More Fried Chicken

I recently finished reading Ruth Reichl's Tender at the Bone: Growing Up at the Table. In one chapter, she talks about camping out in an Ann Arbor "integrated" bar in the 60s for a sociology paper. Given my recent study of frying chicken, I knew I had to make "Claritha's fried chicken" for the Superbowl.





(taken from Tender at the Bone, but haphazardly re-imagined while imbibing and shooing small children away from hot oil)

Claritha's Fried Chicken

The day before

• Rinse 2-3 packages of chicken wings (know where your chicken is coming from) in cold water. Toss with copious amounts of kosher salt in a bowl (2-3 handfuls). Let sit 2 hours. Rinse in cold water a few times.
• Slice two onions very thinly. Dump wings into one or two large ziploc bags. Cover with buttermilk. Sprinkle in slice onions. Toss/massage ziplocs to combine ingredients. Refridgerate overnight.

An hour before guests arrive

• Combine 1 cup flour + good hanful of salt + dash of cayenne + several grounds of black pepper in a new ziploc bag.
• Drain chicken from buttermilk/onion mixture. Add a few pieces at a time to seasoned flour bag and toss thoroughly to coat. Important step: Place floured chicken pieces on wax or parchment paper to dry. Let sit 30 minutes to dry out.

15 minutes before guests arrive

• While chicken is drying out, melt 1 cup vegetable shortening (that's Crisco to us Southerners) and 1/2 stick of butter over medium-low heat in heavy pan (cast iron is best). [Here's where it might pay to either do some frying research to see what temp is recommended - or just prepare to adjust as you go based on how fast the chicken is cooking.]
• Test one wing in the oil to see if it's the right temp. When you're convinced the oil is at the perfect temperature, tenderly place just enough wings in the hot oil so you're efficient but not overcrowding the pan.
• Turn and cook until the desired browness and internal temperature. Remove from oil and either drain on paper towel-lined plate or a cooling rack over a baking sheet. Sprinkle with a little salt.

As far as serving - I like to save half the chicken for a purist's enjoyment of good ole fried chicken. Since it was Superbowl, I tossed half the fried chicken in the traditional Frank's Red Hot Original. Both versions are taken to another level when drizzled with clover honey.

Fried Chicken Throwdown: ad hoc at home v momofuku

Recently my foodie friend Adam (follow him @adampasick) and I decided to pit our newest cookbooks against each other: Thomas Keller's ad hoc at home versus David Chang's Momofuku. I'm all for the recent fried chicken craze and couldn't wait to see if Keller's Buttermilk Fried Chicken (p. 16) could beat Chang's Fried Chicken (p. 88) with Octo Vinaigrette (pg. 107).




Keller comes off as exacting, precise and intense - even in a cookbook about family-style cooking. (Case in point: My cousin, who did an internship at the French Laundry, pointed out the picture of the spices on page 17, noting that there was a certain point when a new dictum was issued: tape labels for spices need to be cut straight with scissors, not ripped with jagged edges. Geez!) Chang is just as intense, if not more complicated - not sure when I'll be taking a blow torch to a pig head to remove the stubborn hair tufts - yet laid back about swapping ingredients "that are a total pain in the ass to find". Love that he has a dirty mouth. The one question he always asks about a dish: "Is it fucking delicious?" Amen.



Who doesn't love friend chicken? But these two recipes couldn't be more different. And these are not school night recipes - both require weekend warrior effort.



The Momofuku chicken is brined, steamed, fried and then doused in octo vinaigrette (which is crack addictive). The ad hoc chicken is brined too - for 12 hours in a lemon-herb brine and then double dipped in buttermilk and paprika-seasoned flour.




Since the chicken is brined with salt and sugar, it doesn't need much time in the fryer but it browns up nice and quick. A quick soak in octo vinaigrette (garlic, ginger, chile, rice wine vinegar, soy sauce, grapeseed oil, sesame oil + sugar) and you're done. Eating resulted in food buzz moans.


