I arrived at Chez Mama just in time for the dinner rush. I could tell
from the prime seating, the highest chair on the floor, that the
hostess recognized me despite my usually successful record of attempts
at anonymity. A food critic can always tell when they've been marked-
good seating, service beyond the norm… One restaurant, much like this
one, even went so far as to cut my food for me as if I couldn't be
bothered to feed myself.

And I couldn't, so that was okay.

The ambiance had a "home"y feel to it. The decor was rather lovely and,
if the various toys strewn across the floor were any indication, very
kid-friendly. It was a packed house to be sure, not an empty chair in
sight. While perusing the menu, I could overhear the shouts for
"Tonights Special!" from the busy table next to me. So I followed suit.

When my meal arrived a few moments later, I must admit, I was shocked.
French Toast for dinner? A bold move for a restaurant such as this,
indeed. Just next door, the Famous Smith Bistro was serving its
scrumptious meatloaf and mashed potatoes; and I had it on good
authority that the Jones Cafe around the block would be serving their highly-applauded Tuna Casserole. Both solid staples on the popular dinner menu.
I just couldn't imagine what the chef here was thinking. Breakfast for
dinner? Would it be a brave triumph or a gigantic flop? We would see.

The presentation was superb albeit a bit messy. The toast was fluffy
with a great color and lightly sprinkled with powdered sugar and
then drowned in syrup. And despite the tacky plastic character serving set, over
all it looked very very promisiing.

Immediately, I tasted… bread. Followed by a delightful mixture of real vanilla and cinnamon.  Neither too dry nor too moist, the French Toast was perfect.

In conclusion,  I would highly recommend  that every person with the last name Shakespeare pay a visit to Chez Mama  for one of their inventive "breakfast for dinner  "  items  (the chef assured me that  they make monthly "I really need to go to the grocery store" appearances); and I gladly award Chez Mama an illustrious and noisy  Three and a Half Burps for culinary delight.*

Be sure to join me next time as I go deep into the country for Deer Sausage Jambalaya at Grandpa's Dirt Road Diner. Until then, this burp's for you!

*Unfortunately, I was forced to deduct half a star after having a rather nasty and unnecessary argument with a pretty little waitress over whether or not I was allowed to use a real fork.

I once said that I'd never post a recipe on this blog (with the clear exception of those intended for smart-assery). Not that posting recipes is a faux pas of any sort- a bad habit or a clear-cut example of my hard-learned domesticity.

It's just that my recipes never make a lick of sense straight out of the gate¹. You see, I have this really terrible anarchist streak² that rears its head at the oddest moments- like when I'm attempting to re-create Satan's tamales or some fabulous recipe that Rachel has posted³.

Inevitably, that [Chicken Casserole Supreme]⁴ turns into my [Super Chicken on a Stick]⁵. And even though my [Super Chicken on a Stick] is all that is fabulous and divine, (after all, one mustn't need be an actual genius to know everything, right?) it still isn't [Chicken Casserole Supreme].

And demmit to all hell, it never looks like the freaking picture. But to get to the point already:

This cheesecake has made a liar out of me.

A big fat liar.

A big fat liar with an orange stain on her shirt.

I vaguely recall something being said about food and drink and merriness. So smile, for Barbie's sake, thank God for your leftover Christmas pantry goods, overcome that silly fear of raw eggs, and get fat with me:

You'll need: 3 pkg cream cheese, bag of gingersnap cookies, 2 sticks REAL butter, 3 eggs, lots of sugar, some nuts of some sort, canned pumpkin, 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour, and some caramel syrup.

Finely crunch the cookies (you'll need about a cup and a half), throw them in a bowl with just enough melted butter to make them moist. Press the mixture into the bottom of a springform pan and bake them in the oven for about ten minutes or so to set.

Beat together (one ingredient at a time) softened cream cheese, 1/2 cup butter, granulated sugar at least a cup or so (TASTE UNTIL JUST RIGHT), 1 cup or so of canned pumpkin (TASTE UNTIL JUST RIGHT), flour, 1/2 cup or so of caramel syrup (TASTE UNTIL JUST RIGHT), and three eggs.

Pour mixture over crust, and place pan inside a roasting pan with a little water on the bottom. Bake at 325 for about an hour and twenty minutes.Let cool and then refrigerate overnight before serving.

