Sunday, August 2, 2015

Gladys' Gluten Free Lemon Zinger Ginger Cookies

Well now that's a mouthful.   Gladys' Gluten Free Lemon Zinger Ginger Cookies and did I ever eat a mouthful.  I love cookies.  Really who doesn't?  Who says "Oh No Thank You, I don't eat cookies?"  and if you know that person unfriend them and run away from them immediately!  I mean really you don't need that kind of negativity in your life.

About a year ago I was told that I wasn't allergic to gluten but that I shouldn't eat gluten because my body can't digest it.  I was also told not to eat a multitude of other really yummy things which made me very sad.  I love to cook and eat and eat and eat.  Anyway I've spent the last year modifying and refining many of my favorite recipes to work for my diet.   I thought I would share a recipe or two with you as I find success.  I know there are some people who don't do sugar and honestly I normally don't, but I am allowed to use unrefined brown sugar, molasses and REAL maple syrup.  I substitute these items not one to one but by testing the recipe until it works.  Here is my Ginger Cookie recipe. .
Gladys’ Lemon Zinger Ginger Cookies

ingredients:
·         3/4 c. butter
·         1 c. brown sugar
·         1 large egg (1 flax egg)
·         1/4 c. molasses
·         2 c. Bob’s Red Mill All Purpose Flour
·         1 tsp. baking soda
·         1 tsp. ground cinnamon
·         1 tsp. ground ginger
·         1/2 tsp. cloves
·         1 tsp. lemon zest
·         1/2 tsp. salt
·         sugar, for rolling dough balls in
directions:
Beat butter and sugar until creamy. Add egg and molasses and beat until well mixed.  Combine all the dry ingredients in one bowl and stir well. Add wet ingredients until well combined. Chill dough for at least 2 hours or overnight, as the dough is quite sticky.

Preheat oven to 375°. Roll chilled dough into 1″ balls and then roll the balls in sugar. Place sugared dough balls on parchment lined baking sheet and bake until cracks form on top of the cookie, about 8 to 10 minutes. Be careful to not over bake. Remove from the oven and let sit on the baking sheet for a few minutes before moving to a cooling rack 
Make it and let me know how it worked for you.  As my favorite Chef would say Bon Apetite!

Friday, July 31, 2015

Gladys Gets A Big Old Howdy!





When you grow up in the south, as Gladys had, you were used to people waving at you when you passed in your vehicles.  She remembered being very young and asking her daddy, Trooper Bob, if he knew all those people who he exchanged waves.  Trooper Bob, thought a minute then responded “Reckon I do.  They are all our neighbors.  Even those people over yonder with the Yankee license plates, they’s our neighbors.”  Gladys leaned from the back seat over the front to see the big yellow Cadillac with Vermont license plate. 

“You mean those people over there with the Varmint license plate are our neighbors?  You know the capital of Varmint is Montecatipillar and their state bird is the Hermet Crab, no that ain’t right, it’s the Hermet Rush.  And my teacher says that the whole state would fit in our county with room to spare.”
 
Trooper Bob rolled down his window spit his chaw from his jaw and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “That right?  Well I Suwanee.” 

When you grow up in the south people waving at you from passing cars and talking to you in supermarket lines is common, but where Gladys now lived it was an anomaly.   This was just a fact.  If someone honked it wasn’t to say Howdy unless you start Howdy with and F and end it with a you.  Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to get to the next red light where they would rev their engines and try to beat one another to the next light.  It was all very confusing for Gladys who grew up in a friendly state. 


Gladys as usual grabbed her reusable grocery bags, her big glass of water, no bottles for her, and headed out to run her usual errands.   Even though she lived in this particular town for almost a decade she rarely saw anyone she knew, not even her sister Matilda.  Nope she normally went about her day speaking only to the salespeople or giving an occasional nod to a stranger in line at the grocery only to be turned away with a grimace or a growl.  She had become accustomed to the surly harried state of most people; but decided not to let it influence her she smiled and went her own way.   
Lately, she had noticed a change in some of the people in her town.  They were almost friendly.  She noticed that they would often wave at her while she drove past them.  They would make a point to put a hand out their window and wave with their whole hand and not just a single middle finger.  She would happily wave back thinking “now this is how it should be”.   She noticed more and more that when she took certain routes and saw certain vehicles they would wave.  Gladys smiled and thought maybe she did know these people.  Perhaps she had met them at a party or a dinner but quickly dismissed that thought as she remembered she didn’t go to parties. 

