Retail Beat: All Around Town

Here are some recent purchases with which I am quite pleased.

Item: 10 pound bag of Perdue Chicken breasts
Source: Costco
Retail Price: can't recall, but not prohibitive

What is so wonderful about this particular bag of chicken breasts is the fact that they are, as the package promises, "Select Size Filets" for "fast and even cooking." I don't know about you, but I hate working with raw chicken. I hate cutting off the little bloody pieces and any random skin that remains. I hate fearing that my kitchen is becoming a hotbed of salmonella as I wrestle with the raw chicken. There is also something that makes me slightly sick about a big, fat chicken breast. These select size filets are perfect. Not only are the thin, but it seems that someone at Perdue has already done the dirty work with all the icky bits I don't like handling. I defrosted them overnight, added a marinade, and put them on my grill pan. Voila!

Item: Smart Ones Signature Sundae in Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough
Source: Jewel, but I imagine any "regular grocery store" would have them
Retail Price: purchased on sale, 6/$9.96

Sound familiar? It's an hour after dinner and you're craving just a little something sweet. Sure, per every women's magazine article I have ever read, I should have an apple with a teaspoon of natural peanut butter or a small piece of dark chocolate, but I want a real treat. This sundae is perfect: ice cream, fudge sauce (but not too much, which makes me happy), and little chunks of cookie dough. Innovative chef that I am, I enhance mine with cool whip. NTB. I'm telling you, it hits the spot every time and, even with the addition of cool whip, it's less than two hundred calories. The sundaes come two in a package. You rip the plastic film off the top, microwave for 5 seconds, add cool whip (optional), and enjoy. I will be enjoying one myself after I finish this post . . . I have to eat something while watching The Biggest Loser.

Item: Mossimo tissue weight t-shirts
Source: Target
Retail Price: $12.99 - $14.99

I just enjoy these shirts. They are soft and forgiving. They come in solids and prints. Two pieces of advice: you do need to wear a tanker underneath and they do run a bit big. Again, I cannot stress enough that they are very soft.

Item: Quack Quack knit hat*
Source: Uncle Dan's Outdoor Store
Retail Price: I'd prefer not to say, but obviously it's worth it given how cute the bub looks in it! NTB.



*not an official product name

Falling Back . . . Toddler Style

Falling back is a different and potentially desperate event when you have a toddler. The question is not, "How will I spend today's bonus hour? Sleeping? Reading a novel? Reorganizing my closet?" but rather: "Will I be teeing up a Sesame Street episode at 5:30 this morning?" You see, young ones like the bub understand biological clocks, not alarm clocks. We have had many a conversation with the bub during which we plead with him, "But, honey, it's still 4:45 in the morning. Night-night time. Night-night time. Please, please, we beg of you. Back to bed. Night-night." For many months now, we have enjoyed a 6:30 wake-up time, which we consider a luxury as the bub's current sleep pattern was preceded by a long and consistent stretch of wake-ups in the 5:00 hour. In the mornings leading up to Sunday's fall back, we actually had a couple of days where he slept until 7:13 and 7:21, respectively. (A 7:15-ish wake-up is the equivalent of sleeping in until noon at our house.) So anyway, with the recent sleep-ins, we were hopeful about the morning of falling back. We put the bub to bed slightly later on Saturday evening (not too much later because that tends to backfire on us). The bub babbled a bit at 5:04. We held our breaths, ignored him, and, what do you know, we were rewarded with a 6:38 wake-up time--which would have been 7:38 just the day before: an absolute miracle!. I have to say that a glorious day ensued. The sun was shining, and it was actually a long (in a good way) and relaxing Sunday. NTB.

Of course, the bub woke up this morning at 4:30. The hubby threw him in bed with us, and he went back to sleep in his favorite spot, with his head right smack in the middle of my pillow. I sleep a little less soundly when I'm sideways with roughly five inches to work with, and I made the grievous error of getting up to visit the bathroom at 5:30 a.m. The bub stirred and was up. Was it falling back or my bladder that was to blame? We can't know for sure.

