I think about food all the time. Even right now, I'm thinking about what to make for dinner and whether I should buy more romaine or skip the salad and have mashed potatoes instead, or just skip dinner all together and eat half a chocolate mousse cake. See how that happens? A simple, reasonable thought about food turns into this unhealthy obsession that causes my brain to battle it out with my stomach.
We host many barbeques and dinner parties at our home. We enjoy doing it -- great food, good conversation and even better friends. It's a lot of work, but at the end of the night we go to bed full (not just of food, but life and happiness). The thing is, at these dinners we talk about food. Everyone shares a story about their most recent food experience, their favorite hometown restaurant or the recipe they tried last week. It's natural to talk about food while eating food, but it can go too far. I've had a friend comment on how she enjoys watching me talk about food. She said it was as though I could taste the words coming out of my mouth. (Those were her words, not mine. To me it sounds a little like vomit, seeing as how it is coming out of my mouth.)

Isn't this plate of food beautiful? This mozarella and pasta dish was prepared and photographed by Framed Cooks. (Talk about feeding my food obsession- she's amazing.)

Her comment got me thinking, and I tried to listen to myself when food came up in conversation. I realized I sound as though I am talking about my first love, or recalling my happiest memory. I love food, I have a passion for food-- not just eating it, but preparing it, admiring it and sharing it. The trick is how to find the balance between my love of the art of food and how eating it makes me feel or is a result of how I feel. How do I enjoy food without using it to calm my nerves or allow a celebratory event to become an excuse to have more food? (What? Armistice Day is not a good enough reason to have a three-course meal and dessert bar?)

In any case, I'm still working on that balance. Let's just say, it will be a lifetime battle-- especially since I just became the proud owner of my very own KitchenAid mixer. Can you see how this might be problem?

Isn't it gorgeous?

I've wanted a KitchenAid stand mixer for a long time, but I can never get myself to spend the money. Last month, the hand mixer I got for my wedding (15 years ago) broke and I was debating whether to a buy a new one or save some money for the real deal. I decided to save money, but in the meantime I also needed something to replace my mixer. I bought the monster of all wooden spoons.

I thought, why not spend some energy doing it the old-fashioned way, right? It has been okay so far—it has built up my upper arm muscles if nothing else. Today, I realized that my fake KitchenAid is a poor substitute for the real thing.

Two words — Molasses Cookies. The recipe makes a huge amount of cookies, but I haven't made them in a year and I just started to add ingredients to my bowl. I creamed the shortening and sugar together using my wooden spoon and it wasn't bad, but then I had to add the molasses, several other ingredients and eight cups of flour. It was so bad my daughters took turns holding the bowl still while I used both hands and all of my strength to mix it. In the end, I ended up finishing it off with my hands (which, if you ask anyone who knows me well, totally grosses me out).


The end result is deliciousness, but I couldn't lift a cup to my lips for the rest of the day. Who needs a gym? Oh wait, I probably should go to the gym to work off these cookies, or I could just make more. It's a vicious cycle.

This picture does not do them justice.