tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39568417513705510402012-01-31T09:31:57.801-08:00Simple cooking for college students- on the cheap.Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.comBlogger2561100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-53743046660701312902012-01-30T06:16:00.000-08:002012-01-30T06:16:53.298-08:00

Have you ever seen The Wire? It ran on HBO in the early-2000s, right around the time of Sex and the City, $1.61 gas, and my tragic experiment with pink glitter eyeshadow. It just made me look like I had contracted a case of really flamboyant pink eye, you know? Anyways, the show is all about drugs, gangs, police, politics, shootings, the prison system, and drugs. Did I mention drugs? All of the

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-33394117142019920402012-01-27T10:02:00.000-08:002012-01-27T10:02:13.006-08:00

The Frito Giveaway has been extended to Monday! Just 'cause I feel like it. Foodgawker is one of my ultimate procrastination websites. It plays second-fiddle to Facebook, of course, but it's a great place to brainstorm meal ideas, find cool food blogs, and mark tasty treatz. Crispy testicles made the site today. Tasty treatz surely is a subjective term.  Anyhow, the picture that really caught

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-16034004034296896132012-01-25T06:25:00.000-08:002012-01-25T06:25:28.952-08:00

Psst! There's still a chance to win a Fritos prize package! Check out Monday's post. I stumbled upon a case of frozen, pre-made burritos while considering my ice cream options in the freezer aisle the other day. You know that phrase "don't shop when you're hungry"? I never abide by it. For one, my grocery store adventure time is most convenient after my seminars--which are all at night. And two

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-85181933933030869042012-01-23T07:46:00.000-08:002012-01-23T07:46:03.677-08:00

I was challenged by Fritos to suggest an "extreme" ingredient for a Fritos Pie Remix video. Traditionally, a Frito Pie involves scooping chili over a handful of chips, topping with cheese, and baking until the cheese melts and the Fritos transform into a cornbread-y crust. But they wanted a challenge, and I was totally feelio this dealio, if you know what I mean. You don't? It's cool. Naturally

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-17043468435956342012012-01-20T06:28:00.000-08:002012-01-20T06:28:26.480-08:00

Moose Munch, a popcorn by the company Harry & David, sounds terrible. What is it? Popcorn covered in fried moose hides? Moose doo-doo? Moose tooties from their booties? Ok, I'll stop being gross now. It's quite far from the categorization of gross. Moose Munch is caramel popcorn drizzled with white chocolate, milk chocolate, and almonds. If that's what moose (mooses? moosi? mooseses?) snack on,

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-28221377459158768152012-01-17T06:35:00.000-08:002012-01-17T06:35:12.145-08:00

These were supposed to be Apple and Peanut Butter Granola Bars, but then my applesauce went all patriotic on me. A magnificent red, white, and blue mold covered the top of my jar like a really grody, hairy hat. So I saluted the sauce as it descended honorably to the trashcan and subbed in vegetable oil. "Oil and Peanut Butter Granola Bars" doesn't quite have the same ring to it, though. I'd

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-83486888960906768522012-01-13T06:36:00.000-08:002012-01-13T06:36:53.389-08:00

This recipe came about due to a crappy, horrible, horribly crappy crap white bread who's primary utility is for making crap sandwiches. Some may say "I got what I paid for" in the 99 cent loaf, but hey! That's almost four whole quarters. I could've slotted the coins into a temporary Spongebob tattoo machine and been more satisfied. Especially if I got Patrick. So, in order to get some miserly

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-54477598238321194342012-01-10T10:25:00.000-08:002012-01-10T10:27:41.458-08:00

There's a pro and two cons to this recipe. But the pro outweighs the double-con situation, I promise! Pro: It's not good, it's great. Trust me, this will bring a happy tear to any                           collegian's eye. Con: #1- It's got a crazy long recipe title. Any ideas on how to condense?         #2- It's certainly not the prettiest. Let's face the cold, hard truth: beige has

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-11658192433744362642012-01-06T06:41:00.000-08:002012-01-06T06:41:42.914-08:00

My plans for writing up a cutesy little ditty with Dr. Suess references has been foiled by a recent development.  If you're a blogger, you probably know there's a button that allows you to view traffic, referencing websites, and search terms that lead to your humble internet home. I'll click on it occasionally out of curiousness. And also to ensure I'm not linked to websites hawking questionable

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-86882928273907218222012-01-03T06:45:00.000-08:002012-01-03T06:45:01.626-08:00

Since it's January 3rd, most people are kickin' into healthy gear. By January 15th that may have considerably subsided, but still, let's ride the self-control wave while we can, bros! In my opinion, burgers are the best way of honoring cows. Forget about steak--that's for the richies with tenured university professorships. My significantly less-wealthy grad student arm will always reach for a

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-57911367709039464272011-12-31T07:33:00.000-08:002011-12-31T07:36:57.647-08:00

Well, we've reached the point to pull the proverbial plug on that old, wheezy 2011. Playing off of that hackneyed metaphor, Mother Time should be experiencing agonizing contractions at 5-minute intervals by now. 2012 is mercilessly writhing within that birth canal, itching to bring forth the Earth's eventual Mayan Calendar doom. "But no," spouts NYE host Ryan Seacrest, "Mother Time shall not

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-50288857003760582262011-12-28T06:27:00.000-08:002011-12-28T06:27:26.808-08:00

Ah, the holidays are pretty much over. It's a time for trees to lose their unnatural rainbow lightings and festive snow to become...icky, soul-crushing snow.  Wait, what's that knocking on my cranium's door? Oh, it's 2012! Sorry, man. Didn't mean to forget you. Guess I was a bit hesitant to recognize your presence since, you know, you're supposedly bringing about the apocalypse. This would be a

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-82311265482590063222011-12-23T07:46:00.000-08:002011-12-23T07:46:55.750-08:00

