It’s no secret that I love to cook. I even had a lovely post about my Chinese Dinner that I threw when the Sweater Gang came over. But due to the fact that I gave one of them my URL (via giving him my e-mail address), I took it down. I didn’t want to come across as gushy. I may still post it in increments though, because there were some good recipes on there.

Anyway… that’s beside the point. I found the Smitten Kitchen today… and I’ve been inspired. So I’ve decided to start writing about the stuff I’ve made. I need to take pictures too, but it’s too late for today’s story, since I’ve already eaten two pieces of it.

I made a Mushroom Spinach Pizza.

Pizza Crust :
Your favorite recipe, a Jiffy mix, store bought, whatever. Enough for a 14 inch pizza.

Toppings:
3/4 cup sliced button mushrooms
1 1/2 cups leaf spinach
2 tbs olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/8 cup red wine vinegar.
1/2-2/3 cup alfredo sauce
1/2 cup fontina cheese, shredded
1/4 cup parmesan, shredded/shaved/whatever
1/3 cup mozzarella cheese, shredded
Salt and pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 425 F.
In a large skillet, saute mushrooms in olive oil over medium heat. Cook for 6-8 minutes or until the edges are beginning to caramelize. Add garlic, and season with salt and pepper. Cook for another 1 minute, and deglaze with vinegar. When vinegar has almost completely evaporated, add spinach. Season with salt and pepper again. When spinach has complete wilted, and there is no visible liquid in the pan, remove from heat and set aside. Cool completely.

Flatten the pizza dough out, and spread alfredo sauce over it, sprinkle with the cheeses, reserving a little of the fontina.

If liquid has pooled in mushroom spinach mixture, drain completely. Sprinkle mushrooms and spinach over pizza. Sprinkle with remaining fontina. I actually shaved some off of the block of cheese with a peeler… lovely!

Cook on either a sprayed cookie sheet, or a pizza stone (not sprayed!) if you’ve got one. I don’t have one, tragically, but the round cookie sheet works fine for me.

Cook for 14-18 minutes, depending on how crispy you like your edges. Remove to a rack, let cool a tad, and serve hot.

“I had a major freak out session on Saturday. I did you proud.” – my friend Julie, this morning as I walked into work at my usual 9:45.

I’m famous for my ability to freak out. But believe me, in my family I’m the calm one. I come from a long line of freakouters. No one can freak out like my family. My sister Chere reaches such high pitches in her rages that only dogs can hear her, and my mother transforms into a small ball of hyper-articulate indignation. My father turns purple, his blood sugar drops and he threatens to keel over. My dear brother Seth can singlehandedly ruin any holiday. Angel is no angel, and Enoch digs in his heels, regardless of any and all life threatening consequences. You’ve never seen such a bunch of stubborn people. The saying about my family goes like this: “All chiefs and no Indians.”

Amongst the chaos that is the Anderson family, I’m the chill one. I remain calm in the face of screaming, whining, ranting, hyper-articulate indignation and blood sugar fluctuations.

But on my own, that’s a different story. The slightest wobble in the status quo will send me into a hyperventilating, my-life-is-so-over, no-one-loves-me, you-can’t-possibly-understand drama.

It’s a little embarrassing. Those who love me have become accustomed to it and realize that there is nothing that can be done about it. No amount of consoling will cheer me up, and the best bet is to just weather the storm. The sun will come out about 5 seconds after my last final/dentist appointment/boy drama. That’s the one positive, I’m so incredibly cheery after the clouds have cleared that it’s almost worth it.

I like to think I’ve got a sense of humor about it. But honestly, I think I just have really tolerant friends.

It’s a Jimi Hendrix song. He wrote it after he argued with his girlfriend about her cooking, and she stormed out.

Now that’s pretty funny.

I had always assumed that before this I’d have experienced some kind of great romantic love for another person.

I am interested in someone right now. He’s just an ordinary boy, and it’s late on a Saturday night following an evening where he spent more time talking to my roommate than me.

Short of divine intervention it’s not going anywhere.

I’ve never been the type of girl to write lists, you know? I don’t have a bunch of qualifications my future husband must have. I’ve never liked a guy based on his looks – at least, not initially. Every time I’ve liked someone, no one was more surprised than me. And it came after the guy said something that resonated with me, and then sort of rippled out from there. Sure, I want some basic things, but really it’s pretty simple. I don’t want perfect – I’d be terribly uncomfortable with perfect – the whole point of marriage is to find someone to progress with. I just want someone kind and generous, who isn’t afraid of Asia, and who thinks I’m kind of funny.

Then there is the obvious non-convict/felon & must be Mormon.

On the flip side of me being interested in someone… There’s little that is as heartbreaking as not being interested in the person that is interested in you. I’d almost rather it were me on the unreciprocated side. I’m used to that side. I am tough enough to handle that.

I’m an advocate of blunt honesty. “I just don’t feel that way,” is the easiest and best way to say it. But you can’t help but hope that it doesn’t get to that point, and you never have to be the person to make them feel badly. Of course, it’s too late, but to look someone in the eye, and know that there is nothing honest you can do to make the situation better makes my throat tight and my eyes burn.

I used to think it was just tacky not to get the hint. But now I wonder if it’s an unabashed persistence in the belief that love is out there – and really very inspiring? I don’t know.

Isn’t it supposed to be easier than this?

No. I’m not going to Memphis, but I love that song. I have no idea why. Practically every mix I make I add it in. It goes with everything. When you’re happy, sad, melancholy, even giddy. It’s a great sing-along song. Try it on your next road trip.

For those of you who aren’t familiar, the song is “Walking in Memphis” and the version is Marc Cohn’s, who originally wrote and sang the song. It’s been covered by a bunch of people, including Lonestar (not bad) and it’s commonly miscredited to Bruce Springsteen.
Some facts about the song:

Marc Cohn wrote it after hearing a sermon by Al Green (how can you not love that?). It is about spiritual awakening, and the lyrics are an ode to blues & gospel music. For example: the Delta Blues is the one of the earliest styles of the blues, and W.C. Handy is a jazz legend often called the Father of Blues. And that’s just the beginning.

Here’s the chorus:
I’m walkin’ in Memphis
Walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale
Walkin’ in Memphis
But do I really feel the way I feel?

See iTunes.