The herb-lemon brine did make the meat intensely juicy and flavorful (next time I'll measure more carefully since I halved the recipe and only used bone-in chicken breasts). The double-dip method of seasoned flour, then buttermilk, then another dip in seasoned flour did make a tender, light, flaky crust. The deep fried rosemary = you just took it to 11.

Strawberry Cream Cake

We had a shock of summer - three days of 90 degree weather - but this morning's rain brought back chilly, rainy 55 degree weather. So while I dig out my warm sweater and snuggle under a blanket to read today's Washington Post Food section, I'm still dreaming about warm, sunny weather.



And nothing feels more like summer to me than strawberry shortcake. If strawberry shortcake is a cotton sundress, this strawberry cream cake is a Ralph Lauren linen dress -- a little more grown up and refined.

Modified from a Cook's Illustrated recipe, this uses a chiffon cake as the base. Heavy whipping cream is enhanced and thickened with cream cheese, allowing it to hold up the cake layers and strawberry filling without sliding out. The strawberry filling is a mixture of fresh halved strawberries - these form a rim around the perimeter of each layer, the middle of which is slathered with smaller pieces of macerated strawberries. For extra flavor, the juice of the macerated berries can be reduced and flavored with a liqueur. I liked the addition of Grand Marnier, but I'm sure Kirsch or even Creme de Cassis would work well too.

Happy Easter, thanks to Cooks Illustrated

I put the question to the Twitterverse - or at least to those 200 or so folks who are supposed to be reading my Tweets on Twitter: thyme honey glazed ham or herb roasted leg of lamb? Showing how immensely influential I am (inside joke), I got a total of 2 responses (interestingly from Jewish friends). One for ham and one for lamb.

In the end, the reluctant grownup got his way: lamb. And I made a mental note to start a family tradition of having ham for New Year's and lamb for Easter. I like the idea of being able to start a family tradition. Like if I decided every April 13th we would dress in cheap jogging suits, eat at Olive Garden and come home to watch Caddyshack - it would be our tradition.

(image courtesy of cooksillustrated.com)

For the time being, I think lamb may have to become a permanent family tradition. At least this recipe from my new favorite cooking obsession, Cooks Illustrated. (You will need to register to view the actual recipe, or you can come over and flip through my copy of the magazine.)

It was labor intensive: 45 minutes of fat trimming, 2 hours of brining and garlic roasting, lots of tying with kitchen twine, overnight in the fridge moisturizing under a thick slather of roasted garlic and herbs, searing in a pan and then finally into the oven for a good roast.

I would post an image of my creation, which was complete with roasted potatoes and buttery green beans, but someone left our camera-to-laptop cable at their office.

Bean Party

photo courtesy of frangrit on flickr

It probably wasn't until I was in college that I learned what a real dinner party was. Growing up, my family didn't have much disposable income and had no sense of "entertaining." As a good Christian family, we "ministered" to others. There was never any fine china, a prime rib coming out of the oven or fine wines being decanted. We had "bean parties."

Early on Saturday morning, we'd sort through 3 to 4 pounds of dried pinto beans. Picking out all the reject beans and the bits of stones and dirt was a job even the youngest could help with. Then we'd rinse the beans a few times and set them to boil in a industrial-sized stock pot. Add a ham hock or some bits of bacon. Bring to a boil, then simmer for hours and hours.

Later in the day - after dad had mowed the yard and we'd tidied up the house - we start to make the tortillas. I can't remember the exact recipe but I know it involved a few cups of flour, a couple scoops of lard (dad kept a jar of bacon drippings in the back of the fridge) or Crisco, baking powder, salt and enough water to make a dough. The dough would rest in a bowl for 20 or 30 minutes and then the rolling-out process would begin.

By this time, people from church would start arriving. (We could only hang out with people from church who were Christians. And don't think that Catholics were allowed.) Sometimes it would be a few dozen people, or sometimes it'd be 30 or 40. (Even inviting 2 or 3 other families meant a few dozen mouths to feed. Think TLC's Duggar Family stance on birth control.) A handful of people would gather in our small, hot kitchen - this would have been central Florida with no air conditioning. Assembly line in place, one person would start fashioning golf ball-sized rounds of dough. Then someone else would flatten these into a pupusa shape. Dad, with his jumbo sized rolling pin would roll them out to the perfect smooth thinness and cook them on a screaming hot cast iron skillet.

