Food | BulgingButtons

October 28, 2015
by BulgingButtons 4 Comments

The Evils of Mini Pumpkin Pies

I had to buy them. I was on my way to writing group, and I needed to bring a dessert. A quick stop at the grocery store was my best option, so I flew through the door in search of something sweet, easy to eat, and appealing. Near the front of the store I found them. A tray of mini pumpkin pies. Yes!

Not the real ones, but a reasonable representation.

They actually looked more like mini pecan pies, since they had a nut topping, but the package assured me they were pumpkin. I bought them. I would have bought them if they’d been pecan too. I hurried off to my group, and put out my offering.

By the end of the evening, there were still quite a few little pies left. Not everyone likes pumpkin. There wasn’t a big crowd. Some people (um, like me) are trying to watch what they eat. No worries, I just put the top back on the package and brought them home. Big mistake.

I managed to resist their Siren Song this morning (how, I don’t know), and I even took the dog around the block for a walk. Yay me! But then, after work, things changed. I changed. I reverted to my old habits, and snarfed down several of those little monsters. I don’t know what crack is like (and yes, I realize I’m dating myself and I don’t care), but these little tiny pies must rival its appeal.

Long story short, the little bastards got me. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say I got them. The real kicker? They aren’t even all that good. I mean, if I’m going to sabotage my good intentions, I should at least do it with something wonderful, not a stinking’ mini pumpkin pie (or two, or three). Now, hopefully you’ll still feel a little compassion, or even empathy for poor little ‘ole me. Yes, I messed up, but I can learn from my experiences, especially the ones where I do things wrong. Maybe next time I’ll just leave the leftovers behind.

October 24, 2015
by BulgingButtons 8 Comments

I Will NOT Buy the Orange Oreos

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

But I love them so!

But they’re full of sugar and fat.

But they’re delicious!

No they’re not. Not THAT delicious. Not homemade delicious.

But they’re ORANGE! And it’s almost Halloween!

Yeah, but it’ll always be almost SOMETHING.

So no orange oreos this year?

I’m afraid not.

I guess it’s just as well. *SIGH*

October 22, 2015
by BulgingButtons 3 Comments

Bar Mitzvah Dancing – Salsa Meets Horah

I had the wonderful privilege of celebrating my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah with him last weekend, and it was a ball. Oh sure, there were a few tense moments as I muddled through the Hebrew blessing during the actual service, but he did great, and after all, he was the one everyone was there to see, so no worries.

I love a good Bar Mitzvah. Extended family members and close family friends from all over the place come together to celebrate this milestone, and we do it with gusto. There are luncheons, dinners, and brunches thrown for these events, and of course there are parties.

My brother and his wife went through this wonderful celebration a little over a year ago with their daughter. They are pros by now. Their son’s events were every bit as enjoyable, but different and unique to him and his preferences. For example, the kid doesn’t eat real food. Somehow he has survived all these years on scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, white rice, and air. At the luncheon there was an entire table devoted to “his” foods, which proved to be surprisingly popular with many of the guests.

The big event, aside from the actual ceremony, was the evening party, and oh what a party! The kids started off in the ballroom of the venue, but we adults gathered in the lakeside bar to enjoy cocktails and a beautiful sunset. We joined the kids later for a fabulous dinner followed by dancing, and more cocktails. Open bar, you say? Yes, please.

There was traditional Jewish dancing, including a rousing Horah where my son joined the men in lifting celebrants high overhead as they sat in a chair. Even my mother was hoisted to the sky, gripping the chair for dear life! Then there was the real dancing. My sister-in-law is Puerto Rican, and the girl can dance! She does a smooth Salsa, and she’s managed to teach my brother. I have two left feet, but when they married they gave me a crash course, so I could dance at their wedding. Apparently my feet remembered, because when I was escorted onto the dance floor (by her equally smooth brother) I didn’t crush any toes.

I loved getting up to dance, it reminded me of my college years, when dancing was a part of every weekend party. Of course, as I said, I’m not a real dancer, but honestly nobody cares as long as you’re moving and having fun. My mother learned that long ago. She’s been doing the same little locomotive arm movements for as long as I can remember, but she loves to dance! I won’t reveal her age (because she would be mortified, as if people believe her when she says she’s 29) but she’s been dancing a long time. I want to get up and dance when I’m her age. I want to be invited to celebrations, and I want to shake it to whatever that generation’s Ke$ha and Pitt Bull have to offer. I owe it to my family and future generations.