One morning as Gladys pulled from the drugstore parking lot and onto a busy thoroughfare a woman in a Jeep stopped and let her out into traffic.   Gladys, being raised to always be gracious, stuck her hand out the window and waved a big THANK YOU wave.  She lumbered down the street in her little Jeep Wrangler and pulled up to a red light where a man in a Jeep Renegade beeped his horn and waved.  It was then it dawned on Gladys, the people who waved at her were always Jeep drivers.  They would beep and wave and let you in or out of traffic.  They moved over so you could fit into parking spaces, instead of straddling the line. 



Gladys contemplated this as she drove into the post office.  What made Jeep drivers nicer than others?   Then it struck her.  The only answer she could come up with.  Jeep drivers were from the south.  So to all my fellow Southern Jeepers who hail from Bangor, Maine or Providence, Rhode Island, Chicago or Montecatipillar, Varmint, you must have a little bit of Southern in you because when you get behind the wheel of your vehicle you let your Southern show.  In the words of Trooper Bob, we’s all neighbors, so wave and say Howdy as you go by.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Doom-Pa-Dee-Do

We’ve all been there, too long without sun.  You put on your favorite shorts and you realize people are putting on their sunglasses to block out the glare from your overly white legs.  Jill Conner Browne,THE Sweet Potato Queen, once wrote that brown fat is much more attractive than white fat, and if you think about it, it is true.  Uncooked bacon is white and gross but cooked bacon is brown , crispy and deliciously attractive.


  So it goes with our friend Gladys.  She too believes brown fat much more attractive but when you’ve been told to stay out of the sun, what’s a girl to do?


Not wishing to be blinding in shorts Gladys decided she would venture into the realm of self-tanners.   She researched and researched to find one that would be A. easy to use and 2. not messy and of course C. didn't stink.  Finally settling on L’Oréal tanning towelettes she read the directions and followed them to a T.  She brushed the dry skin from her body with a horse hair brush,  shaved the hair from her legs, and exfoliated to the point her skin tingled until she finally deemed her skin prepared.  She applied Vaseline to her hands so as not to have orangish palms and started as the directions stated from the bottom wiping upwards in steady and even strokes.  She swiped and wiped and covered all the parts of her transparently white body in the hopes that she would look as if she had just returned from several weeks in St. Tropez.  Then just as the instructions directed Gladys stood naked waiting for it to dry.  Thinking that it would speed up the drying phase of the project she maneuvered her tanning body to the fan in a Frankenstein gait and assumed a crucifixal stance.  She oscillated to dry evenly to make sure that her vacationish tan would be consistent and look “real”.
Gladys waited twenty minutes and looked down at what should now be tan legs.  She inspected her arms but it did not appear anything had happened.  There was no bronze glow.  She did not appear to have spent one minute on a sunny beach in the Caribbean much less a month.  No all she saw was her still blinding white legs and raw chicken colored arms.  

 Disappointed and confused she went back and read the box.  Quick and convenient, smooth and even application it said.  Unique self-tanning formula applies easily and dries quickly.  Surely thirty minutes should be enough drying time she thought.  She opened another packet and withdrew another towelette.  She applied another layer to her arms, legs and torso and because a little is good but more is better she went over her body a second time.  Again she Frankenstein walked to the fan and stood arms outstretched waiting for magic to happen.  Ten minutes passed and she could tell no difference.  Twenty minutes passed and again no change except her skin appeared a little pink but she figured after all the scrubbing, rubbing and shaving it had a right to be pink.  Thirty minutes passed and again she saw no visible results. 

Gladys decided that it must be her skin type.  She tanned beautifully in the sun but must not react to self-tanners.  She gave up and put on her uniform of the day, yoga pants and tank top, and settled into her normal pattern of life, tan-less and vacation-less. 