The pièce de résistance was the salsa. Here's the recipe as well as I can remember it:

4-5 jalapeños
1 habanero (optional)
1 can tomato sauce
1-2 limes
1-2 cloves garlic
large pinch of oregano (mexican)
large pinch of ground cumin

4-5 tomatoes, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
cilantro
olive oil
salt
pepper

Put peppers, tomato sauce, lime juice garlic and spices in blender and puree. Add tomatoes, onion and cilantro. Pulse to desired consistency (or don't blend at all for a chunky salsa). Add a few glugs of olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste.

Comet Wings

In my opinion, these are the best wings in town. Now, if only I had the recipe for that horseradish/creme fraiche dip.

Time for Botox?

As relayed by our good friend, K:

[Last night 2-year-old daughter] calls me to get her out of her crib at 9:00 pm (like clockwork) to go to the bathroom. I'm keeping her company, sitting on the edge of the tub next to the toilet.

She touches my forehead and says, "What's that?"

Me: "My forehead?"

She: "No, Mommy, what's that? " (running her hand horizontally)

Me: "My eyebrow?"

She: "No, Mommy, it's cracked." (pronounced "cwacked")

Me: "Oh, my wrinkles."

She: "Mommy, why you so wrinkled?" (pronounced "whinkled")

Good question. If ever there were an argument for Botox...

Bail me out

As the Democrats and Republicans fight over this massive billion dollar bail-out deal that will hopefully save the American and global economy from completely collapsing, I'm really starting to get a bit worried. What if I or the reluctant grownup should lose one -- or both! -- of our jobs?!

Like any late and guilty converter, I'm starting to pay more attention to the financial picture. I've put all our financial information into mint.com (it's online, it's free and it's so much cooler than Quicken) and have started examining our family’s budget a bit more closely.

Exercises like this are always way too revealing. Kind of like the time I decided to keep a food diary. Two generous glasses of red wine, schmears of creamy Brie cheese, several slices of French bread and a handful of olives. Eighteen thousand calories. And that was just the first course. Needless to say, I'm one of those people who prefers to play dumb when it comes to the number of calories that I am consuming. And, as reality avoidance would have it, the same also goes for the number of dollars that I'm typically spending.

So here's the harsh reality: our family budget has been set up to accommodate the appetite of a new 90210 starlet when in fact we have John Goodman raiding our refrigerator.

What I've budgeted for:

• Childcare - Nanny, 40 hours
• Transportation - Subway/bus
• Clothing - A few sensible items from the Gap, Old Navy a few times each year
• Groceries - For healthy, non-processed, home-cooked meals
• Recreation - Netflix
  

What I actually spend:

• Childcare - Nanny, 45 hours, competitive DC rates, extra $ so she won’t leave us, several hours each week of time-and-a-half overtime due to client emergencies at work
  
• Transportation - Car payment, exorbitant gas prices, downtown parking garage fees, speeding tickets (as I rush home to avoid paying nanny overtime)
  
• Clothing - Designer clothing to better “complement” those curves, several pairs of $40 Spanx control top/butt/thighs/tummy undergarments (because I haven't had time to work out and haven’t lost the baby weight)
  
• Groceries - Groceries (many of which typically rot in the refrigerator), Chinese delivery that has our credit card on file, Dominos.com, cases of wine, bottles of single malt
• Recreation - Bar tabs, food/wine tabs, babysitters, pharmaceuticals (and resulting therapist bills)

Dinners this week

I've realized that being able to come home and cook a decent dinner is an absolute must in order for me to feel sane. Ordering pizza, making mac & cheese in the microwave and resorting to cereal is my version of shit happens. Putting together a quick, delicious, healthy and budget-conscious dinner makes the perfectionist cook in me smile.

