Delicious Tofu Sloppy Joes (J/K, LOL)

A lot of you* have been wondering (a) where I've been; (b) why the hell you're still following a blog that is, like, NEVER updated; and (c) if I'm still doing the Swank Diet. Folks, I have answers to all of those excellent questions.

(a) Right here on my ass thinking I really, really need to post something.
(b) Okay, actually I don't have an answer for this one.
(c) YES! Yes, I am.

* Okay, just my sister.

To address (c), just the other night, my dear husband decided to make Sloppy Joes for dinner. Fortunately, I had purchased a ground-beef substitute (GBS) called Smart Ground VEGGIE PROTEIN CRUMBLES (VPC). You read that right, CRUMBLES. Sounds kind of fun, right? Wait, I think I have a picture:

You know when Wee Squeaky makes an appearance that things are bound to go badly. 

By now, my husband and I are old pros at the protein substitutes. Tofurkey sausage? To-FASTIC sausage! Fake bacon? Fake Bac-OLICIOUS! You get the idea; I'll stop now. Anyway, back to the Sloppy Joes. I was fully prepared to, yes, enjoy this meal. Once you get used to the no-meat business, it's really not so bad. I never was a big meat eater anyway, and I still can eat fish and chicken breast, so for the rare meal when only a GBS will do, I'm okay with the tofu-ish stuff. BUT, I wasn't so foolish to think this might not turn out as spectacularly as I was hoping. So I grabbed Wee Squeaky and my camera to document the meal prep.

"Ha ha! This is going to SUCK!"

The makers of the VPC are very clever. You don't get to see the, er, crumbles until you open the box. Then you notice what looks like a brain vacuum sealed into plastic. My first misgivings about this meal happened during this photo. 

Unsealing the brain crumbles.

My husband was undeterred. 

"Come on!" he urged cheerfully. "I'm sure it'll taste better than it looks!" 

Okay, seriously, something about that stray crumble grossed me out.

The hunk of brain/fake meat proved to be a bit...TOUGH. Husband worked valiantly to smash it into submission. While my husband was stabbing the VPC, I was alternately laughing and trying to avoid looking at what was now sizzling away in the pan. My eyes fell upon the box the VPC came in. I noticed THIS:

"Hungry for more?" Ummmm, no. 

The picture is a bit blurry, because at this point I was laughing pretty hard. Hungry for more, my ass! I'm not even hungry for THIS! 

"Now, Ms. CrankyPants," you might be thinking. "Aren't you jumping the gun here? Didn't you just get through trumpeting about all the fake protein you are eating with relish?" 

Yes, yes, I did. And I admit, when we added the tomato sauce, things did look better. See for yourselves:

"Ha ha! This is TOTALLY GOING TO SUCK!"

Well, in spite of Wee Squeaky there next to the pan, I thought it looked edible. We loaded the...stuff onto our nicely toasted bread and added a delightful ear of corn. Just like ma used to make! Tell me this doesn't make your mouth water: 

Oops! Sorry, that's a piece of CAT POO on the carpet.

Deploying the TOFU SLOPPY JOES!

So. The burning question that you already know the answer to: how'd they taste? See the CAT POO picture, above. Okay, not that bad. But...not so great, either. However, much like the fake sausage and fake bacon, it's just a matter of preparing it in such a way that it's surrounded by other, better-tasting stuff. Before you know it, I'll be extolling the virtues of VPC! But that night, I kind of felt like Capt. Nap, when he is hoping there's more to his dinner than the can of cat food he's just been given.

"Surely you jest?"

Ha ha! Can't really blame old Capt. Nap. At least we had corn. 

p.s. YES, I know the font is a huge mess in this post. Something's funky with Blogger. 

The Picture of Ms. CrankyPants

Okay, so I was going for a whole "The Picture of Dorian Gray" thing with the title of this post. But if I have to explain the title, clearly it sucks.

I'm going to keep this brief, for there's not much to say except: (1) I'm doing this because people have been harassing me since my previous post when I mentioned the stupid thing and (2) STOP LAUGHING.

And: This is molto embarrassing.

FINE. Here it is. I hope you're happy.

It really doesn't look like me at ALL.

What the hell are YOU laughing at, Wee Squeaky? You're standing in a cupcake. Jerk.

Who Needs a Good Memory When THIS Is the Stuff You Can Remember?

I have an awesome memory. Now hold on. Before you get all annoyed and like, "What's SHE bragging about?" let me clarify. I can't remember anything remotely useful, such as:

• Directions to my dermatologist's office, even though I've been there three times
• How to perform CPR
• Where I put the charger for my phone

What *can* I remember? Symptoms of practically every terrifying and deadly disease out there. Can you die from it or be disfigured by it? I can rattle off a few symptoms (and probably have a handful right now). Sure, they might also be symptoms of something completely benign, but that never, ever stops me from leaping to the worst possible conclusion the instant I notice something odd.