Well, I've been on break for approximately 48 hours. And I'm already bored. Really bored. I hula-hooped for 10 minutes, played Life with my sister, and pondered the invention of Laughing Cow cheese. Also, I can neither confirm nor deny large spans of time spent in Hello Kitty flannel pants. Oh, academia. How I miss thee! Shower me with thine knowledge and institutional theories.  However, all

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-48123448645169069182011-12-21T09:08:00.000-08:002011-12-21T09:08:25.305-08:00

This isn't so much a recipe as it is a craft project. A craft project involving donut holes. And lots of them. Normally, arts and crafts ain't my thang. I made a bookshelf in my high school's "Industrial Arts 101"that my father thought of highly enough to turn into a doorstopper. "Fabrics 101" left me with a crooked zipper dress and higher blood pressure. And any talk of dioramas made me want to

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-5963319892212642912011-12-18T08:51:00.000-08:002011-12-18T08:51:39.749-08:00

Make anything golden, roasted, toasty, warm, bronzed, and/or fiery, and you can bet it will please your tastebuds to a higher degree.  Ah, yes. The bad jokes have returned! Think about it-- which would you rather eat: plain ol' ice cream or a hot fudge sundae? A cheese sandwich or a grilled cheese sandwich? A cold beer or a steaming hot beer? Wait. Forget about that last one. Toasting dry

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-26390515871355894652011-12-14T07:07:00.000-08:002011-12-14T07:07:47.206-08:00

I'M DONE! I SURVIVED! CUE EYE OF THE TIGER! POUR ME SOME BOXED WINE AND BUDGET CHEESE! Well, almost. I still have a heaping pile of undergrad tests and papers to grade. But after finishing my other work, grading feels about as easy as slipping on velcro shoes. I had myself a bit worried near the end. A Selena Gomez song popped up on the radio and exhaustion left my tune-changing arm hanging

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-52713420949533444762011-12-01T16:33:00.000-08:002011-12-01T16:33:58.001-08:00

Hey, readers! Well, the end of the semester has arrived, meaning my ability to type anything other than "partisan coalitional change" and "punctuated-equilibrium theory" is reaching zero. So I need to take a little blogging break before my brain breaks. Brake before I break, if you will. Deep, man. But don't worry! I've got a plethora of recipes on reserve. And they're freakin' good. Plus,

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-87237221945170315012011-11-28T06:25:00.000-08:002011-11-28T06:26:51.261-08:00

I'm not sure if this is an authentic "jeweled" rice salad, but it has the essentials of what I'd call jewel-y ingredients: dried cranberries, pecans, and pretty orange butternut squash cubes. It'd be even better if Jewel were photographed eating the dish decked out in royal jewels and jewel-toned clothing. But hey, you gotta work with what you've got. The browned butter takes the recipe over

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-46737896170978073122011-11-22T07:14:00.000-08:002011-11-22T07:14:31.707-08:00

I love Thanksgiving.Let me repeat: I love, love, LOVE Thanksgiving. Seriously, just hook me up to a gravy IV.  This, however, clearly is not a Thanksgiving recipe. This is more of a "returning to your apartment post-family holiday feast to find nothing in your cabinets" type of dish. It's when you realize turkeys and mashed potatoes don't quite fit the busy student's cooking schedule. It can also

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-77260042085062143872011-11-18T06:29:00.000-08:002011-11-18T06:29:02.088-08:00

I began this blog post lamenting the term "casserole," but something far more interesting occurred mid-type. There's a weird, ghoulish, moaning sound outside of my window. So instead of freaking out, I'm attempting to put this in a funny blog post. Because nothing solves problems more than a little 21st century writing medium, am I right? Right? I'M COMEDY-IFYING MY TERROR, OK? Ok. Let's

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-69556158410132169222011-11-14T06:31:00.000-08:002011-11-14T06:31:33.653-08:00

Ah, hello readers! Happy Monday. You know what can amp up the TG part of your TGIM? Pasta with scrambled egg, cheese, bacon, and hashbrowns-- aka a little trip to Carb City. Wouldn't that be a happy community? Unless you're Dr. Atkins, I'd say yes. Imagine grain-paved streets, baguette bread posts, and a hollowed-out sourdough boule as a car. And every resident is a part-time baker, so none of

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-13922078104594471802011-11-10T06:14:00.000-08:002011-11-10T06:14:07.878-08:00

I've got a weird habit of saving notes on my iPhone and subsequently forgetting their existence. I need the Post-It note's physicality. I need the sharp, palpable edges. I need that sticky backer to adhere to whatever needs remembering, which (at times) may or may not include my pants. While scrolling through my notes during a particularly unexciting span of my TA office hours, I found some gems

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-89644339895354771592011-11-07T06:08:00.000-08:002011-11-07T06:08:21.830-08:00

Do you have a Twitter account? Are your thoughts 140-character savvy? I had an undergrad professor who vehemently denounced students "tweeting" at him. Turns out he was talking about his email account. Anyways, it's an excellent way to gather trendy phrases by looking at the hashtags. For example, #LemmeGetThisStr8, #UNotFromTheHoodIf, and a soon to be classic #FirstWorldProblems. But my all

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-4075789435710895762011-11-03T05:40:00.000-07:002011-11-03T05:40:02.753-07:00

I must confess a bad habit of mine. A habit that's become an everyday occurrence. Sometimes, it even happens more than once in one day. I make nun jokes. Get it? ...Habit? Sorry. But wait!, that's not the only one. I also burn my tongue. A lot. When food is placed in front of my burn-penchant face, pfff...why would I ever wait for it to cool? Those extra 4 seconds it takes to expel a cool

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-15075035541994420702011-10-31T08:11:00.000-07:002011-10-31T08:11:29.020-07:00

Happy Halloween! In light (or in dark? ...muahaha.) of this holiday, it's time for a scary recipe. So hang on to your seasonal candies, readers. It's about to get spooky up in here. (You can leave the generic brand peanut butter cups and black licorice behind, though. Grody.) There's nothing particularly frightening about oatmeal cookie pie. Rather, it's what lies beneath the treat's surface--

