Beer Squash Soup: Not for the Weak-paletted

Fall = football, root vegetables, and brisk winds. So, let's use beer and squash and make it into a warm, creamy soup, K?

1 large butternut squash, roasted, peeled, and cut into chunks
1 thick cut strip of bacon, large dice (optional)
1 large sweet potato, peeled and cut into chunks
1/2 yellow onion, large dice
4 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 bottle Shiner Bock (you can use any flavorful, dark beer)
8 cups unsalted chicken broth
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
3 strands saffron
2 leaves fresh sage
1 tablespoon canola oil
kosher salt
freshly cracked pepper
whipped goat cheese


Roasted Butternut Squash:
- preheat the oven to 400 degrees
- carefully cut the squash in half lengthwise
- scoop out seeds and strings with a large spoon
- place meat side up on a baking sheet and sprinkle with brown sugar, if desired
- roast for 45 mins to an hour, until meat is just becoming tender
- let cool and remove skin (it should come off easily)
- cut into large chunks for soup

Beer Squash Soup:
- in a large sauce pot, heat 1 Tablespoon canola oil with medium - low heat
- if using bacon, saute in oil until it starts to brown (about 4 mins)
- add garlic, toast lightly (about 1 min)
- add onion and until lightly caramelized (about 3 mins)
- add sweet potato and saute until bright orange (about 3 mins)
- deglaze with beer, scraping up the browned bits with a wooden spoon
- let beer reduce until about 1/4 inch is left in the bottom of the pot
- add chunks of butternut squash
- add chicken broth, stir until everything is combined
- add nutmeg, saffron, sage, 3 tablespoons of salt, and a few twists of cracked pepper
- turn up the heat to medium - high and bring to a simmer, do not let it boil
- let soup simmer for 20 - 30 mins
- remove sage leaves and let soup cool until warm enough to handle
- blend with stick blender or in batches in a motorized blender (be careful!)
- strain half of the blended mixture through a fine mesh strainer into a clean pot
- pour the rest of the mixture into the strained portion, blend if necessary
- add salt to taste

Serve soup with a dollop of whipped goat cheese, a drizzle of sage butter, a warm gruyere crostini, and, of course, a frosty mug of your favorite beer. Enjoy!

Sage Butter:
4 leaves fresh sage
1/2 cup Plugra butter

- heat butter in a sauce pan over medium - low heat
- fry sage leaves in butter
- if you want to use the fried sage leaves as a garnish, remove them from the pan and drain on a paper towel.

Gruyere Crostinis:
1 garlic clove, cut in half
12 tablespoons grated gruyere cheese
6 pieces of french baguette bread, sliced on a bias

- turn on oven broiler to 550 degrees
- rub garlic clove on each piece of bread, then discard
- arrange 2 tablespoons of gruyere on each piece of bread so that it covers the entire surface
- place crostinis on a baking sheet and put under broiler
- watch carefully, and remove when cheese begins to turn golden brown

Beth's Butter Bean Tomato Confit

For my best vegetarian friend, this first of many recipe posts is all for you.

Ingredients:
1/2 cup dry lima beans (butter beans)
1/2 yellow onion
1 hamhock (optional)
2 large cloves garlic, 1 whole, 1 minced
1 bay leaf
2 fresh tomatoes, crushed
4 leaves fresh basil, chopped
1 jar capers, drained
1 tablespoon canola oil
kosher salt
freshly cracked pepper

Beans:
- place onion half, 1 garlic clove, hamhock, bay leaf, and beans into a large sauce pot
- fill with enough water to cover beans by 4 inches
- turn heat to medium and let beans simmer for 30 - 45 mins (until tender)
- remove onion, garlic clove, hamhock, and bay leaf and strain beans, reserving 2 cups of liquid

Beth's Butter Beans:
- in a large saute pan, heat canola oil on low heat
- saute minced garlic until lightly toasted (about 1 min)
- add drained capers and saute for 1 min
- add crushed tomatoes and saute for 2 mins
- add beans and 2 tablespoons bean liquid, gently saute for another 2 mins
- if you notice the beans are looking try, keep adding the bean liquid by tablespoons
- add salt and pepper to taste (the capers are salty, so make sure you taste before you add salt)
- right before serving, sprinkle a little chopped basil and mix it in

Enjoy, my veg friends!