What I do know is that the 4:30 - 7:30 p.m. interval is about to get a whole lot darker and longer. I worked until 5:00 p.m. today. After saying goodbye to our sitter, the bub and I played with his plastic food in the basement during the time it took to do a load of laundry with all his footy pajamas. Having transferred his clothes to the dryer, we headed up stairs to battle over the kitchen chair, an ongoing tussle these days. The bub likes to move a breakfast table chair so that he can climb on the counter to investigate the spice cabinet, play with the dirty sponges in the sink, shake pepper on the counter, grab apples off the island and take random bites of them while demanding "wash, wash," and, new today, attempt to adjust the thermostat. I try to sit in the chair so he cannot move it. Typically, when the chair is finally returned to the breakfast table, one of us is in or near tears. In addition to basement time and the battle of the chair, we read books, colored, ate dinner, and did the nightly bath routine (no code brown this evening, NTB). Even with tonight's prolonged conflict over the post-bath routine in which the bub gets lotioned, diapered, and dressed--he preferred this evening to run naked in circles around a large diaper box until he got so dizzy that he would fall and laugh in delight--even with all of these activities, when the bub was fed, clean, and dressed for bed, I looked at the clock and realized that it was only 6:35! It's going to be a long winter, luckily the bub will be here to light up our dark nights . . . and our dark mornings.

So I lied.

A month or so ago, I proudly announced my decision to take on no new television programs. I even declared that I was dumping Desperate Housewives. So I lied. Encouraged by a friend and then subconsciously influenced by the many Chicago trains with its advertisements plastered to the sides, I decided to tune in for Dirty Sexy Money. One really good thing about the show is that the hubby and I watch it together. Outside of The Office, 30 Rock, and our HBO favorites--Entourage and Big Love--there are very few shows that we both enjoy. As I have said many times, two televisions can contribute to a happy marriage. We don't argue about what to watch, we simply split up when need be. Dirty Sexy Money is a show about Nick George, an idealistic young lawyer whose father used to work for the wealthiest family in New York. His father dies in a plane crash, and Nick then reluctantly agrees to take his job. Many of the early episodes revolve around his frustration with babysitting the filthy rich, cleaning up their various messes and attending to their sometimes-petty needs. As the show's title promises, limits are pushed. There's a minister who tries to pass off his illegitimate child as a Swedish orphan and a senate candidate in love with a trannie who makes, to be honest, an oddly captivating woman. The first couple of weeks, I felt okay about Dirty, Sexy Money but not overwhelmed. This week's episode, however, introduced a new layer of mystery and complexity to the show, and I have to say I'm now officially intrigued.

The other new show I have taken on, thanks to an Entertainment Weekly endorsement, is the CW's Aliens in America. This is a half-hour sitcom about Justin Tolchuck, a nerdy high school kid who tries to fly under the radar screen. I think it is set in Minnesota or maybe Wisconsin (the actress who plays the mom lays the accent on pretty thick, but I don't mind). Mrs. Tolchuck makes it her full-time job to try to improve Justin's popularity and social life. In a recent episode, she retooled his wardrobe based on what she heard kids in Orange County were wearing. Too tired to fight her, Justin dons a pair of skinny jeans for school--it's priceless. Anyway, swayed by brochures featuring strapping Nordic exchange students, Justin's mom agrees that they will take in a foreign student, falsely believing that an exchange student will help her son win more friends. Instead of a gorgeous, blond god, the family gets Raja, a Pakistani boy. The friendship that develops between Justin and Raja is genuinely heartwarming, and the glimpses of high school life, though sometimes painful, ring true. The writing is quite good. And, now that I think of it, this is also a show that the hubby and I are watching together. As an added bonus, Scott Patterson, who played Luke on Gilmore Girls, plays Papa Tolchuck. Sure, I wish he were still pouring coffee for Lorelai and Rory, but it's still good to see him.

The Desperate Housewives situation is not as desperate as it sounds. Despite my professed decision to bid Teri Hatcher and the girls goodbye, I have continued DVR-ing the episodes. I have not watched them and, unless the impending writer's strike drives me to it, I am not planning to. NTB. Sure, I haven't found the will or courage to delete them, but nobody's perfect. In case anyone is wondering, I feel really strong about my decision to not watch the new season of Beauty and the Geek. NTB.