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-70019126176040856392011-10-28T06:31:00.000-07:002011-10-28T06:31:10.329-07:00

Want to know the quickest way to my heart? Just meander on through my ribcage and stab through the pericardial sac. Want to know the second quickest way to it? Pumpkin. But you're a regular reader, you probably knew that already. I just had to make sure you were aware of the first method. (Which I'd appreciate you not partaking in.) Pumpkin is my bro, homie, boo, g, and Valentine. I can always

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-34179366368221012292011-10-25T05:47:00.000-07:002011-10-25T05:47:41.982-07:00

There are two types of PBR drinkers: 1.) The Hilbilly: wears jorts, 1980s D.A.R.E. sleeveless t-shirts, and owns a pet chinchilla.2.) The Hipster: wears jorts, 1980s D.A.R.E. sleeveless t-shirts, and owns a pet chinchilla. Also chooses to view the world behind black, lensless glasses. Prescription frames are too mainstream, man! But I'd like to add a third type of PBR drinker: The Political

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-32635010137061739002011-10-20T06:40:00.000-07:002011-10-20T06:40:01.199-07:00

Bless me Father for I have sinned. I have made a double-marshmallow monstrosity that would make any glutton squeal with joy. You hear that? That's me squealing. But it probably sounds more like a congested baritone-voiced leprechaun since I've got a wicked cold. Wicked enough to suck the technicolor right outta rainbows. But not enough to keep me from coating my limited sense of taste with

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-12209454365823572472011-10-17T06:21:00.000-07:002011-10-17T06:21:17.503-07:00

Let's talk about Disney. First of all, the whole empire shaped a solid 88.4% of my childhood. Princess Jasmine and Pocahontas were my homies. Sleeping Beauty was okay, but her anglo-saxon style was a little too pedestrian. I liked my princesses on the exotic side. I proudly toted a Jasmine sleeping bag to slumber parties like a boss. And when I grew out of it, the bag turned into my own Magic

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-4213041103988197552011-10-12T05:48:00.000-07:002011-10-12T05:48:00.706-07:00

Hold on tightly to your mullets! Round up the feral cats! Slide on your best pair of jorts! This here's a rootin', tootin', hillbilly of a recipe: Fancy hot dogs! What's so fancy about them? Maybe it's the fact that you slice up the frankfurters and saute them with butter and onions. Or maybe it's the addition of the sour cream sauce. But, overall, it's probably just my desperate attempt to

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-9949849172456182892011-10-10T06:23:00.000-07:002011-10-10T06:26:48.849-07:00

I hit a low point in my life at a dive bar a few days ago. My thought processes briefly considered hookin' on the street corner for Mexican food. Let me explain. With my hand warming a cheap beer and my busy grad school brain cooling to a classic Queen tune, a massive cheese quesadilla crave-wave crashed over me. Have you ever encountered an undulating gang of folded tortillas? It's scary, bro.

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-56119803178973353782011-10-06T06:17:00.000-07:002011-10-06T06:17:40.347-07:00

Normally I'm not one to toot my own horn. But if there's a time and a place for tooting, this is it. And I'm tooting. Tooting all over the place. Not that type of tooting. More like the "woo-woo I'm a genius when it comes to microwaveable grains!" tooting. This ain't no prune recipe here, folks! I love zucchini bread. Like, I'd dress a loaf in a tux and marry it. We'd have a wonderful set of

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-67185565280333881852011-10-03T06:37:00.000-07:002011-10-03T06:37:19.506-07:00

This was intended to be a happy, cute little blurb about banana pancakes. I was going to tie-in a 2 am diner experience where I ordered and ate pancakes. But then I ate sidewalk pavement, which might I add, leaves a considerably less pleasant aftertaste. All in front of two fellow grad students. And a horde of City Hall protesters. This, my friends, was one of the most embarrassing moments of

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-70794499683272102042011-09-28T06:00:00.000-07:002011-09-28T06:00:40.975-07:00

I love the term "eggs-in-a-hole." So simple and to the point. And sort of cutesy. In fact, I think it may be grounds for a childrens' book. Hm, my story would go a little like this: Eggs in a hole, eggs in a hole Your protein buries into the bread, just like a mole! Those cute, furry creatures used to dig in my dirt Then my Dad stabbed them twelve and a half times with a pitchfork, and the blood

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-7212096346049360892011-09-26T06:23:00.000-07:002011-09-26T06:23:15.247-07:00

Here's some lessons I've learned in my first month of graduate school: 1.) Thou shalt covet printer ink- That shiz runs out faster than Rick Perry at a Mitt Romney fundraiser. 2.) Thou shalt ruin thy eyeballs by placing four book pages on one printed page- It's the cost of being an environmentalist, bro. Not to mention a cheapass. 3.) Thou shalt ingest grand amounts of granola bars- The ultimate

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-18751378203110069862011-09-22T06:32:00.000-07:002011-09-22T06:32:47.015-07:00

A lot of people ask how I get my meal inspirations. One way is to yell across aisles at people with good stuff in their grocery carts: "HEY! WHAT ARE THOSE BREASTS FOR? I'M MORE OF A THIGH LADY, MYSELF. OF COURSE I'M TALKING ABOUT THE CHICKEN, PERV!" That's not my method. Yet I have been tempted to ask how one uses a jar of pickled pigs feet. The only way I know is to pop the container open,

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-65946193859395446102011-09-19T05:55:00.000-07:002011-09-19T06:09:32.899-07:00

I've got a beef with the over-usage of "random." It's not a big, porterhouse steak beef though. More like a deli-sliced roast beef beef, you know? Just an annoyance. Anyways, there seems to be an abundance of the R word. Here's a recent scenario I witnessed: Girl 1- I ordered a steak quesadilla at the student union last night. Girl 2- I got the chicken. Girl 1- I know! And then I, like, totally