Apart from symptoms of awful diseases, there are a few choice nuggets I can mine from my Cave of Early Memories...fond moments, such as my sister referring to me as "cigarette butt," which was infuriating because technically it wasn't rude, even though it had the word "butt" in it. Or the time I convinced a boy chum that we didn't really need to go inside to poo; we could go right in the yard and use leaves for toilet paper. (Many years later I ran into him in 5th grade and, struggling for something to say, asked him if he remembered that incident. He claimed he did not. He then avoided me for the rest of middle school.)

A seminal moment in my, er, development into a full-blown hypochondriac was likely the time my sister told me that one in four persons get cancer, meaning someone in our family would get it. I was a wee lass, still believing everything my sister said (e.g., that trading my jaunty blue jeep for the crappy wooden car/cigarette holder my parents apparently would slide down the table to smoking guests at lavish dinner parties) was a good deal. Judge for yourselves:

This isn't the exact one we had, but it was pretty similar. Cool, right?

Here's what I traded THAT for:

"Ha ha! Ms. CrankyPants, you sure were a dumbass!"

Now, 30+ years later, the wooden cigarette car has a certain charm. Heck, I still have it; who knows what happened to the jeep? The point is, as a wee lass playing with Little People, I was getting the short end of the stick for sure. I mean, the Little People didn't even FIT into the wooden P.O.S. car:

Hey, that balding chap on the right was the dad in my Little People family. I named him Sir Jeffrey Brown, but my sister insisted on calling him Sir Jeffrey POO Brown. 

The Little People's bottoms were too fat to fit into the slots that were designed not for Little People, but for an attractive array of cigarettes. ("Joe? Care for another Virginia Slim?" my mom might say, wheeling the wooden car past admiring guests and toward the extremely impressed Joe.)

So back to the game and my ill-advised trade. We'd be playing at driving somewhere, and my people would be falling off the wooden P.O.S. car from their precarious position resting atop the vehicle, while my sister's Little People would trundle along in their jeep like gangbusters. It was Very Annoying Indeed.

How any of that relates to my original point, I have NO idea. Oh, right, seminal moments, blossoming hypochondria and all. So, yes, an impressionable and gullible wee lass turned into a raving lunatic who has to go tomorrow for an ultrasound to investigate a "swelling" in the neck. If you don't think I've conjured up every horrendous scenario that might result from tomorrow's test, well, I have. And then some. Plus 10 and to the 100th power. Etc.

Wish me luck. I'll be wearing my tiny bluebird of happiness earrings, bracelets I bought in New York City for some ridiculous price that have little charms that are supposed to bring good luck, and, what the heck -- I might even tuck Wee Squeaky into my purse for extra insurance. The thought of her smiling (mockingly? Kindly? Pityingly?) as I am sweating profusely and startling/annoying the technician with occasional hoots of nervous laughter and lame jokes might help. A wee bit.

Third Time's a Charm? Welllll...

We had our neighbors over for dinner last night. (Yes, the same neighbors who forced me to stray from Dr. Swank, detailed here: I Cheated on Dr. Swank.) In the pre-diet days, we'd been to each others' houses a few times, usually for pizza. Since starting on the Swank Diet, which forbids dairy products unless they're fat free, I have struggled mightily to find a Swank-friendly pizza. I've recorded my dismal experiences in this blog, but if you are a new reader or just want a refresher (hamster droppings, anyone?), please see the following: What the (&$^ Did I Just Eat? and No-Cheese Pizza: A Public Service Announcement.

I wanted to dazzle our neighbors with some gourmet food, but I was pretty limited by my pal Dr. S., so I had to be content with merely ensuring they didn't vomit or run away screaming. I'll spoil the end for you right now: they did neither. That's not to say there weren't some, er, exciting culinary moments. I'll start with the menu:

• Pizza (incredibly, yes, I was trying this AGAIN)
• Salad
• Cratercakes  Cupcakes (incredibly, yes, I was trying this AGAIN) (you can read about the first time I made these here: Something Looks Very, Very Wrong)

Fortunately, our neighbors are adventurous eaters, and very forgiving people. Plus, I had an ace up my sleeve! My savvy husband said if we drizzled a little oil on the fat-free cheese, it might melt. (One is allowed limited portions of certain oils on this diet.) Did I mention I planned to top one of the pizzas with my old friend, Tofurkey "sausage"? No? Well, yes, I was. (See: "adventurous" and "forgiving" neighbors, above.) The other pizza was going to feature plain old vegetables, in case the Tofurkey-topped pie proved too alarming for our guests. I also made a gigantic salad, figuring we could always eat lots of that if it came down to it. Oh, yeah, and cupcakes. We'd have those tasty gems to finish off the meal. Incidentally, I informed the neighbors of my dinner plans and suggested they either do some serious drinking beforehand and/or bring alcohol with them.