So I'm not a pet lover

I can’t help it. I’m just not. Perhaps it is because my family never had any pets growing up other than two goldfish from a church festival. When one died, my mom flushed them both down the toilet, claiming the surviving one would have died of loneliness anyway. At age 10 you just go with it. Also, there was a very scary dog that lived near my grade school bus stop, and though none of us was ever attacked, I was intimated with every vicious bark. Eventually, my sister and I just switched bus stops.

Aside from the fish flushing, I have never been involved in any cruelty to animals. Well, once in grade school, I did drop a friend’s rabbit … it started to nibble my hand and I just freaked. No damage done. I don’t hate animals, I just have never really warmed to any in particular. I get the connection that people to do make with them. I understand that dogs, for instance, can be wonderful companions and truly become part of a family. While I understand and appreciate that bond, I have never personally experienced it. From my perspective as a non-pet owner, they appear to be a lot of work with the shedding, potty training (I struggle enough training humans), financial requirements, and other responsibilities you take on if you take your role as a pet owner seriously.

The bottom line, though, is that I am simply not comfortable around animals. They know it too. I firmly believe that dogs sense my fear. They seem to linger around me, even when there are other new faces, as if they know I’m the one who needs to be won over. I have tried not to pass these fears and anxieties on to my children, but one lick to the face from an overly friendly black lab has turned my 3 year old against the creatures. There is still hope for the younger one.

I understand that it is not cool or popular to not like pets and try to keep my feelings to myself. Last night though, I accidentally expressed my feelings on dogs to my neighborhood. Here’s the scene: A pre-Halloween bash on the driveway of a neighbor’s house. There are roughly 30 kids in costume as well as the accompanying parents. There’s a buffet table set up with delicacies such as hot dogs and chips. My husband was feeding our younger daughter, and I was taking my little Cinderella through the line. The homeowner’s dog kept darting under the food table, nearly taking out my little princess. We played through. (I sometimes get nervous taking items to a potluck, so I was busy reveling in the fact that the dish of mac and cheese I brought had been scraped clean, NTB.) Meanwhile, the dog blazed past again. Fortunately, I reacted quickly enough so that my Cinderella’s plate of food didn’t fly everywhere. OK, so I am thinking it would be nice for this large black furry dog (that’s the best description I can give as I have no idea what kind of dog it was) to go inside, but I will be a trooper. The dog goes over to a table and starts to eat some food off an abandoned plate. The plate’s owner comes to retrieve it, prompting the homeowner/dogowner to direct the dog away from the table. It’s my experience that dogs are about as cooperative as toddlers in these situations…he may go away for now, but rest assured he will return.

The tables are all taken so we set up shop at a chair. The dog immediately comes over to try to eat off our plates. I put the plate up on a high ledge as both children are now hovered around me. I cut the hotdog into pieces and put it in a separate bowl for Cinderella while I guard the main plate. The princess is happily eating, but makes the mistake of turning to talk to her dad, leaving an opening for the black beast to dart in, and consume the bowl of hotdogs. He knocks Cinderella out of the way in the process, sending her into hysterics.

At this point, I stand up and proclaim that WE DON’T LIKE DOGS AT THE R’S HOUSE. I am not a loud person, but apparently this was said with enough passion that I found many eyes staring at me. I tried to recover with WELL, IT’S JUST THAT WE AREN’T COMFORTABLE WITH THEM. The damage had been done. The homeowner came over, removed the dog, stating she didn’t want to upset Cinderella. I don’t think she was being sarcastic when she said that, but I honestly don’t know her well enough to know. I turned to my husband to ask if that was too much. He offered no comfort, simply saying, “yes.” I turned to clean up the scene of the crime and said to another neighbor that I thought my outburst might have been too much. She immediately responded, “Not at all. I loved it. I’m with you.” Had I just caused a great divide? Those for and those against canines on the loose? Her husband also subtly expressed his support.

So, I tried to be breezy the rest of the night. I engaged in conversation with a circle of three dogowners and didn’t feel any hatred. Perhaps they understood where I was coming from. I get that people are really close to their dogs. Dogs become part of the family, let’s even go so far as to say they become like children. Well, the truth is, you don’t let your child run wild and eat off other people’s plates so you shouldn’t let your dog do that either. Granted, had the subject in question actually been a child I certainly wouldn’t have proclaimed that WE DON’T LIKE KIDS AT THE R’S HOUSE, but hopefully you can see where I am going with this.

