Hair Dying

Posted on October 22, 2013 by The Sugarlump

Though I am five at heart, I’m apparently forty to fifty on the head.

Not in the head, but on the head.

I’ve had the good fortune of gray hair since high school. I take this as a sign that I’m wise beyond my years because I am trying to find anything positive about this situation.

As some of you wise-haired people know, these gray hair situations are pricey to conceal. I usually leave the hair dying to professionals but that has gotten expensive and necessary more frequently than I’d like and my friend Jessica assured me it was a cinch to do at home. I decided to take the plunge and let her help me dye my hair. And by help me, I mean do it for me in exchange for dinner. I was on my own, however, for the trip to Sally’s beauty supply.

My natural hair color is a very dark brown, even though my granny calls me her “black-headed” child. I typically like to dye my hair (have my hair dyed by a professional) a tad darker and throw in some violet undertones. It really brings out the green in my eyes and the ghost-like quality of my skin.

I was intrigued by this set of colors. They might make me look more tan than the violet, but that’s probably about all they would do for me.

After I had some fun envisioning myself with radically different looks, I started to hunt the blue-violet among the 350,000 options. Now blue-violet is not a wildly popular color so I had to ask for assistance in finding it. Turns out there were just two options. The lovely helper explained to me the difference:

“Well this is good if you have grays but you’re so yo…(spots the alarming amount of grays on my twenty-five-year -old head)…you have some grays so you should get this one.”

Nice save.

I headed home with my youth in a box as well as a handy little kit of supplies and Jessica got to work mixing up the pigment with the stuff that makes it stick to your hair. Binder? Extender? Developer? Tar? Something like that.

And then came the comment from Jessica that puts every woman who’s about to dye her hair at ease: ”I’ve never seen it look this color in the bottle before…”

Follow shortly by: “For the record, I didn’t pick the color.”

Excellent. I decided to focus on prepping myself for my transformation instead of the helpful commentary.

Having donned my high-end “cape,” I was feeling a little warm.

E: “It’s hot in here.”

J: “Well you’re wearing a garbage bag.”

The whole point of this DIY hair color is to save money. Maybe next time I’ll roll the $2.99 into my 401K and just use a lawn-size trash bag.

I sat on the toilet and Jessica got to work processing my hair. Though my bathroom is fairly generous in size, the fumes from the hair dye were so strong that it might serve as an alternative to general anesthesia. Even with the fan on and the door open, Jessica and I barely maintained consciousness throughout the process.

Jessica finished putting the dye on my hair and we cleaned up my skin around my hairline because after stepping back and looking at my neck, Jessica said, “You look like you’ve been beaten.”

I highly recommend this thoroughly enjoyable experience.

We let my hair “process” on my head for a while and then it was time for the moment of truth after I washed the color out of my hair. If you’ve ever washed violet hair dye out of your hair in a white shower and watched the show Dexter, this might be a very disturbing experience as you might think you’ve been shot. And having just awoken from my hair-dye-induced coma that is a highly plausible situation for all you know.

I made it out alive and my hair color looked pretty good. Jessica will remain in good standing; however, I don’t think I can go through that experience every 4-6 weeks.

Maybe I should go blonde.

Or gray.

Y’all be careful,

Sugarlump

North comes South: Part II

Posted on April 28, 2013 by The Sugarlump

Day 2 of my friend Blair’s visit was quite busy. We started off the day with a plan to hike part of the Natchez trace and suited up in several layers of athletic apparel to face the nippy wilderness. But first, we made a stop in downtown Franklin for a little retail therapy and sustenance. I took Blair to several of my favorite spots: Iron Gate, Gino, Philanthropy and Anthropology. Blair found a couple of cute pieces for Easter at Gino and then we decided a sweet treat was in order as delicious smells wafted over from the adjacent Meridee’s. I had a strawberry pastry that I intended to eat just half of, but before I knew it, it had disappeared on me. Blair got a cookie that I made a note to try sometime. And by sometime, I meant later that afternoon.