I embarked with a feeling of great dread enthusiasm. I started with the dessert. A fellow blogger suggested a few tips after reading about my two previous battles with the cupcakes (lost in the most recent battle was a lovely food processor). The batter did not turn into a rock-like ball as it had the last time I made the cupcakes, but it still had an odd spongy consistency:

It just hung on the spoon, like a wad of brown Marshmallow Fluff. Ominous. 

Okay, so things weren't entirely promising at this stage. Undeterred, I crammed spoonfuls into the awaiting pan, under the watchful eye of Wee Squeaky.

"Ha ha! No way these are coming out properly!"

Damn that mocking Wee Squeaky for being right. They started out in the oven looking like cupcakes. But, midway through the bake time, I saw the craters beginning to form. And, when I took them out, here's what I had:

Okay, yes, this is the same picture I used the first time this happened. I was too dispirited to take a picture of the third cupcake failure. Plus, Wee Squeaky was laughing at me, which angered me greatly.

Once I finished weeping, I decided that I'd tell the neighbors the cupcakes were SUPPOSED to look like that, and that the craters were in place to hold a heap of fat-free frozen yogurt. If everyone was sufficiently drunk, this excuse might fly.

Moving on to the pizza. I drizzled oil onto the shredded cheese and mixed until the little shreds were lightly coated. I had purchased pizza crusts that did not contain anything Swanky would frown upon (e.g., no tropical oils). While assembling everything, I felt a little better about the dessert; things were looking pretty good! After baking the pizzas, I felt much better about the dessert. My husband was right! The cheese melted!

The round, brownish bits are Tofurkey and there are some sauteed onions on there too, plus a sprinkling of sweet basil. 

The pizza triumph even shut up Wee Squeaky, who was duly impressed.

"I'm sorry for laughing at your dessert."

The neighbors arrived and one of the first things I did, after ensuring that they had drinks, was to blurt out that the cupcakes were NOT supposed to have holes in them. So much for trying to trick them. Oh well. They were fantastic sports, and their young son even said it was the most delicious pizza in the world, bless him.

So, to answer the question at the top of this post: will the third time be a charm? Yes and no. Dessert remains a challenge (STOP LAUGHING, WEE SQUEAKY), but the pizza, I am beyond thrilled to report, is a big, massive, huge, happy success!

A Valentine's Dinner Debacle

I am never, ever eating crab-stuffed mushrooms again. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me backtrack to Thursday night, Feb. 14. My husband and I thought we'd crack open the Swank Diet book, which has a section on "The Cocktail Party," and pick out a few tasty-sounding items to have our own mini cocktail party (minus the cocktails, which was Mistake #1).

We chose the crab-stuffed mushrooms and shrimp balls (hahahahaha), and I secretly bought some heart-shaped aluminum pans to make, yes, heart-shaped cornbread. I also planned a reprise of the cupcakes. (You can read about my first experience with the cupcakes here: Something Looks Very, Very Wrong.)

Sounds adorable, right? Well, not so much. I made the cupcakes first. That is to say, I tried to make the cupcakes first. The batter was stiff and unyielding. I could barely stir it. Foolishly, I crammed the thick wad into our food processor. The machine made some alarming groaning noises while I stood and stared at it. Yes, it occurred to me that I should hit the "off" switch, but somehow I kept thinking if I let the processor noisily grind on, the clump of cupcake batter would start to liquefy. Instead, I noticed a smell, followed very quickly by smoke. "Huh," I thought. "That is bad."

I laboriously scraped out the heavy wad of dough, which in no way resembled anything I could cram into the 12 small hollows in the cupcake pan. I eyed the heart-shaped aluminum pans. A ha! I could use one of them for the cupcakes, which I had now decided would be more like a large brownie. Problem solved! I spread the dough into the tray and popped it in the oven and turned my attention to the cornbread. This recipe has quickly become a favorite, so I had no problems with it. The brownie took a long time to bake. Like, twice as long as the recipe said it would take. When the center was finally not raw, the edges had stiffened to a rock-like consistency. I was hopeful that a liberal application of fat-free frozen yogurt would help.

"Hey, this isn't fat free!"