So with our recent decision to sign up for Washington's Green Grocer, I am making an even greater attempt to make good dinners - and get enjoyment out of doing so.


(photo courtesy of epicurious.com and by: Romulo Yanes)

In this week's basket we got: eggplant, portabello mushrooms, corn, grape tomatoes, red leaf lettuce, broccoli, zucchini, cantalope, bananas, plums, peaches and a ruby red grapefruit.

At the outset my strategy was to grill a bunch of vegetables on Sunday to have ready for dinners throughout the week. This was my plan:

• Sunday: BBQ chicken and corn. (Also grilled zucchini, extra corn and eggplant. Mixed ricotta with some herbs and rolled up in the eggplant slices.)
• Monday: Eggplant rolls and garlicky broccoli. (Took the ricotta-stuffed eggplant slices and threw into the oven topped with a quick tomato sauce -- sauteed can of tomatoes, couple cloves of garlic and few leaves of basil -- and mozzarella cheese.)
• Tuesday: Zucchini, corn and basil fusilli with bacon. (Super quick and easy since the zucchini and corn were good to go.)

This is the point in the week where my email inbox starts exploding, the kids run out of clothes because I didn't finish the laundry this weekend, my husband and I start bickering over finances and I start plotting how I can swing a happy hour. Pushing ahead though, there's still some semblance of a plan...

• Wednesday: Pinto beans. (Still have most of a package of bacon and the cooler weather reminded me to bring out the slow cooker.)
• Thursday: Pappardelle bolognese. (As I was frantically rummaging through the freezer for something that would soothe the baby's teething pain - discovered bolognese sauce I made and froze back in February. I'm sure it's still good. Oh, and we don't have pappardelle. Linguini should work.)
• Friday: Have you checked out dominos.com?
  

Good Eatin' in St. Louis

Well folks. St. Louis was not good for losing the baby weight. Toasted ravioli. Provel cheese. Ted Drewes frozen custard. Gooey butter cake. Pork steaks with Maull's barbecue sauce. And one of the best dining experiences in recent memory at Niche, owned by chef Gerard Craft who was just named one of 2008's Best New Chefs by Food & Wine.

As soon as the July issue of Food & Wine came out and I saw the St. Louis-shout-out to Niche, I made a reservation for the Saturday we'd be there. Craft's featured recipe in the magazine, Smoky Pork Pappardelle, sounded amazing. At the restaurant in real life, it was Smoky Lamb Papperdelle, but goddamn was it good. I will be making this recipe...as soon as the new exercise and healthy eating regimen starts working.

(pasta pic courtesy of Food & Wine)

Happy Half Year

I had many thoughts earlier today that ended with, 'yeah, that'll be good to blog about.' Sadly though, I can't remember too many of those.

Maybe it was the tortuous 3-hour car ride with screaming baby, chatty 3-yr-old and highly anxious husband, or the ill-planned Sunday night trip to Whole Foods to join the throng every annoying self-centered urbanite joined by - once again - screaming baby who it turns out is teething, or the scramble that was quickly cook dinner but try to entice 3-yr-old to poopy on the potty, or the well-deserved and must-needed glasses of Chardonnay. Regardless, the brain is fried. But I will leave you with this:

The baby is now Six Months Old. Yes, a big milestone. A half year. Six months. Wow. Can't believe we've made it this far. Everyone always says -- and even I've even taken to repeating it -- that the first six months is the hardest. Make it past that, and it's all downhill from there, they say.

Wonderful. But the 6-month mark has been a slap in the face to me. A bit of a wake-up call. Basically this gave me an okay-you-haven't-just-had-a-baby reminder. Yep. No more excuses. The baby weight needs to come off. I'd hate to be one of those women who complains about their baby weight when in fact her baby is. Seven. Years. Old.

So much for 'finding time' to work out. I now realize there is no such thing. I need to MAKE time. It may mean a few hours less sleep. It may mean a few hours less work - and a few more to-dos not done. It may mean a few hours less hanging out with the husband or a few hours less sitting on the porch drinking wine. But, it's gotta happen.

