand seems to work best).
Roll into balls (approximately ¾” to 1” in diameter).
Set aside.

Melt the paraffin wax in double boiler.
Stir in chocolate until melted.
Roll the balls in the chocolate, then set aside to cool (placing the balls on a wire cooling rack will ensure you don’t get little chocolate “feet” on your balls).

Store in a covered container or in the freezer. Depending on the size, yield is approx. 80 to 90.

*I love Barney on How I Met Your Mother. Suit up!

4 comments

Scare Tactics

Posted by Missy in Family, Food | 12 comments

This is not a belated Halloween post.

This is a how-to-terrify-your-kids-into-doing-what-you-want-them-to-do post.

My oldest understands that hot things burn you. He knows that burns hurt. Our issue is that he has never been burned, so his head knowledge is no match for that visceral, life experience knowledge.

The other day I took a pan of scones* out of the oven, and set it down on the stove top to cool. I turned my back just long enough to toss my hot pad back in the drawer, and when I turned back around my son’s face was about a millimeter from the lip of that oven fresh pan.

I gently, but firmly, say, “That’s really hot, please move back!” (Whatever – I screamed that sentence. I can’t lie to you.)

H looks at me, puzzled, and says, “I didn’t touch it. I just wanted to get a really good look at the scones.”

Technically he hasn’t done anything wrong. Technically. But I’ve been around 32 more years than this kid, and I know.

I know you could trip over your own feet and bump into a burning pan. Or forget your oven mitt and reach for a pan with your bare hand. Or suddenly sneeze dramatically, whack your forehead on the counter, and graze the edge of a hot pan.

These things happen to some people.

So I looked at H, and gently said (really – I didn’t scream this time), “I know. You didn’t do anything wrong, but you need to be very careful around hot things.”

He looked annoyed with all the mothering, leaving me no option but to scare him straight.

“You don’t have to touch a hot pan to get burned. If your face gets too close, it could melt off.”

I had his attention.

“Your face could melt into a big face-puddle on my kitchen floor, and your father and I would have to get on our hands and knees, frantically scooping your face-puddle into our hands, then run to the freezer and throw your liquefied face in there, hoping that we were fast enough.”

“Fast enough for what, mom?” He’s holding perfectly still as he asks this, a rare occurrence.

“Fast enough that we still have a chance of restoring your face to it’s original shape. Once we take it out of the freezer, we’ll have to reattach it to your head – don’t ask how, it’s not pretty – and just hope your face still looks like it used to. We’ll have to hope it still properly fits your head.

So don’t get too close to the stove or oven or hot pans or irons. We really don’t want your face to melt off. Okay?”

H is quiet (another rare occurrence) for about 22 seconds. And then he breaks into a grin.

“I know that’s not true, mom. My face can’t melt off!” And he laughs with great confidence.

I just shrug, grin and silently go back to my business. A few seconds later, he sighs.

“Okay, okay. I won’t get too close to the pan again.”

That’s what I thought, little man, that’s what I thought.

I wonder… Do you ever use scare tactics with your kids?

A note: No children were emotionally scarred in the making of this post. My son actually loves to be a little scared – he’s an adrenaline junkie. We’re always careful to reinforce that our crazy stories are made up, and he’s old enough to appreciate a little bit of scary make believe.

*So very domestic with my scone baking, yes? Don’t be too impressed: they were out of a can. But I did use the oven to bake the scones, so I call that homemade. And by they way, if you haven’t tried Immaculate Baking Co. products, you need to. They are all so good, and the scones are no exception. This is not a paid product endorsement. I just like you so much that I’m letting you in on one of my favorite products. But… Immaculate Baking Co., should you be reading, we should talk.

12 comments

Halloween Baking (I Attempt Craftiness)

Posted by Missy in Food | 18 comments

Martha Stewart I’m not.

Let’s get real, here. I’m not even cable access crafty, much less media empire crafty.

I have these grand ideas. I can conceptualize, but I cannot follow through with any level of success. What I need is a doer, a person who can take my crazy ideas and turn them into something beautiful. What I need is a staff.

Back to reality.

It’s possible I was briefly possessed by the spirit of Martha, because for some inane reason I signed up to make a Halloween-themed cake for an event at church and to make Mummy Dogs for school. On the same day. At the same time.

Decidedly uncrafty me was suddenly rendered Suzy Homemaker, Baking Goddess.

Since there was no way I could make both cake and Mummy Dogs and have them both delivered by 9:30 a.m., I made the cake the night before. And I got creative, people. Inspiration struck while grocery shopping, and I filled my cart with bags of candy, marshmallows and chocolate chips. I had a plan.

After slaving away and creating what I would consider a Halloween masterpiece unlike any other heretofore created in this house, I called my husband to see my handiwork.

Smiling the smile you give a crazy person when you don’t want to set them off, he said, “Oh, great ghosts. And what are these? Flowers? Some kind of tree?”

I stared at him in disbelief. Did he really not see it?

I ask you: What do you think these are? Keep in mind it’s a Halloween cake.

Cake toppers: what do these look like to you?

A prize* to the first reader who can tell me what these are, and convince me that they would have figured it out even if I hadn’t made it abundantly clear that this is a Halloween-themed cake.

The next morning I was up and baking mummies before my family started stirring. I felt very homespun. But I completely forgot to snap a shot of my Mummy Dogs before wrapping them in their tinfoil tomb. I swear they looked exactly like this. Really.

Pillsbury Mummy Dogs

Today I wonder:

:: Are you crafty? How do you manage it?!

:: Do your final projects ever fall a bit short of your ideas?