Day Two of Post-State Fair Recovery: Blemish Prevention

Now that our bodies are full of folic acid, fiber, and iron, it's time to tend to the organ that displays the status of our internal health; skin. If you're like me, a little grease does a lot of damage when it manages to find its way to my pores. One corny dog later and the only thing missing from my pre-pubescent appearance is a mouthful of metal. When my skin throws a temper tantrum, I don't even feel like dealing with my frizzy hair, so I look even MORE like the painfully insecure 13-year-old I once was. I'd like to stay graduated from that phase of life, and so, I bring you the most wonderful recent discovery and well-kept secret in skin care; the Emergen-C packet.

If you don't know about this miracle product, it is intended to be a drink when mixed with water. With 1,000mg of vitamin C and 32 mineral complexes, it's safe to say you won't be suffering from the common cold if you harbor a box of these during winter. However, it is what the packets are not intended for that I want to share, because your skin will glow with happiness. Use the Emergen-C packets not as a drink, but as a facial scrub, and give your skin the nutrients it needs to fight the bacteria that causes blemishes. Vitamin C also makes your skin glow and fights free radicals, but instead of having to buy expensive pure vitamin C serums, you can just peruse the pharmacy isle at your local Walgreen's...oh joy!

Directions for use:

1. Stand over your sink, because this can get a tad messy
2. Pour an entire Emergen-C packet into the palm of your hand
3. Make a paste with the powder by dropping a tiny bit of water into your palm and using your fingers to mix
4. Massage all over your face like an exfoliant
5. Leave on for a few minutes...it should tingle!
6. Wash off with warm water and look in the mirror
7. Blow yourself a kiss, you gorgeous thing, you.

"That'll be 11 coupons and your dignity, ma'am."

I went to the Texas State Fair last week and may as well have ingested a vat of grease while rubbing fried butter on my face. If you can imagine how one might look and feel after doing that, you can imagine how I look and feel right now (not pretty). In my defense, I had taken four shots of tequila the night before and felt more entitled than usual to the fried treats all around me. In a desperate attempt to recover lost vitamins, minerals, and a general quality of life, I went to Whole Foods, spent a fortune on organic produce, and parked myself in the kitchen until all my nutrient-packed ingredients were properly prepared into edible dishes. I want to share these recipes with you because I know I'm not the only one who has woken up feeling like not even a stint at the gym could begin to repair the damage done from one weekend's worth of bad decisions. Today, I reclaim my dignity through healthy, nutritious, simple dishes, and I already feel a little better. Enjoy!

I cannot take credit for this recipe, and as much as I hate to admit where I got it from, I'm going to have to tell you...Gwyneth Paltrow's banal and slightly self-righteous blog, This is Goop. This soup was part of a week-long detox plan that her nutritionist suggested, so naturally, I tried it. Worst week of my life. The soup, though, will surprise you with its depth of flavor, I promise!


2 heads of broccoli, cut into florets
1/2 box baby arugula
5 cups water (enough to barely cover broccoli)
6 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1 yellow onion, quartered
1 Tablespoon Kosher salt
4 twists fresh cracked black pepper
1 lemon, halved
1 Tablespoon olive oil

Heat olive oil in large pot
throw in onions, saute for 5 mins
throw in garlic, saute until fragrant
add salt and pepper, stir up
throw in broccoli, saute till bright green
add water, leaving the top layer of broccoli slightly uncovered, bring to boil
simmer for 20 mins
turn off heat
add arugula
puree with immersion blender until very smooth
squeeze lemon juice from both halves into soup, stir
add salt and pepper to taste

This can be served hot or at room temperature.

The Day I Woke Up: A Non-Fiction Story

Like many life-changing events, this one happened on the morning of a tragically normal, insignificant, indistinguishable day at work.

I was feeling especially bitter about my life situation that morning, probably because I had come into work two hours late thanks to a couple of A+ drivers on I-30 who wrecked their cars so badly that all traffic came to a complete stop for miles. Don't worry, they ended up with only minor injuries. I, however, sat in my car listening to Cascada's Evacuate the Dance Floor on repeat because my brain decided the only way it would survive being trapped for two hours without the prospect of an exit was to shut down. I literally do not remember the time elapsed between 8am and 10am. Suddenly, my brain turned back on and I found myself exiting off of the interstate...thank God...or maybe not.

Upon entering my "office" (desk without filing cabinets in a reception area), I felt as dazed and confused as when I read my first college rejection letter. I couldn't get focused, I couldn't think beyond a few seconds of where I was or what I was doing. I suppose I just sat at my desk staring out the window at the Jiffy Lube for a good couple of hours, because the next thing I remember is being introduced to the marketing rep for a vendor my company carries. We had a meeting about something marketing-related, of which, I have no recollection. I'm sure I was babbling with glazed eyes the entire time, but I do remember being very aware of the trouble I was having getting my thoughts together and how frightened I was at being unable to control my lack of brain function. No matter how much I tried, I could not snap myself back into work mode. I was falling in slow motion and trying to play it off like my blasé attitude just meant I was too cool for school. Somehow, I made it through the meeting and immediately rushed back to my desk to sit down. My head felt like it was floating away, my eyes started to roll backwards, and I officially started to panic.