As we walked to the car to head on to the Natchez trace, I lost Blair. She was behind me one minute and as I went to unlock my Jeep and hop in, she was nowhere to be found. I circled the car only to find Blair trying to get into another car two spaces ahead of mine. We had a good laugh over that.

Our drive to the Natchez trace took us through the beautiful farms in Leiper’s Fork. I had never been over that way so it was an uncharted adventure for both me and Blair. We saw lots of different animals. Blair was particularly taken by the horses wearing “sweaters.” They were pretty darn cute.

Don’t let this clear, sunny sky fool you; it was about 45/50 degrees.

We arrived at the trail entrance and embarked on our hiking adventure a little leery of the heavily wooded/potentially creature filled path. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter anything questionable except a swampy patch and a little horse poo.

Not too far into our journey, we stumbled upon this beautiful view.

Selfie alert! Here we are at a large bluff along the trace. You can’t judge us because there was not a soul within miles who could have possibly taken our picture.

Limbo anyone?

I was very interested in the neat shadow patterns of the trees.

About 2 miles in, the trail opened up into this lovely lawn.

Lots of pretty wildflowers. Seeing this reminds me that I once suggested to my Dad that we turn part of my parents’ lawn into a meadow. It was a no-go.

We came across this memorial honoring the soldiers who traveled along the Natchez Trace during the war of 1812.

We hiked the trail for roughly 4-5 miles. Our pedometer seemed to be confused by our frequent elevation changes through the hills so our mileage was a little ambiguous. We weren’t terribly concerned about it. It was a nice hike and a nice chat and we were happy to have made it out of the wilderness alive.

It was 2:00PM by the time we wrapped up our hike and we were kind of hungry. Just a little ways down the road, we stopped in “downtown” Leiper’s Fork for some lunch. We first ventured into Puckett’s, which looked delicious, but neither of us was really in the mood for a rib-stickin’ meal of BBQ or meatloaf. I was craving a salad (a very rare occurrence for me) and Blair thought something a little bit lighter sounded good, too. We were about to head back to downtown Franklin when we spotted a little café. Perfect! We walked in the door and started reading what looked to be a lovely selection of salads, soups and sandwiches. The “host” greeted us with a very confused look on his face as he speculated, “Lunch?” Not knowing any other commonly accepted term for a mid-day meal, Blair and I responded, “Yes?” (duh?). He then informed us that the grills had been turned off. We said no worries; we were hoping for salads anyway. His frown deepened as he informed us that he wouldn’t be able to serve us salads either because apparently when the grill is shut down, this establishment that serves many things not prepared on a grill is paralyzed, and it is impossible to prepare anything edible for two hungry young ladies even though there were pre-packaged items staring at us in the refrigerated case in between us and Mr. No. We left a little miffed and happily noshed on salads and fried pickles at 55 South back in downtown Franklin.

We arrived back at my place mid-afternoon and inadvertently took a power nap while catching up on some March Madness. Then it was time to get ready for dinner. On to the next meal!

Blair loves sushi so I knew I had to take her to Virago at some point during her visit. Not only does it have great sushi, but it’s also one of my favorite restaurant designs in Nashville. Good lighting, not too loud, different dining formats, great use of texture, interesting crowd, prime location in the Gulch. It’s a pretty swanky spot.

We sat at the bar so we could watch basketball. After thoroughly reviewing the menu, we ordered sushi and drinks and settled in. I can’t explain it, but something possessed me to order a cocktail spiked with jalapeno. It was very interesting and mostly enjoyable until my sushi that contained sriracha entered the mix. It probably didn’t help matters that I also dunked each bite into soy sauce mixed with a sinus-clearing portion of wasabi. Towards the end of the meal I ordered a bowl of plain rice to counteract the inferno building in my mouth.

It was still a reasonable hour when we wrapped up dinner so we headed down the road to Patterson House, a throw-back speak-easy in Midtown. We ordered fancy, chemically-engineered, hand-crafted drinks. And doughnuts.