Except, as Wee Squeaky helpfully points out above, I had neglected to BUY fat-free frozen yogurt, so excited was I at the prospect of the peanut butter cups and graham cracker bits. Blast!! So much for rescuing the rock-like brownie with yummy yogurt.

Let's move on to the main courses: the shrimp balls and crab-stuffed mushrooms. My husband and I made these together, which was fun. We turned on some music and chopped and sauteed away, enjoying the experience and the smells of what was sure to be a delightful dinner. Well. The shrimp balls were a bit bland, but with a heavy dose of seasoned salt, they were edible. The mushrooms were an altogether different story. Maybe the crab was off. Whatever the case, they made a rapid trip down the garbage disposal. It is important at this part of the story to note that they were large mushrooms I had bought. Like, golf-ball size. In my haste to be rid of the sight and smell of them, I crammed about 15 into the disposal and turned it on. (I should have learned a lesson after ruining the food processor.) But all seemed well. Until this morning.

I had noticed a vague odor in the basement, but that's where we keep the litterboxes, so I assumed one of the cats had recently paid a visit. I did my daily scoop, but the smell was still there. It was quite gross.

"Did one of the cats refuse to use the box?" I wondered. I followed the bad smell into the bathroom. The scene that followed is as horrible as the shower scene from Psycho. You've been warned. I pulled back the shower curtain to reveal THIS:

Something smelly exploded in the shower.

Capt. Nap? Squeaky? Who is responsible for this? More importantly, who is going to clean it?

I shrieked and called over my husband. We stared in appalled horror. Naturally, I thought one of the cats might have crept into the shower and, well, vomited, but whatever was all over the shower floor had a familiar smell. Like CRAB AND MUSHROOMS. I reported this to my husband, who then asked what had happened to the remains of our dinner. I told him about jamming the entire mess into the garbage disposal. He sighed. Apparently, there was some kind of backup and it's bad to do what I did. Ugh. He left to get some drain cleaner and I just left the house. No, not really (although I was sorely tempted). I hauled out a sponge, some gloves, and some Comet and began scrubbing.

This episode was as revolting as you probably are imagining. And that's why I am never, ever eating crab-stuffed mushrooms again. Ever.

Something Looks Very, Very Wrong

Let's play a game. Games are fun! Games that allow you to laugh at other people (in this case, me) are even more fun than games where you do poorly and stalk off in a huff, or overturn the board, or shout at other players. I am not thinking of anyone specific.

Back to the game at hand. It's called "Can You Guess What THIS Is Supposed to Be?" Please see the picture below:

Take your time; this is hard. 

Okay, it was such a marvel, I took numerous pictures. Here's one with a wee Squeaky lookalike popped in. I don't know if it will help you identify the Mystery Object, but it amused me:

"Don't eat me!" (As IF.)

This next shot may give it away:

Got it yet? If you guessed, with some bewilderment, "Cupcakes? Good God, are those supposed to be CUPCAKES?" then you are absolutely right! And that is exactly what *I* said when I opened the oven door last night to reveal what I have since named "Crater Cupcakes." This recipe is from the Swank Diet book. That comment is not meant to malign the Swank Diet book. With one exception, all of the Swank recipes have been good. Rather, it's meant to illustrate that on this diet, you can eat yummy sweets; you just have to know how to follow a recipe. I've retraced my steps and am nearly positive I added all of the necessary ingredients, including baking powder. If anyone has a clue why the above would happen, I'm all ears!

The burning question is: did I toss them straight into the trash? Certainly not! I haven't had anything resembling chocolate since December. I gobbled one in straightaway (as did my husband), and they tasted mighty fine, crater or no crater. (Yes, I removed Wee Squeaky before I commenced shoveling them in my mouth.) In fact, on my shopping list: fat-free frozen yogurt to pop right into those craters, which I will warm in the microwave first.

Here they sit in their container, ready to be attacked after dinner. (Note attention-seeking Wee Squeaky lurking in the background.)

To prove that I can follow recipes and make edible-looking things, below are two other items that I made last night (both also from the Swank Diet book). Behold the Skillet Scallops!

I wish you could have heard me trumpeting, "Behold the Skillet Scallops!" FOUR separate times as I attempted to rotate this picture. Finally, I got sick of hearing myself trumpet and gave up. So, there, above, are the sideways Skillet Scallops. They still look pretty good, don't they? And, another triumph (fingers crossed for proper photo alignment): CORNBREAD!

"Hey! Where's the crater?"

Ah ha! Success! (Both the recipe and the photo.) We ate very well last night, the appearance of the Crater Cupcakes notwithstanding.

For those of you wondering -- and I know you're out there -- yes, I did wash Wee Squeaky, both pre- and post-food posing.