I put my head down so I wouldn't pass out and slam my face on the keyboard, but the world never went dark. My heart beat sped up like I was on Adderall, my toes went numb, and I could not calm myself down if my life depended on it. I usually have full control over my mind and body. You know in Kill Bill: Vol. 1 when Uma wakes up in the hospital and her heart rate races, reflecting her state of panic, and as soon as she hears people coming down the hallway, she slows it back down to resting mode in less than a few seconds? I can totally do that, I've tried it. I was in unfamiliar territory not being able to slow my own heart rate, so of course, I panicked even more.

I called my dad, the good doctor, and began describing my symptoms in a slightly over dramatic manner; "I'M HAVING A STROKE! I'M GOING TO PASS OUT AND LOSE CONTROL OF MY BODILY FUNCTIONS!" His trained response was to make it seem less like an emergency than it actually was, but my panic only worsened. Within five minutes, I was on the road to his office and full on freaking out...I probably shouldn't have been driving, but I come from a land where buildings are separated by miles, not blocks, and temperatures climb to 105° by noon. When I finally reached the hospital, I barged my way through every double door until I got to the exam table. Curled up in the fetal position and bawling, one of the partners in my dad's practice came in and said, "Well hey there young lady, I haven't seen you since you were a little girl!" Unable to wrench my muscles from their chosen position, I stayed curled up but instinctively responded with all the Southern grace that was ingrained in me to uphold, even in the direst of situations; "Hello, nice to see you, yes it has been a long time (tears flowing)!"

It turned out that I had had a panic attack and a few pills of Xanax were all that was needed. Until that day, I always regarded panic attacks as what happens when a person doesn't know how to deal with high stress or anxiety, a sort of hypochondriac excuse when life gets messy. Now I know first-hand, a panic attack is a terrifying, nightmarish experience that can happen to the weak and the strong. In the days following the attack, I felt like I was living life in a dream. Nothing seemed real, nothing seemed important; the sense of urgency and the obsessive compulsive attention to detail I had always possessed and depended upon were gone...but I wasn't so sure I wanted any of it back.

Today, over a month after the attack, I am a changed girl. The ability to focus came back to me, and slowly, life started to seem real again. Not just real; inspiring. A sense of urgency returned, but only with high-priority things like bills, putting gas in the car, and projects at work. The only thing that didn't come back was the anxiety, the nervousness, the unnecessary lingering over people and situations I could not control. I don't know how else to describe it other than it was as if my brain blew a gasket and somehow, the whole machine started functioning properly. I am not suggesting that a panic attack is the cure-all for everyone, and I don't even know how you would self-induce one, but mine changed me for the better. The panic attack saved me from myself by getting rid of the person I had become and taking me back to the person I always was. This new outlook on life is what I moved home to find, I just didn’t expect the world to fall from my feet in order for me to find it.

I suppose the next move is to take my new-found fearlessness and put it to good use, although I’m not in any hurry. I’m still marveling at the lesson I taught myself by blowing a fuse on that very normal, very ordinary morning at work. In just a short amount of time, I have already noticed how much more wonderful life can be when you get out of your own way. I guess I never really understood what it means to “believe in yourself;” those words became empty after too many athletes repeated them in Gatorade ads. However, that mantra is no longer a banal phrase, and that is really, really liberating.

From Corporate to Country

As a vivacious and painfully naive college senior, I was certain that a large, fabulous company in downtown Chicago would hire me to lead their creative department in a vast creative project for only creative people because of my talents and creativity. This idea was the only reality I had to thrive on until I actually did get hired...as an intern...at an insurance company. Given that the company was located downtown and I was in the most creative department an insurance company can justify, I suppose you could argue that half of my idealized situation became real. For some reason, this was when I finally learned a life lesson that I should have learned when I was rejected from the Ivy League world I had always imagined myself in; things just don't work out the way you plan them. The lesson here, of course, is to accept this truth about your life and be more open-minded. I'm still working on the latter part of that.