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-19884817010699793032011-09-16T05:50:00.000-07:002011-09-16T05:50:08.128-07:00

Fall has been incessantly knocking at my apartment door lately. That bastard. Doesn't he know I'd rather it be Publisher's Clearing House? So I gently cracked open the door, stuck out a tanned summer leg, and Fall had the audacity to strike me with a fresh set of goosebumps. So I slammed the door in that joker's autumnal face. Yeah, happy equinox to you too, buddy! But a girl's gotta leave

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-78989551251797419842011-09-14T06:39:00.000-07:002011-09-14T06:39:12.939-07:00

Pizza is good. Cheese pizza is even better. But what would happen if your waiter fell, slammed your side salad on top of your pizza, then served it anyways? Great things, my friends. Great and tasty things. And it'd be added to the list of historical happy accidents, I'd say! Waffle cones are one, potato chips another, and  my parents are still trying to push my younger, fart-faced sister as one

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-70521839596559140822011-09-12T06:27:00.000-07:002011-09-12T06:27:06.792-07:00

There are many things I've had to get used to in my new college town. New experiences such as: Living on my own: One of life's most underrated luxuries. Hilly terrain: I'm not talking about bread when I say my buns are a-burnin'. HUGE grocery stores: Who needs the gym when buying milk is a 3 mile round-trip? Maybe Corporate America does care about our nation's health crisis. Mmm...nah. Anyways

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-31927968563124812272011-09-08T06:07:00.000-07:002011-09-08T06:07:19.401-07:00

If you haven't noticed already, I'm a squash fan. They're affordable, filling, and twenty-billion kinds of tasty. And the actual word is awesome. SquashSquashSquash. Say it ten times fast! Your tongue will be tanglier than Rapunzel's hair after a cross-country convertible road trip! My Mom bestowed the squash upon me before heading back to school. (No money, though. Bummer.) Anyways, I honestly

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-20801691525583815192011-09-06T06:30:00.000-07:002011-09-06T06:30:28.892-07:00

Hey! How was everyone's Labor Day? Burger-loaded? Hot dog-tastic? Corn on the cob-ulous? Unfortunately, that food is now out of season. (But I'm still wearing white, fashion police.) Apples, pumpkin, squash, and fun-sized Snickers bars are now en vogue. I don't have any problem with these harvest-y foods, but it does pain me a bit to know my jean shorts are headed for hibernation. What can I

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-42394422775546654892011-09-01T05:59:00.000-07:002011-09-01T05:59:55.633-07:00

This sandwich is mean. It's angry and raging with capsaicin. But it's a good hurt, just like John Mellencamp 's Hurts So Good implies every day on soft-rock radio nationwide. Or is it John Cougar Mellencamp? I don't know. I'm of the *NSYNC era. The fresh jalapeno will open up a major can of whoop-ass on your tastebuds. But never fear! A gooey, melted two-cheese combo heroically swoops in to

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-46808880075759079382011-08-30T06:30:00.000-07:002011-08-30T06:30:36.034-07:00

I've seen the proverbial light, my friends. And that light looks a lot like dried beans. Weird, right? I always imagined pearly gates and melodious harps. And Johnny Depp with his shirt off. But for now, bagged legumes are my budgetary savior. I was a bit nervous cooking dried beans since I've only bought them canned before, but they're really, truly, supremely, and tremendously simple. Really!

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-1803484427138672912011-08-26T05:51:00.000-07:002011-08-26T05:51:53.325-07:00

If my Mom tried to serve me this as a kid, I probably would've acted on one of three options: A.) Call Child Protective Services to report excessive olive ingestion abuse; B.) Recommend the Department of Homeland Security put us on Threat Level Red for acts of food terrorism; OR C.) Gag, whine, and complain--then just pick out the olives and solemnly slurp up the spaghetti. My house's rules

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-48291605901060325242011-08-24T06:16:00.000-07:002011-08-24T06:16:48.953-07:00

Want to know something weird? My knee squishes in to look like an earthworm. Wait. That's not what I wanted to tell you. It's this: Up until a few weeks ago, buffalo wings/ sauce had never graced my palate. Maybe it's because my family seems to favor spinach-artichoke dip over wings as an appetizer. Or maybe it's because they resemble mini chicken construction cones. Then I sampled a .025 inch

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-18833153650193586342011-08-22T06:15:00.000-07:002011-08-22T06:15:49.357-07:00

Today is my first day of grad school. The first day of the next five years of my life. The first day I TA for undergraduates. And hopefully not the day I trip over a freshman, forget most of the English language, choke on a pretzel, and/or come down with the ebola virus. Pressure! Eating something home-y and comforting helps ease the...er, utter terror. This dish fits that framework. Bonus

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-49058383130957788442011-08-19T05:45:00.000-07:002011-08-19T05:45:42.329-07:00

I am all about cheese. It has so many variations—sharp, mild, creamy, hard, tangy, that it’s difficult to tire of this type of dairy. But it can also get expensive. That’s why this is a student budget-friendly Cheapskate Cheese Plate. A cheese plate’s biggest advantage is the speed of assembly. Slice some cheese, tear up a hunk of fresh bread, pop in a vine of grapes, and throw in some olives

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-20524689762129293352011-08-17T06:02:00.000-07:002011-08-17T06:02:04.790-07:00

To borrow a phrase from the fashion world, this salad is cheap and chic. A head of iceberg lettuce is usually a couple bucks cheaper than the pre-bagged kind. Not to mention the assembly is just plain impressive, and it takes about as much effort as tying your shoelaces. ...Or velcro-ing your tennies.  I don't discriminate! Who would've thought the less effort you put into a salad, the cooler it

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-26352394397373015032011-08-15T13:15:00.000-07:002011-08-15T13:25:21.567-07:00