Dog etiquette should be in place at a party, especially one with kids, right? Or, is this just my issue?

Sabrina and Mark -- You will be missed.

I've made no secret of my passion for Dancing with the Stars. I cannot express how devastated I was this evening to see Sabrina the Cheetah Girl and her partner Mark Ballas voted off. I personally accept partial responsibility for not actually voting. I guess I can't trust the rest of America to do anything.

Sabrina was a great dancer, really fun to watch. She also seemed like a pretty good role model to me. It's refreshing to see a confident, beautiful, talented, healthy young woman who doesn't seem to think it's necessary to hover around 100 pounds. This was Mark's first season on DWTS, and he seems like a good guy, a talented dancer, a sensitive coach and teacher, and a fantastic choreographer. My sisters, mom, and I are comforting ourselves with the hope that Sabrina and Mark have fallen in love. There seems to be some evidence supporting that theory.

So now, who I will be rooting toward to the finals? Not Jane Seymour. I can tell you that much. The real question is whether I can continue watching at all.

Meet me in the spooky aisle.

There are a few MEP-driven conversation topics that are unpopular with the hubby: my suspicion that I have adult-onset allergies, the 1893 World's Fair, real estate prices in Greater Cincinnati versus those in Chicago, and my absolute conviction that Kroger is the greatest grocery store ever. Great prices. Lots of variety. Double and even Super-Double coupons. Excellent Kroger-brand products (nice cold Big K red pop after a soccer game, anyone?), especially in the Private Selection line. There was even a time when my passion for Kroger cake was so intense that I vowed to one day order my wedding cake from Kroger. When the time came, I did not, but perhaps I deserve some credit for talking up their bakery all those years.

When I first moved to Chicago in 2001, I frequently bitched about my grocery store choices. I lived near a Dominicks but was never quite satisfied with it. My roommate/cousin had worked at a Jewel in high school (and had a soft spot for the store), but it was farther away and my few trips there never seemed to offer much cause for celebration. Indeed, there was one ugly incident when I tussled with an assistant manager at the service desk over the difference between Jewel brand frozen pizza and Jewel Chef's Kitchen brand frozen pizza. My thought was that if they were all strewn about in the same area of the freezer and had the exact same dimensions and packaging give or take the phrase "Chef's Kitchen," then they ought to all ring up with the same sale price. She thought otherwise.

I have come to realize that part of what fueled my disappointment with Jewel and Dominicks was my unrealistic expectation that smaller, more compact urban stores could compare to large, clean, airy suburban ones. Perhaps the Jewel locations in the suburbs are every bit as lovely as my personal flagship Kroger in Fairfield, OH. I haven't done the research.

Though it is small and decidedly un-airy, I have warmed to my Jewel quite a bit the past few years. There is one within walking distance of our house, and most weeks the bub and I are there three or four times a week. Conservative estimate. I know where most things are, NTB. I've almost mastered the Jewel sales cycles. I find the people who work there--many longtime employees at my Jewel--to be consistently friendly, helpful, and efficient. I appreciate its cozy size. Sure, after a trip home to the Nati, I may indulge in a little Jewel-bashing, but only a little. It's my grocery store now. Like my cousin, I have a soft spot for it. Dominicks still sucks.

But this time of year there is one glaring difference between Jewel and Kroger, a difference that would have been an absolute deal-breaker were I still eight years old. The Jewel does not have a spooky aisle. Nothing even close. Just an end cap with some Halloween candy on it. I don't know if Kroger still does, but when I was a little girl, our Kroger had a spooky aisle in the month leading up to Halloween. It was awesome. The aisle was lined with some kind of dark gauze or something so that the whole thing was dark. There was just enough light for shoppers to glimpse a mighty large selection of Halloween candy, the plastic pumpkin candy buckets, the cheap and thin costumes hanging there, and the face paint and other junk used to accentuate these costumes. I think they played scary music too. I'm not sure why, but it was so exciting to be in Kroger when the spooky aisle was up. If my mom needed to run down to Kroger for milk or whatnot, we begged to go with her. Once in the store, the child's refrain was predictable: "Meet me in the spooky aisle."