I'm tired of "empire waist" being my saving grace. At some point, I need to get back to being me and shed the post-baby weight. I'm giving myself another 3 months. That will be a full 9 months post-partum. I figure it took me 9 months to get here, so I at least should give myself a full 9 months to get out of it.

I feel like half the battle is realizing that the weight isn't just going to fall off by itself. It's going to take some work. And it's going to take some tough decisions to actually MAKE time. But I think I'm ready.

And the first shall be last

Over the weekend a friend and co-worker jokingly mentioned that she was basing her self-worth on the number of social media followers she had. I had to laugh because I realized that even more sad was what I use to evaluate my self-worth on a daily basis: number of ounces.

Lately it's been a measily 6 oz per day. Back in the day I could easily produce 12 or 15 oz.

Of milk that is. (Most of you are getting totally grossed out right about now.)

Of all the jobs I have, being a mammalian mother may be the toughest. I'm not discounting the hard work that ALL mothers have to shoulder. What you feed your kids -- whether it be the purest drawn breastmilk, Gerber baby formula, or Doritos and Diet Coke -- has little to do with the bulk of the effort. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that even after the pregnancy is over, it's still not my body, my choice. Having to think about what I can and can't put into my body, having to force in pumping time at work, and having to wake up at odd times in the middle of the night for months on end can take a toll on a gal.

Maybe the hardest thing about breastfeeding is the knowledge that you've got to take care of yourself in order to nourish the baby. And as all my mom friends will agree, one of the hardest things is trying to figure out where they stop and you start -- or maybe it's where they start and you stop.

Taking the time to exercise or eat a healthy meal or - gasp! - put my feet up is nearly impossible at worst and a selfish indulgence at best when the baby needs feeding, the 3-yr-old needs corraling, the laundry needs folding, the dinner needs stirring, the dog needs relieving, the husband need loving, the bills need paying, the report needs proofing and the dishes need washing.

So, ok, I guess it's not a breastfeeding thing. And maybe it's not even a mom thing. Universally we all struggle with where to put ourselves. First certainly doesn't work, but too low on the list ain't a good thing either.

For now, I'll try to keep up the breastfeeding gig. For all it's annoyances, it does guarantee some sweet cuddle time with the little guy and it does help out in the cleavage department. Speaking of which...

Good Wife? Good Mom?

Had a very good conversation with a good friend about how vices and parenthood co-mingle.

What makes one a good parents vs. a bad parent? What makes one a good wife vs. a bad wife? Struggling with the fact that getting fucked up with my hubby is actually very good for our relationship aka good for our marriage. But wondering how a hungover mommy is good for my kiddos.

Maybe Dooce knows? I think a good marriage is probably one of the best things for children. Hopefully this doesn't offend anyone. A serious question though.

Magical

Once again, it's been a very bad month for blogging. The all-encompassing job thing continues to interfere.

The mini family reunion in my hometown of Melbourne, Florida was a nice diversion though. There may be no pleasure greater than watching your kid groove in the sand and waves at the beach.



We also gave in to the inevitable, infamous Disney World visit. Was it magical? Yes, if you consider lines that lead to other lines, hundreds of thousands of fat people with children on leashes, and foreigners gnawing on smoked turkey legs magical.

For roughly $300, the hubby, Jackal and I spent about 5 hours in that magical place. The day's events: 2 rainstorms, 3 spinny rides, 1 over-sized lollipop, 2 artifically colored and flavored popisicles, 1 fake treehouse, 1 major meltdown, 25 what-the-fuck-were-we-thinking moments, and 4 greasy tacos.

Priceless? Seeing the glee in the Jackal's eyes as he got to drive his first race car and catching a crazed mother yelling "IT'S YOUR FAULT I'M CAUSING A SCENE AT DISNEY WORLD" in the middle of Main Street as we we leaving.

It just doesn't get any better than this

It's in the Jeans

It's time to fess up. I've gotten so spoiled lately.