Phew, it's good to be back! How are you all? Tanned? Hungry? Bootylicious? I've been busy moving into my new apartment, prepping for a PhD adventure, and wondering if a painting of flamboyant unicorns leaping over the Milky Way will provide the "color pop" I need for my living room. And since I've returned to poor-dom after living with my parents, I can now focus on cheap, college-friendly

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-43204957550560946242011-07-31T07:26:00.000-07:002011-07-31T07:26:54.388-07:00

Hello all! I'm in the midst of moving to Waffle House country, starting grad school, and mastering folding a fitted sheet (It's impossible, I tell you!). So I'm going to put the brakes on college food blogging for a bit. Plus, I'm eating luxuries like this at home: This leaves me with little time to experiment with how I can make beans taste like filet mignon. Especially when I've got real

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-30228010255714308592011-07-27T06:28:00.000-07:002011-07-27T06:28:03.911-07:00

There I stood: hunched over the kitchen sink, muttering crustacean curses while tediously shearing shells off of a million shrimps. I bought them because, y'know, it's on my parents' dime while I'm at home, right? Might as well eat the expensive stuff while I can! But while up to my elbows in shrimp poop, the seafood became less and less desirable. Then, an epiphany. (Hm, who knew excrement

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-63594787074635980322011-07-22T06:16:00.000-07:002011-07-22T06:16:45.352-07:00

You've entered the sphere of honesty. And in this sphere, I will admit that given the choice between a hot dog and a steak, I'd go for the hot dog. Every. Time. It's ok! Feel free to admit it, too! ...No, really. I need to have some "oh-no-you're-not-crazy" reassurance here. A hot dog is like a starving artist's blank canvas, just in tubular meat form. They're affordable, tasty, and you can

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-54252549095920696242011-07-19T07:13:00.000-07:002011-07-19T07:13:18.971-07:00

YOU GUYS. Remember when the US Constitution was ratified, Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb, and Justin Bieber was born? Yeah, me either! But I imagine frozen cookie dough is almost as exciting! Applesauce replaces the raw eggs, so you can cross chances of death off of your mental worrying list. (Unless you're deathly allergic to applesauce, of course. Or sugar. Or flour. Or fun in general

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-63237763967571545762011-07-15T06:00:00.000-07:002011-07-15T06:00:10.395-07:00

The name for this recipe was quite the collaborative effort. With pork, peach, and provolone cheese, it's basically one big alliteration sandwich. But alliteration isn't sexy, and neither is the term "pork" really, so my sister and I set to work. Does anyone else cringe at pork? I don't know, it's just....yeech-- an unattractive word. So here's the rough list we created. Many resulted in

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-17399346820899095122011-07-12T06:09:00.000-07:002011-07-12T18:02:46.142-07:00

I've never been a huge fan of turkey burgers. Usually, I save my foam #1! finger for beef. They rarely come out tasting like the dry, styrofoam-ish poultry patties I've eaten in the past. The secret to a truly good turkey burger is cheese. Granted, dairy fat detracts a bit from the health factor, but you don't need a gallon of feta to make this recipe good. I cooked these for my family out on

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-27298187702269181512011-07-08T06:13:00.000-07:002011-07-08T06:30:04.103-07:00

I'm currently in school transition limbo. My old apartment lease in the Arctic Circle of Chicago ended July 1st and new one in the Tropics of Missouri doesn't begin until August 1st. So I'm hanging at my parents' house. And if you ask me, it's a pretty good place to be. The Land of Parental Limbo has included steak, heated swimming pools, and a bundle of new bras to replace my bojankity ones

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-10318606891599339082011-07-05T07:34:00.000-07:002011-07-05T07:34:07.958-07:00

If America had waltzed through my door on the 4th, this totally would've been her birthday dish. It's deliciousness merits serving for a special occasion. Then we could sing a rousing rendition of the Star Spangled Banner (not Christina Aguilera's version, of course) and contemplate how George Washington's wooden teeth stayed put before Polident's emergence. But showing partiality to the

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-35733469457790435642011-07-01T06:39:00.000-07:002011-07-01T06:39:28.353-07:00

I majorly overestimated my muscle strength. At the time, my body seemed to be handling the big move from my apartment quite well.  A huge box of shoes? Pff- no problem! That glass and metal nightstand? Meet my biceps. My combination wood and metal desk? Oh, yeah. My trapezoids can handle hoisting it down the stairs by myself. And then I woke up this morning. And then I died. And then I came

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-27306589534050163292011-06-28T06:39:00.000-07:002011-06-28T06:39:00.037-07:00

As I'm nearing the end of my apartment lease, meals have become an exercise in pantry-scouring. (My favorite form of exercise!) A slightly stale tortilla package led me to this gem of a technique. But first, I'd like to thank my tiny apartment kitchen. Thank you for enduring my teaching myself to cook--which involved an ungodly gross combo of tuna and canned unsalted tomatoes, questionable

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-22862227046817050762011-06-23T08:37:00.000-07:002011-06-23T08:37:03.260-07:00

An Open Letter to Blue Cheese: Dear Blue Cheese, Our relationship kicked off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry for giving you the stink eye, dry-heaving, and fake fainting in your presence. You just came on too strong the first time we met. Liberally laden on my cobb salad, you suffocated the merry meats and verdant vegetables gasping for attention below. Smothering is not the way to a girl's heart

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-57836618201405214252011-06-20T06:38:00.000-07:002011-06-20T06:38:03.893-07:00

It is my dream to be a Southerner. I imagine their lives are composed of 3 main activities: leisurely sipping sweet tea, tracing family lineage somehow to Paula Deen, and frying chicken in ruffled, pastel hoop skirts. I'm guessing these are horrendously untrue stereotypes. But what can I say? I'm used to the Midwest. It's features are now plain vanilla to me, while the South seems to be more of

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-35912285483062696672011-06-17T05:19:00.000-07:002011-07-16T12:54:52.555-07:00