My first day of the internship was full of core-shaking realities. I suddenly found myself in a cube with no one around who wanted to have fun. The adults were twice, sometimes three times my age, but in stark contrast to the adults in my previous life, they were not full of lessons, encouragement, or experience. For the first time in my young life, I was bored. I mean really, truly, devastatingly bored. Not even the spots of color from the company's logo on the cube walls inspired me. I was shut away from the world by limited days off, monotonous data entry, and a serious lack of real human interaction. I became impatient to change my horrendous situation and prove myself invaluable, and that is exactly what I did. Through the fine art of rule-breaking, slight underhandedness, demonstrating talent, building an ego, and a change of cube location, I became a full-time employee reporting straight to the senior vice president of my department. For those who are not yet (or never were) familiar with corporate hierarchy, all of senior management reports to the CEO. Yup, I became a valued member of that little society in less than two years, and I didn't even sleep with anyone on the way up. The details surrounding my two years at this company are too many and too tedious. Describing them now will take me far away from the point of this post, so I will leave them for another day.

As I began to grow into a professional, I outgrew the job I had worked so hard to tailor to fit my strengths. I wanted more than my boss could give me, and he knew that, I think. It wasn't because he didn't want to reward me, it was because his hands were tied by a narrow-minded CEO and his forty-two year old (I know that's your real age) bum-kisser, who followed his coattails around all day and happened to be in my department. It didn't take a therapist to identify the severe daddy issues that were involved in that despicable relationship. It became too much for me to bear, so I quit the grind and moved home to Dallas, Texas. Just like that.

With the help of my dad, as much as I hate to admit it, I got a job in the marketing department of a medical supplies distribution company. Medical supplies is a product I can get behind a little more easily than extended service contracts, so I was happy to take the job. The only problem is the location of our office, which is a one-story, completely carpeted, red brick building...in Arlington, Texas. If that doesn't mean anything to you, think Office Space, except a smaller, more depressing structure. I can see a Jiffy Lube and a Taco Bueno outside my window, and every once in awhile, a pick-up truck goes by. If this isn't culture shock, I don't know what is. I went from a downtown high-rise office building located just a few blocks from Daley Plaza to a thirty-minute commute on I-30 to the most barren land west of Dallas that calls itself a city. Going from corporate to country in just one month is not only an extreme, out-of-control ride; it's something you cannot prepare yourself for through idealizations, imaginary situations, or predictions. I drive to work every day now and have to worry about things like gas and traffic. I actually have to be awake enough to navigate at eighty miles per hour at 8:00 in the morning. I pull up in my conspicuous black convertible with my eff-off, oversized shades and Lady Gaga shoulder pads. I look as if I've accidentally ended up in Arlington, which is, to a certain degree, very true. I did not plan to ever venture to, much less spend my days in, Arlington, Texas, but somehow, here I am.

At least now I can listen to a full Lady Gaga song without public transportation's noises, dangers, and health hazards. At least I can wear skinny jeans and not be called into HR for my inappropriate and offensive dress. At least I've begun the most important journey I've ever set out on; the search for myself. This is me keeping an open mind.

Lady Gaga says it all to me

Well, I've committed the cardinal sin amongst all who value the preservation of art that exists to inspire rather than to turn a profit...I've become obsessed with pop princess and little monster, Lady Gaga. Now, before you judge me for buying into the well-crafted image of the music industry's most successful meal ticket, consider this; maybe Lady Gaga is more to me than a sequined mystery. Maybe she provides me with more than powerful bridges and aesthetically titillating music videos. She is my Id; the Freudian concept of the area in our psyche that houses basic, primitive notions of pleasure and reacts without conscience.

Lady Gaga goes where only my Id dares to go. Her dark, strange, unabashedly sexed-up style frightens and soothes me at the same time; the Id feeds on such a juxtaposition. I live in a cold city, where the sky is the same color as the pavement and my cube walls are just high enough to inhibit any conversation I might want to start with someone passing by. In my isolated and colorless world, my Id seethes with chaotic cravings of pleasure...in any form. Lady Gaga satisfies my cravings by being brave enough to don fantastical costumes, makeup, and the most giant heels you've ever seen. Nothing inhibits her, nothing stands in her way; she is what she is when she is, and she does what she wants when she wants. Miss Gaga is, by all accounts, the Id. Her seemingly impulsive and predictably unpredictable appearances, shows, and music are a black hole for my basic needs of pleasure.

So that is why I stand my ground when it comes to my Lady, my Gaga. She moves me more than Avril's insecurity, Pink's anger, or Eminem's irreverence. The Id never apologizes, because the Id has no notion of right or wrong. In Gaga's world, right and wrong do not organize things; inspiration, desire, and indulgence rule supreme. I'll follow you until you love me, Lady Gaga.