I remember when I was 8 we had no money to buy clothes. My 4 sisters and 2 brothers eagerly looked forward to that day when another family at church would give us hand-me-downs in big brown paper shopping bags. We'd take the bags home in our beat-up Volkswagon van and wonder what it would be like to have new, store-bought clothes and be one of those kids who's "in style" and gets to go back-to-school shopping.

At some point in high school -- when I got a job at Footlocker at the local mall -- I was able to squirrel away enough cash to pay for gas AND blow $40 bucks at Wet Seal on brown denim Bongo jeans. (I was supposed to be saving the money for college. Don't think my parents didn't chastise me for making such a "foolish purchase.")

Throughout high school and college, it was much more normal for me to make any clothing purchases at a thrift store or Goodwill or Salvation Army. Even shopping sprees were focused on the clearance sale racks at the very back of the store.

At some point after college and a few years into receiving a regular paycheck, I started feeling comfortable shopping at the Gap. Mainly at the sale rack, but sometimes venturing to try on something in the front of the store that was full-priced. If full-priced Gap jeans were my gateway drug, designer denim became my habit. Six years ago it was a $100 pair of Lucky Brand Jeans. Now it's a new pair of $200 Citizens of Humanity or 7 for All Mankind or Chip & Peppers or whatever else makes my ass look good just about every season.

And so as hubby and I pore through our bills and finances and ask ourselves the following questions -- Why haven't we saved for the boys college? Why are we still living paycheck to paycheck? Don't we make good money? Where does all our money go? -- I have to admit that it's probably all gone to "foolish purchases".

Maybe mom was right all along. But goddamn, who wants to wear hand-me-downs, or even worse, mom jeans?

Day Out with Thomas

It was slightly absurd - getting the whole family up and out of the house by 7:30 this morning to attend a Day Out with Thomas at the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Museum in Baltimore. Even more incongruous was driving through the Baltimore ghetto -- crack addicts, street walkers, police cameras, etc -- to get to the museum where Thomas was making his appearance.

Once inside the fenced parking lot, we became one of hundreds of upper middle class white families parking mini vans, juggling strollers, and buying Thomas-branded conductor hats for screaming toddlers. As hubby pointed out to me, trains should be added to the list of stuff white people like .

The highlight of the Day Out is supposed to be a 25-minute train ride on a real train pulled by Thomas. The Jackal is easily impressed with a simple metro ride, so this particular train ride had been talked up and eagerly anticipated (and used as a potty training reward) for many weeks.



The train ride started out as expected -- waiting in a long line with other families. I came to realize that even though I might have 2 kids of my own -- I am not really a kid person. Rarely is it that I find stranger's kids even remotely bearable.

But it was the scenery outside the train window that lead to this:

Hey kids, let's take a ride on Thomas!

Yeah, okay!




Mommy, why do those people live by the train tracks?



Mommy, why is there so much trash?



At least the Jackal got a good lesson in the fact that Baltimore is no Sodor Island fantasy.

Strangers in a Familiar Place

This coming weekend marks the 7th wedding anniversary for hubby and me. An apartment, two houses, one dog, two babies, one near divorce, a damn good therapist, four jobs and many cases of wine later we're better friends and more in love than ever.

To celebrate -- and to remind ourselves that we are husband and wife -- we're taking a mini vacation. The in-laws are coming from St. Louis to watch the 2 boys. I'll start freaking out about the horrible mess in the house about 12 hours before they're due to arrive. But for now I'm just happy to daydream about and plan for the weekend.

Life has been so hectic lately that we've decided to waste absolutely no time in transit and book a room at the Mandarin Hotel right here in DC. I'm supposed to get a discounted rate through my company so we figure we can afford the semi-splurge since we aren't spending any money on a train to NYC or a flight to some warm beach.

The Mandarin is so removed from most of the city that we think it'll feel like we're in some other city. But not having the responsibilities of parenthood for 2 days will make it feel like an other-worldly experience.

Maybe we'll try some new restaurants, finally check out that exhibit at the Corcoran and sleep in past 7 am.