Chicken, Beef, and Pork confronted me the other day. "Why are you ignoring us?", they questioned. Pork seemed to act as the ringleader, probably still riding high on his 145 degree temperature approval from the USDA. Chicken was the most reserved of the protein bunch. I'm guessing his breasts' tendency to dry out is somewhat of a self-esteem drag. "It's not you," I said. "It's all the

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-88783167456210609052011-06-15T05:19:00.000-07:002011-06-15T05:19:08.508-07:00

I have never, ever seen/heard of a tomato dressing before. But, praise the vegetable deities, Kayotic Kitchen enlightened me to its existence. It gives new meaning to just because you haven't seen it, that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Oh, man. What else exists that my naive eyes have neglected to take note of? Unicorns? Magic rice that never sticks to the bottom of the pan? A Representative

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-16765835923126266092011-06-13T07:35:00.000-07:002011-06-13T07:35:15.994-07:00

I did it. I marched across the stage in front of my many graduating peers, family, friends, faculty, crying poopy babies, strangers, and confused persons thinking they were at the R. Kelly concert to get my B.A. diploma. And I managed to be fairly graceful, too. Considering the long list of traumas I had running through my head, I was relieved that I did not: 1.) Trip 2.) Faint 3.) Contract

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-88991011131557735942011-06-09T17:00:00.000-07:002011-06-10T05:22:37.921-07:00

I'd like to share an inspirational story-- sans heartstring-tugging graphics and I Believe I Can Fly pulsing on repeat in the background.  This is Eric. Eric is a Junior, a soccer player, and a bacon enthusiast. He's also a Green Bay Packers diehard, but we'll forgive him for the time being.  His proclivity for pork fat and Wisconsin cheese naturally led him to make bacon cheddar cornmeal

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-86587888409977407092011-06-08T06:14:00.000-07:002011-06-08T06:14:08.975-07:00

Well, it's official. I'm done with my undergraduate education! How does it feel? Somewhere between weird, awesome, tingly, nauseating, and supercalifragilisticexpealidocious. And weird. Did I mention weird? It's weird. But The College Culinarian will continue as I work towards a doctorate in political science. (Where the only prescriptions I'll write is for kicking political ass!) So embark

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-10185282562783915332011-06-06T06:14:00.000-07:002011-06-06T06:17:08.326-07:00

'Tis the season for pasta salads! Believe me, I'm joyously singing fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-macaroni. Summer has finally announced its arrival with sunshine and hot temperatures. Also with a blazing burn on my stomach. I saw a similar recipe in Food Network magazine and knew I had to try it. Steak in a pasta salad? Ok, large media conglomerate, I'm listening. Steak certainly isn't a common

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-57527239170516344662011-06-04T07:05:00.000-07:002011-06-04T07:05:59.557-07:00

Is stirring hummus into pasta nearly as obvious as slathering it on a pita? I've been known to captain the Obvious Boat sometimes. Oh, well. All aboard the watercraft, baby! My school's on the trimester system, so I'm currently in the finals crunch. This recipe comes together so quickly that your temptingly fast Ramen package will quiver enviously in its pliable plastic casing. Plus, what's

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-89777429784839309742011-06-02T05:20:00.000-07:002011-06-02T05:20:51.512-07:00

Call me un-American, but I don't enjoy eating corn on the cob. I feel like I'm fertilizing my face for a fresh crop of pimples when the butter inevitably drips down my chin. I'm also quite skilled at jamming corn kernels between all of my teeth. I do enjoy fresh corn, however. It makes the canned variety look like, y'know, shiz that came from a can. So I have no qualms with cutting the kernels

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-69028204904295270022011-05-31T05:58:00.000-07:002011-05-31T05:58:10.825-07:00

I attended a wedding over the weekend that was nothing short of epic. Practically all of my childhood friends were there, I finally nailed the Electric Slide, and there was a Candy Bar. It was like the 4th grade playground all over again--Except we've all graduated from our training bras. I also ate enough Skittles to put me in danger of re-tasting the rainbow. Ah, yes. And the lovely bride and

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-75522581198608327532011-05-26T06:11:00.000-07:002011-05-26T06:11:39.398-07:00

I don't believe in love at first sight. That hoo-ha is reserved for Lifetime movies. I do, however, firmly believe in love at first bite.  Ha! I am so the world's first person to make that connection. As you can see from the pictures, I clearly had no intention of making this sandwich camera-ready. The whole she-bang came together mostly because 1.) I wanted to eat my cherry tomatoes before

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-60800009509135376832011-05-24T05:06:00.000-07:002011-05-24T05:06:32.464-07:00

I've got a pretty stellar smashing arm. Case in point: the wasp who thought it was the Alpha dog in my kitchen. No, my buzzing enemy. I am the Alpha and Omega of my apartment kitchen. So I hunted that sucker down like Navy Seal Team 6 tracked Osama. My weapon of choice was a rolled up Chicago Tribune and (wo)manpower instead of high-powered automatic weaponry. Tightly wound newspaper still does

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-80291787206233411232011-05-22T12:38:00.000-07:002011-05-22T12:38:08.751-07:00

This dish salutes many different lands. World harmony in sandwich form- isn't that what all Miss America contestants wish for? Let's begin with our base: the french toast. Oui, oui! Actually, the toast may have had its origins in England. So when that's taken into account, this dish is covering two European superpowers. We say Ciao, Italia! with the pesto. It's the besto. (Couldn't resist.)