Several hours later she answered the call of nature and upon washing her hands she noticed a definite change in her coloring.  Excited she stepped into the living room where the light is brighter.  She rolled her Capri up her leg and inspected the now garish orange of her extended leg.  Oh no!  She pulled the other leg up for inspection, it too has turned an Oompa loompa-ish color.  She shucked her clothes and inspected the rest of her once transparently white body.  She let out a disappointed sigh and realizing she was now the color of iodine.  It looked as if she has bathed in Betadine and forgot to rinse it off. 

She put her clothes back on and resigned herself to the fact that the next week maybe two she will be a freakish color of orange which would fade to a freakish babyshit yellow and then  white as snow.  The color is only temporary she told herself.

She propped her feet upon the ottoman as the sun glinted in on her from the window behind.  She looked at her legs and tried to convince herself that it wasn’t really that bad.  Orange is the new black, right?  That’s when she saw it.  There were white lines that traveled up her calf not just one but numerous white streaks and blotches.  OH MY GAWD,  WHITE BLOTCHES in her Oompa LOompa Tan.  It is much too much to handle.  She ripped off her clothes and jumped in the shower complete with Brillo pad and Comet scrubing the ugly orange skin from her body to no avail; all she accomplishes is to come out smelling like a clean toilet with very raw skin. 

Gladys once again read the directions on the box and realized she will just have to admire her orange fat and maybe make application at the candy factory.
In the mean time if you are looking for an Oompa Loompa I happen to know where you can find one. 
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do
I have a perfect puzzle for you
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-dee
If you are wise, you'll listen to me
What do you get when you try to look tan?
Wiping and swiping with a towlette in your hand
You don’t end up looking like one of the Coppertone Clan?
What do you do next is try to make yourself look bland.



Wednesday, June 3, 2015

SLEEP ELUDES GLADYS

Gladys and Kahuna slept the sleep of parents.  A sleep in which every creak or groan, cough and hiccup awakens you from a sound sleep to jumping up looking for the boogeyman or at the very least the boogeyman’s throw up.    Gladys jumped and looked at the extra large numbers on the clock.  The green glow read 2:22.  She settled back on the pillow and closed her eyes tight trying to will herself back into the land of slumber.   Kahuna rolled over patted her arm and began his ascent into dreamland.

The warm wash of sleep swept over the couple and the night became still and quiet.  Then through the silence came that sound that makes mother’s ears perk and fathers duck under the covers.  It was the sound of horking.  If you are a parent or a pet owner, you know the sound of which I speak.  The sound that breaks through the night causing you to leap from the bed in which you share with said child or pet, switching in on lights and grabbing towels.  You begin the search for the pile of puke in a futile effort to clean it up before it soaks into the mattress. 

All of a sudden you are a ninja warrior, flipping and leaping wiping as you go.  Your partner snatches the offending creature from mid-hork and carries them gingerly but quickly to place where they can safely retch their guts without offending your sleeping place.  In mere minutes you have managed to completely undress the bed and redress it with clean linens as you carefully wad the wretched fouled sheets into a ball keeping the effluent away from you, the bed and the floor.  Then as deftly as you cleared the bed you are washing the foulness down the drain. 

Your partner is not sitting to the side sleepy eyed and waiting.  Nay they are dealing with the poor child, four legged or two, who has now managed to expel three days’ worth of intake onto the bathroom floor.  Your partner has their own choreography of dancing around the pile of vomit gathering paper towels while still holding on to the patient and wiping up with their feet.  They chasse’, pirouette and plié’ while wiping the face and patting the back of the sufferer.

Finally all is clean and all is calm.  They settle back into clean sheets still cool from the early morning.  The invalid between them on a towel with a bucket close by.  You look at the clock and it now reads 2:28.  You have performed the vomit ballet in six minutes.  You wait for your heart to stop racing and you take deep breaths.  You realize at 2:46 that you are waiting in anticipation for the initial horking sound and sleep will not return.

It is in those moments that you realize that you will not be sleeping and you reach to check the poor offending soul who has sprung you from slumber and they let out a long low snore.