The question is whether spooky aisles still exist. What's your grocery of choice? Is there a spooky aisle or anything close? Do you have your own childhood memories of a spooky aisle? Doesn't the bub deserve a spooky aisle? I'm thinking yes.

Soup and Sandy

After four days away, I'm back in town, back with my bub, and back to my NTB beat. An account of where I've been will appear sometime this week so please stay tuned. Until then, operation soup is moving forward. On Tuesday evening, I made Beef and Butternut Squash Chili from Southern Living. The results were pleasant but not inspiring. I was hoping the butternut squash would provide a delightful flavor surprise, but the chili just tasted like, well, chili. Good chili, but not great chili. The article accompanying the recipe suggests that the power foods in the soup might help one fight the flu. Healthy chili at least.

About a two weeks ago, I made Pumpkin and Pear Soup with Maple Cream. The results were positive. The bub's babysitter sampled it and offered this feedback: "Good. Very good. Yummy." I liked it as well, though it was a bit lacking. The maple cream was just maple-flavored sour cream served on top, and I think I needed more fat spread throughout the soup. This recipe came from Sandra Lee. That's right, Sandra Lee of the Food Network's Semi-Homemade Cooking.

I almost did not write the soup up because I know my dear friend, loyal reader, and insightful commenter Actchy abhors Sandra Lee (especially in those episodes during which Ms. Lee calls herself "Aunt Sandy" and cooks for her nieces and nephews). Of course, Actchy is not alone in her disdain for Sandra Lee. Another friend of mine detests her as well, citing the repeated use of the word "tablescape" (if it's a word) as one of Sandra's great offenses.

I can totally see why and how Sandra Lee is an easy target for haters. There are her ultra-buoyant breasts and then her proclivity for wearing tops with plunging necklines. There is her blonde, blonde hair. There's the fact that her kitchen set is redecorated for every single show, NTB. There are those tablescapes and the fact that the time and money spent preparing them certainly compensates for any time saved in the kitchen by cooking semi-homemade. I get all this. I can totally see how and why she can grate on one's nerves. I am not a regular Semi-Homemade viewer myself, but when I do catch it, I find myself annoyed by the repeated references to the "regular grocery store" (though I do appreciate the fact that most of her ingredients can be found there). I find myself wondering what the point of making your own Chinese bao buns is if one of the steps is filling them with barbecued pork purchased at the mall food court (this really occurred on one episode). I also do not buy into the implied suggestion of the show that one of the goals of cooking is to trick your friends and family into thinking you've made more of an effort than you have.

And yet, I feel strangely, perhaps inexplicably, protective of Sandra Lee. Within reason (with the barbecue pork buns being a prime example of the unreasonable), I see no problem with recipes that save time by using spice packets, frozen vegetables, and some canned goods. I won't pretend that the results are as healthy and flavorful as more homemade efforts. Depending on the time and resources I have available though, sometimes good enough is good enough. I can definitely see that Aunt Sandy can be annoying and over-the-top, but I think she's creative and also think that for emerging or uncertain cooks, she is accessible (if one leaves out the tablescapes and the daily kitchen redecorating). She's not the girl-next-door Rachael Ray, but I feel more comfortable with her than with the Barefoot Contessa (who is no doubt the superior chef and likely a warm, genuine person . . . but her shows always leave me feeling like the unworldly Midwesterner who wouldn't really fit in at her casual Hamptons dinner parties). Plus, as I have told Actchy several times, Sandra Lee has faced a lot of challenges in her life. Her parents were wrecks. She practically raised her siblings (how she learned to cook and etc.). I felt protective of her even before I knew about her background though. I guess I can't for sure say why. Sandra Lee has an autobiography coming out that details her early days. And no, I'm not going to buy and read it. I am not, despite this post, obsessed with Sandra Lee. I am not the president or even a member of her fan club. I probably have not seen her show in months. I do, however, like her and generally wish her well. I do want to protect her but from whom or what I do not know. Sorry Actchy.