:: Oh, and is your husband a nut who wouldn’t recognize a pumpkin made of candied oranges if it smacked him upside the head? (Just wondering…)

*The prize. I will actually mail a prize to the first commenter who correctly identifies my adorable cake toppers, and I promise that it will not be one of my craft projects gone wrong. I’ll send you something cute, made by someone who received the Craft Gene. As I have already told you what was on top of the cake, this is the world’s easiest contest. You’re welcome.

18 comments

Wonder Why Wednesday: I’m Hungry Edition

Posted by Missy in Fitness, Food | 4 comments

Remember how last week I had nothing for Wonder Why Wednesday? This week I’m full of ‘em. Questions, that is. It was hard to decide what to write about. So I wrote down all my ideas on little strips of paper and drew one out of a hat.

No I didn’t.

Don’t be ridiculous.

I picked one, right out of my head. I should, however, write down the others somewhere or I’ll forget them. You know I will.

So. This week, I want to talk about eating. One of my favorite subjects. A few days ago I mentioned that I’m working on some things in my life. Some of the things are what you might call deep and introspective. Some others are easier to think about and easier to talk about. We’re starting with easy. Don’t judge me.

Food. Eating. Nutrition. These are all passions of mine. I’m not so much into the cooking of food, though. I enjoy cooking, sometimes, but it’s not a passion. I’m more interested in the talking about and the eating of food. I happen to have a lot of knowledge about healthy eating (when I don’t know something, I have access to a great nutritionist, who will probably appear here soon; she’s been helping me with the makings of a post).

My issue, you see, is not what I know. It’s what I do. A classic, right? Do as I say, not as I do.

As a rule of thumb we buy organic. The following items do not land in my shopping cart: partially hydrogenated anything, food dyes, GMO’s. Where staples are concerned, we eat healthfully around here. I shop the perimeter of the store way more than the aisles. We eat lots of whole foods at our house. I try not to overcook things and deplete them of nutritional value (I’m no raw-diet-vegan-Gwyneth-Paltrow or anything, don’t get any crazy ideas).

I’m not saying we never have a processed snack or junk food. I’m all about moderation. I’m totally against deprivation. I try to focus on controlling what I can, but not freaking out about every little bite that goes in my kids’ mouths. Or mine.

So here’s my problem:

I make good choices for meals, and good choices about what I put in my shopping cart. Mostly, anyway.

Somehow, though, I manage to find ways to indulge way too often. When presented with an opportunity to eat badly, I will. Every time. Junk food, comfort food… I cannot quit you.

I have NO WILL POWER. Sorry for screaming at you there. It’s just that I find this so frustrating.

I know what I need to do. I know what I want to do. But I keep failing. That leads me to my Wonder Why Wednesday question:

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Once again, I leave you with some housekeeping. I won’t include this in every post for the rest of our lives, but I’ll probably include it a few more times:

1. You can now subscribe to Wonder, Friend by email! This makes me inexplicably excited. If you’re anything like me, you sometimes forget to check your reader. You may have favorite blogs (ahem) that you love reading, but you get busy and forget to check for new posts. So go ahead, subscribe. Over there, on the right, near the top. The Feedburner thingy. Thank you!

2. If you do read Wonder, Friend on a regular basis, you have my heart. Really. When I started this I said I would write even if nobody was reading, and I meant that. I mean that still. I write this for me, but lately it’s occurred to me that I also write this for you. Thank you for reading! If you leave a comment, you’re on my list of suitable mates should my husband ever meet an untimely demise. I sincerely appreciate your comments. Here’s the housekeeping part - I am now responding to comments within the comment thread, not via email. It just makes things more consistent. I’m working on setting up a comment platform that will send you an email when I respond to your comment. If you have recommendations for a good comment platform, send them my way.

4 comments

Happiness Makes Me Hungry

Posted by Missy in Family, Food | 29 comments

I once stood in a church and said good-bye to one of the dearest friends I have ever had, or will have. I was miserable. And angry. And I looked at another friend and said, “I don’t want to be here. I just want to go home.” I couldn’t stand another second of hearing eulogies and singing songs. The thought, oh the thought, of filing out of that church and into the parish hall, where there would be platters of food and bowls of sickly sweet punch made me want to stand there and scream hateful things. Food? Are you kidding me? We’re going to eat?

Ironically, as the day progressed, eating is exactly what we did. Ironic, because my friend had a shaky relationship with food and she would have been appalled – and probably a little amused – that we all ended up at a local Mexican restaurant where we used to meet for happy hour. “I’m dead, people, and you want lunch? Do you know how many calories are in a tortilla?”

Ironic, because eating was the last thing I ever wanted to do. The thought made me angry and physically ill, and yet, somehow, sitting at that table with all of our mutual friends, picking at chips and dip, I felt a glimmer of happiness. It was dim, deeply buried and I really wasn’t ready to see it, but it glimmered all the same.

I realized, sitting there, that these people, the ones who were – and are – still here, bring me great joy. It took some time for the joy to be an unadulterated laugh-fest, complete with happy tears and aching cheeks. It was different for all of us, taking some more time than others to laugh and feel happy without being served up a side of heartache.

When my first son was born I had a moment when I thought of her and there was no heartache. It was the first time I was conscious of not feeling that sinking, sick, sad feeling. Probably I had thought of her hundreds of times without being sad, but I didn’t register those moments the way I did as I held my son. I only thought of how much she would have loved that little guy and how I felt sure that she knew all about him.

Yesterday I wrote a little piece about happiness being a choice. I believe that completely. But I know, from experience, that happiness can creep up on you without your initial consent. Over time, if you continue to let it in a little bit here and there, happiness can come back with a vengeance. And then, once it’s back, that’s when you choose to grab on with both hands.

Where I come from, that’s reason enough to go out to eat and celebrate. Anybody hungry?

This post was inspired by Momalom’s Five for Ten. This is Day 2 of Happiness.

29 comments