Maybe we'll work out at the hotel gym, read the paper from front to back, stay out late and not worry about stopping at the ATM to get cash to pay the babysitter.

Maybe we'll sleep through the night, have sex that lasts longer than an episode of Curious George, and not check under the bed for monsters.

Bi-Polar

Last night I attempted to self-medicate-away my stress with half a bottle of Petite Syrah and a little Knob Creek on the rocks.



Tonight I'm trying a cup of Sleepytime herbal tea and the latest issue of Real Simple. Should be thrilling.

I have to say, the Knob Creek website is much cooler than the Celestial Seasonings. Knob Creek does a pretty damn good job of making you think you're special for being a bourbon snob. The 'customize your own label' feature and personalizing the people behind the ad campaign almost had the cynical marketer in me converted. However, when I saw that their 'ask a professor' feature was just a fancy FAQ they lost me.

Maybe I'll join the Celestial Seasonings book club. That is - if I can get past all the mentions of "bagged teas". Right, tea bag?

Too busy

Of all the titles I carry - Wife, Mother, Milk Bar, Executive Producer, Friend, Cook, Housekeeper, Accountant and Blogger - I've slacked most in the Blogger department lately. I have a list of draft posts that is getting embarrassingly long. And I have even more mental-note-blog-about-this ideas crowding my brain.

The irony of it all is that my work - helping clients understand and use social media - is really becoming a roadblock to my blogging.

The week started out mildly enough. The hubby and I were determined to get a head start and not have the head-spinning chaos of the previous week. So Sunday became the day we prepped for the week. Groceries were purchased. A slow-cooked meal was prepared. All laundry was cleaned, dried, folded AND put away. Even the pile of old receipts, unpaid bills, half-addressed baby announcements and forgotten tax forms was sorted through, organized into color-coordinated folders and neatly hidden away. We felt ready for the week.

Monday came and went in a flash. I actually started blogging about the week's menu -- exciting times now that the weather is nice and the grill has a new propane tank -- but then got sidelined working on a proposal.

Tuesday was so long ago I forgot what happened. Except that the baby who normally sleeps 12 hours through the night decided to get up at 2:30 and feed.

Wednesday involved business travel. Up at 4:30 am to pump a bottle, shower, blow dry and be at Reagan National for the 7:30 American flight to Raleigh. Met with very cool Lenovo executives about their Olympic Blogger project. Stole away for 15 minutes to hand pump a few ounces so my boobs didn't explode right in front of everyone in the conference room. Was back to DC in time to send a few emails from home, dash to the store, nurse and bed baby, and make Ina Garten's Roasted Salmon Nicoise Platter for diner guest. Drank slightly too much wine and smoked a regret-filled cigarette or two.

Thursday involved crazy day at work trying to catch up from being out the day before. Dinner was supposed to be the left-over salmon but both hubby and I lost our appetites when the smell of reheated fish permeated the house. Cereal is always good for dinner. When hubby heard that I'd need to work most of the night, he decided to go visit a friend whose wife was also going to be burning the midnight oil. It sucked to be home working by myself, but part of me was also grateful for the time to get some shit done.

Friday was the perfect escalation to the by now out-of-control week. Hubby had plans to spend the night away, and I was looking forward to a quiet Friday night with the luxury of a little alone time.

Friday morning involved big meeting with the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, which went well despite me and the client's mix-up over who was supposed to bring the print-outs. I returned to the office looking forward to expressing myself with my handy-dandy Medela pump, but realized I'd forgotten to bring storage bottles to work and made a mad dash to a near-by breast feeding store to pick some up. Grabbed grilled chicken salad at the Corner Bakery and got back in time to be 15 minutes late to creative meeting. Left half-eaten salad at desk as boss calls in the team for a crisis situation.

Shit! Now realize that we're going to be at work very, very late tonight and I have no one to watch the baby! Race home to pay the nanny and bring the baby back to work with me. Sit on conference call with big, important company people while jostling baby so no whines or cries give my situation away.

And they say us working moms can't have it all.