Grab your nuts *snort* and cook them in a skillet on medium heat until warm, add a handful or two of sugar, stirring constantly until nuts are completely covered and sugar is melted. Spread them out on wax paper or sheet of foil to dry.

Now I'm not sure what this is supposed to look like exactly as my mom
called and left me the recipe on my voicemail… But I'll be damned if that doesn't look like a cheesecake.

I am awesome.

Footnotes: 1. Pun intended. Duh. 2. When I say "anarchist", I really mean docile housewife who enjoys blogging and posting various recipes online. When I say "I" "me" or "my", I am actually referring to "my friend". Under no circumstances, am I or this blog affiliated with anarchy. I swear it, Mr. Eavesdropping Government Official Man. 3. Or when I conspire to overthrow the reigning dick in office. 4. in order to protect the innocent, actual recipe names are withheld. 5. This work is a piece of fiction. All people, places, things, events described herein are works of the author's imagination. Any relation to actual  persons, places, things, or events  is purely coincidental.

Life must have rules.

As parents, we know this. Straightforward or found hidden within the depths of the Fruit Loops box, these rules are what keep us safe. What keep us sane. (And with three heathens running afoot, sanity is definitely among my top concerns here.) They are what shape our sophisticated little modern lives. They are the necessary evil- the hamartia in our hedonistic hero.

Yep.

Life must have rules.

These rules, they are our reminders of the lessons, both big and small, that we've already learned. They are the "been there done that and probably won't survive if I try it again" stories. They are the stuffs of fairy tales- of Pinocchios and Little Pigs. They are unique and personal and common and universal all at once.

Yep.

Life must have rules. Especially ones such as:

Never ever just tell your husband to pick you up some "pads". Always be specific. Always tell him the name brand, the color of the bag, the approximate location in the store, the average price, and perhaps even the way the bag will sound if dropped on the WalMart floor. Never ever just tell your husband to pick you up some "pads". Even if he's been picking you up pads for nigh on a decade now.

Else you may find yourself holding a bag of Poise Bladder Control Protection items  when you'd gladly give over your firstborn in exchange for a super-thin Always maxi-pad with wings.

You see, that, that, is a good rule.

However, another equally good rule is:

Always remember to apologize sweetly to said husband after throwing rather large (yet soft) bag of Poise Bladder Control Protection Items at his head out of frustration… Especially if, three or four days later on New Year's  in the wee hours of the morning when there is frost on the ground and not a nearby pharmacy or grocer open; you, while cleaning up the results of The Baby's newly found love for candied yams,  suddenly find yourself without diapers. NOT A SINGLE SOLITARY DIAPER ANYWHERE. NOT IN THE CAR, NOT IN THE DIAPER BAG, NOT UNDER THE CUSHION OF THE COUCH…

And even better:

Be sure to pat yourself on the back- maybe even go so far as go out and buy yourself a little prize- for your amazing ability to think creatively in tough situations. Especially if, on New Year's  in the
wee hours of the morning when there is frost on the ground and not a
nearby pharmacy or grocer open; you, while cleaning up the results of
The Baby's newly found love for candied yams,  suddenly find yourself
without diapers. And you, the MacGyver in heels that you are, think to fasten a Poise Bladder Control Protection Item onto a pair of toddler underwear and manage to save the day (and the sheets).

Yep.

Life must have rules.

But I'm cool with that.

The Angel on Top of Our Tree

Mr. Snow (Our tree is silver and blue w/ snowmen & snowflakes)

Cupcake. Good.

Not Necessarily a Favorite Picture… but I made homemade bread pudding with a Creole Praline sauce that kicked ass, so, yeah, definitely a weekly winner.

Hope you all are having a beautiful Sunday!

 

And I'm pretty crafty too.

No, that's not right. Let me try again:

And I have the potential to be pretty crafty. I just haven't quite gotten around to actually doing anything about it.

Honestly, there are millions of nifty little ideas floating around in my head, and somewhere in this often overburdened subconscious (to whom I like to refer to as Molly) is a plan to put them all to good use. Unfortunately, as Molly and I are currently not on speaking terms since she refuses to share with me the undoubtedly profound reasons why she's been forcing me to hoard beer bottle caps and glue sticks for the last twenty years; I don't see myself fulfilling said potential any time soon.

But one day, one day, I will create something like this fabulously frightening chandelier, sell it on eBay for a handsome virtual dollar or two, and then move on to something much more commercially appealing like scrapbooking or bounty hunting or something.