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-30943278200308490002011-05-19T05:23:00.000-07:002011-05-19T05:23:36.929-07:00

Do you ever find yourself stuck in a conversation with a word vomiter? You know, the people who just won't. stop. talking: "Hey, Susie! How are you?" "Well, I'm good but I found a brown lump on my toe and I'm not sure if it's contagious and I had a taco for lunch today and categorized the shredded lettuce by size and ended up with 15 strands of .45 inch romaine and only 13 .34 inch romaine

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-47413185246212202002011-05-17T05:20:00.000-07:002011-05-17T05:20:05.983-07:00

Date: May 17, 2011 Footwear: Heated slippers Apparel: College sweatshirt-- hood up, strings tightly drawn around my face Question: WTF, MOTHER NATURE?! Seemingly Earth is confused about the seasons. It's so windy, cold, and downright miserable at my school that I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up to my calendar magically flipped to November. I guess it's easy to forget if you've only been in

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-56099761909489065412011-05-15T07:06:00.000-07:002011-05-15T07:06:19.903-07:00

There are all kinds of salads that pay homage to a particular place: Illinois, the Waldorf, Asia, and Wendy's.  Ok, maybe that last one doesn't quite fit. Anyways, this salad is named after my little hometown located in West Central Illinois. It's the kind of place where a woman had two eggs stolen from her refrigerator and it made the weekly newspaper. It's also where you and your sister can

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-71348613921025169432011-05-11T18:24:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:20:23.524-07:00

As Barbie eventually separated from Ken, I am now breaking up PB&J's relationship for PB&G: Peanut butter and garbanzos. Don't worry, Jam. Buttered Toast will always be there for you. I had some pita and cucumber begging for a hummus bath, but wanted to evade the $5.99 price for a tiny tub of the dip. So I sauntered up to the bean aisle, bypassing Cannellini Carmen and Pinto Pete (beans and I

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-25793685414590889362011-05-10T14:52:00.000-07:002011-05-10T14:52:47.136-07:00

A jar of pickled carrots caught my eye at the grocery store the other day. Cut in matchsticks, neatly aligned, and placed in an attractive jar, I was sold. Bugs Bunny's choice snack was destined for my basket. Oooh, and layered on an egg sandwich sounded pretty fantastic. Then I caught sight of the price-- $6.99. I said, "hot damn!", realized a toddler was eyeing me, and subsequently confirmed I

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-30214121275450516982011-05-08T10:34:00.000-07:002011-05-08T10:34:37.376-07:00

I had a real college-kid dilemma on my hands last week. Let's break it down: I was craving sushi. Like a ravaging pregnancy craving. Except my uterus is very much empty. Happy Unmother's Day to me! I eat California rolls because I am a raw fish pansy. You need crab to make California rolls. I may have to sell my own leg to buy crab leg. Imitation crab is two dollars. Imitation crab is...an

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-58164890469506676042011-05-05T05:23:00.000-07:002011-05-05T08:14:55.856-07:00

Pssst! Check out The State Journal Register's article on my blog! I don't mind sharing food with others. Want some baby carrots? Go for it.  Need a fix for your sweet tooth? Dig in those chocolates stashed in my pantry corner. Have a hankerin' for some fermented bean paste? Well, uh, I can't really help you there. But I totally would if I could. One thing my egalitarian values do not extend to

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-55676842344895776432011-05-03T05:17:00.000-07:002011-05-03T05:17:06.919-07:00

Since Cinco de Mayo is quickly approaching, My chicken arms can finally chest-press 40 lbs. at the campus gym, And Osama is literally sleeping with the fishes, It's time to celebrate with a bowl of guacamole rice! Ole, Ole! USA, USA!  Let's keep the good vibes rolling with this insanely tasty side dish. I got the idea after ordering mahi-mahi (Yeah, my parents were visiting) that came with "

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-18003576963713317932011-04-29T11:10:00.000-07:002011-04-29T11:10:50.633-07:00

I learned three things making this dish: 1. Never squeeze a lime with dry, cracked hands.       Lotion is always a better choice than citric acid. 2. Not all "microwave-safe" dishes are, in fact, microwave safe.      Just ask my newly melted bowl. False advertising,  man! 3. Chili and lime is a superb addition to sweet potatoes.      Move over, marshmallows! My grandma gave me some sweet

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-4541424053550724252011-04-27T14:01:00.000-07:002011-04-27T14:01:12.998-07:00

Tears, singed nostrils, 32 oz. of water, copious mint ingestion, and a maniacally giggling sister. That, my friends, sums up my first sriracha sauce experience-- a hot mess with hot sauce. At a Thai restaurant many moons ago, we spotted the fiery red sauce. Apparently a bottle stamped with a rooster and written in a foreign language was too much temptation. That, and my sister is really good at

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-80610548245354366302011-04-25T06:20:00.000-07:002011-04-25T06:20:11.090-07:00

Stuffed peppers are great. You can fill them with whatever you like, pop 'em in the oven, and Hello!, you've got a perfectly portioned student dinner for one. Yet like any human being presented with a delicious dish, you think "Hm, that looks pretty good. But I wonder what would happen if I engulfed it in flames." Wait, maybe that's just me. I finally broke out the kitchen blowtorch I received

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-88094635422245899412011-04-22T06:35:00.000-07:002011-04-22T06:35:12.508-07:00

I'm not much of a procrastinator. Disorganization and stress ain't my thang, and..uh..homework is kind of fun. Sort of. Most of the time. But every so often an assignment denigrates my usual warm, fuzzy feelings towards school. Case in point: analyzing anomalies in a novel written in the Romantic period, but carefully reflecting both Realist and Slave Narrative characteristics, as well. As Mark

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-41065486222144756142011-04-20T15:18:00.000-07:002011-04-20T15:18:07.449-07:00

Street food sure seems to be hitching a ride on the bandwagon these days. It's apparently cooler to scarf a taco standing up than sit and order them. Hm, maybe it burns more calories. Popular mexican chains are now front-seat passengers on this bandwagon, and their advertisements showcasing tres simply dressed tacos are pretty hunger-inducing. Picture golden tortillas enveloping smoky pulled

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-30188169419607287672011-04-18T06:23:00.000-07:002011-04-18T06:23:27.630-07:00

I don't like beans. I looove beans. If I were Jack from Jack and the Beanstalk, that beanstalk would've never seen the light of day. I would've popped those suckers into my mouth immediately. Or tossed them in a salad. Or mixed with pasta. Or pulsed into a bean dip. I know I've said this before, but really, beans are a student's best friend-- food-wise, of course. Beans don't make good dance

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-27070021348420901092011-04-16T13:09:00.000-07:002011-04-16T13:09:10.397-07:00

I've got a love/hate relationship with bananas. They're a delicious part of Mother Earth's bounty. She even provided a handy protective encasement-- blueberries and notebooks sharing real estate in a backpack is a bad, bad idea. *Shudder* On the other hand, bananas go from canary yellow to shrivel-y, mucky brown in, oh, half of a day. Another negative? I've spelled "banana" like "bananananana"

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-37650430565162972642011-04-13T06:23:00.000-07:002011-04-13T06:23:30.483-07:00

This post's theme: Repent. After that doozy of a last post, I feel it necessary to seek penitence for my sins. It's what growing up in a Catholic household will do to you. The guilt, man. It's there. My Mom still remembers a bacon sandwich she ate 10 years ago during Lent. She blurted it out as I scrambled my lanky-limbed, 12 year-old self into the car after school. "I ate a bacon sandwich, but

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-12921342348013367642011-04-11T06:21:00.000-07:002011-04-11T06:21:29.434-07:00

To the health nuts, look away. To the vegetarians, look away. To the high-falutin' foodies, look far, far away. This, my friends, is not a recipe that would tickle your fancy. It might tickle other things, like a gag reflex, and I don't want that to happen. But to those looking for a once-in-a-long-while treat, dear readers, you're in the right spot. This sandwich is the culinary gem of

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-23185849915500910842011-04-08T13:57:00.000-07:002011-04-08T13:57:02.824-07:00

Word on the not-so-proverbial street is that stuffed mushrooms are a dated dish. A quick Google search on the recipe's history (yeah, I'm procrastinating) resulted in a 1982 news headline "SOVIETS MIGHT ACCEPT ANTI-MISSILE RESEARCH." It included a quote from a U.S. official stating, "a lot of things come up over a stuffed mushroom and a cappuccino." Ah, the media. They never fail to blind me

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-69446723856701462042011-04-05T19:34:00.000-07:002011-04-05T19:34:56.429-07:00

Mysterious things happened over the weekend at my campus gym. First, time slowed to the speed of frozen molasses the second my foot grazed the elliptical machine. I then felt confident enough to chest-press fifty pounds in spite of my weak, wobbly chicken arms. Finally, while uttering various damnations to weight machine manufacturers, I got the craving for a chili-cheese dog. Maybe it's the

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-31827475596448689152011-04-03T09:23:00.000-07:002011-04-03T09:23:10.500-07:00

In a bout of procrastination, I stumbled on these contraptions: Gun eggs. Sort of a hostile way to start off your morning. What occasion would call for these egg molds? A 2nd Amendment Enthusiast Convention? An NRA get-together? Or maybe this is James Bond's preferred egg style. Waiter: "Would you like those scrambled or over-easy?" Mr. Bond: "Nah. I'll take a .44 Magnum, please."  

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-64764574291697872712011-04-01T05:16:00.000-07:002011-04-01T05:16:00.820-07:00

This recipe scared me at first. There are lots of good nuggets in this world-- chicken, gold, Denver's basketball team (Wait, maybe not), but a nugget of mayo? Dear God. Eleanor Roosevelt famously remarked we should "do one thing every day that scares you." Though my arteries seized and heart fluttered at the thought of fat fried in...fat, I'm not about to argue with one of the most prominent

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-6568691704772318742011-03-29T12:14:00.000-07:002011-03-29T12:14:59.624-07:00

I stole a lemon zester. Stole it right off the countertop with no shame, dreaming of the minuscule curly yellow shavings destined for my future dishes. Before I get turned in to the Citrus Police (are they in Florida?), I should also mention the burglarization victim was my sister. It was lying in a box of kitchen utensils my Grandma gave her, and I spotted it immediately amongst Grandma's old

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-91752965056656144412011-03-27T07:02:00.000-07:002011-03-27T07:02:46.562-07:00

Sandwich spreads are one of my weaknesses. Seriously. A burger joint I went to in D.C. offered seven kinds of mayo at the condiment bar-- and you bet I squirted out all seven into those mini paper cups. 700 calories later and it. was. awesome. As an homage to those mayo masterpieces, I created my own. I paired it with some leftover sliced chicken, but if you're rollin' in the Benjamins, it'd be

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-59530973554318211902011-03-24T19:41:00.000-07:002011-03-24T19:41:18.892-07:00

In the spirit of my New Year's resolution to try intimidating recipes, I'm attempting to get over my fear of using yeast. Yeast is a scary ingredient. First of all, it's alive. What if I kill it? Is yeast murder a chargeable offense? Secondly, the term yeast has somewhat of a stigma attached to it. I won't say it, but it rhymes with...flinfection. I wanted soft pretzels to be my first

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-58955050196769964272011-03-22T18:36:00.000-07:002011-03-22T18:36:14.094-07:00

My sister bestowed a (customized!) blowtorch upon me for my 22nd birthday. ...Yes, my Mom was horrified. Don't worry, Ma. The flame is only the size of a small pick-up truck. Leave it to my sister to take me seriously when I said I wanted a can of fire-spurting greatness. Of course, you can whip out a creme brulee or melty cheeseburger with a blowtorch, but I'd like some more inspiration. So I

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3956841751370551040.post-38664963198610218442011-03-19T12:20:00.000-07:002011-03-19T12:20:00.161-07:00

Meat-a-balls! Again! I've pronounced my love for frozen meatballs in many, many posts. They're truly a busy student's lifesaver...just in spherical, meaty form over the more popular tube ring shape. I captured pictorial evidence of my massive meatball bag just to show the amount of freakin' meatballs I'm attempting to use creatively: So, here's attempt #48463 to eat meatballs without

Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16242388252098108096noreply@blogger.com9