We got to talking to the bartender (as this is the south after all) about the concept of this establishment and how it reminded us of a “mixology”-type bar in Boston, called Drink. Much to our surprise, this bartender knew Drink because Patterson House had hosted several guest-bartenders from Drink recently. This world is impossibly small at times. We chatted with the bartended some more about her favorite places to eat in Nashville. She recommended City House and Rolf and Daughters, two places high on my list to try in Germantown. She also mentioned the Catbird seat, which is located directly above Patterson House. I made a note to check it out. Sadly, our new friend was moving to San Francisco in the near future, but it was nice to meet her.

And on that note, we concluded day 2 of our adventures.

Y’all hurry back,

Sugarlump

North comes South: Part I

Posted on April 14, 2013 by The Sugarlump

My good friend from college Blair came to visit me a few weeks back. She was my first non-family member Yankee visitor and it was her first time in the south. EVER. It was a pretty big deal.

I picked up Blair at the airport early Wednesday afternoon and went over some ideas of things to do and try out during her stay. Even though it was a little chilly (I’ll have you know it was 80 degrees the weekend prior), the afternoon she arrived was supposed to be the warmest of the days while she was here so I suggested we pack up a picnic and head out to Arrington Vineyards. I had never been before but had been told by many people that I should go if I had the chance. We packed up supplies in the largest beach tote known to man, picked up some cheese and olives at Whole Foods and headed on our merry way.

After a scenic drive away from the city, we arrived at Arrington Vineyards for our free wine tasting. Our server gave us his spiel, telling us we could try up to 8 different wines. I asked Blair how many she was going to try, to which she replied, “8! I’m on vacation!” I like the way she thinks. No wonder we’re friends.

We were both starving and decided to nosh on the cute little crackers offered at the tasting to cleanse the palate between wines. Blair referred to them as cracker pillows, because they did indeed look like pillows made out of a cracker. Our server agreed and we giggled about it for a good 5 minutes. For the record, this was before we had sampled any wine, which was unfortunate for Blair who tasted the crackers first. I asked her how they tasted as she chewed for an eternity.

“Very…dry. They make you thirsty. In a bad way.”

I tried one or four also and concluded that they were indeed the driest crackers I’d ever tasted. Who knew something so small and cute was capable of robbing your mouth of all moisture. Perhaps they should use them at the dentist instead of that terrible saliva sucker thing…

For the rest of the trip, Blair and I referred to anything or anyone who put a damper on things as a cracker pillow. As in, “Man, he was a real cracker pillow.”

Anyway, we tasted our 8 wines and decided on a bottle to purchase and enjoy with our picnic.

I went to the car to retrieve the picnic and as I walked back up to the porch, I got several comments on my monstrosity of a bag. It really does come in handy on such occasions.

We set up our spread and caught up for several hours as we enjoyed our wine and cheese. The sun began to set on the Vineyard and it was time to pack up and get ready to go downtown for dinner.

Normally, if I’m trying to ensure that my guests have a good time and/or trying to convince them to move to Nashville, I take them to places that I have been to and know are worth returning to. I hadn’t been to Arrington Vineyards, but that was a hit so I continued breaking my rules that evening by suggesting we try a new restaurant in town that I hadn’t yet been to.

We freshened up and headed downtown to The Row, which had just opened the week before. We arrived to a nearly empty restaurant and were seated in a booth in the corner under some very harsh, interrogation style lighting. We asked if they could maybe dim the light a little, which they couldn’t (poor lighting design) so we asked to move. We were re-seated in a very dark section and began to study the menu by candlelight. From one extreme to the other in the span of 30 feet.

The menu had lots of southern classics to choose from. I picked chicken fried chicken with cheese grits and bourbon sweet potatoes and Blair got the BBQ, brussel sprouts with bacon, and fries. What the restaurant lacked in atmosphere it sadly did not make up with its food. While it wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t special. I know better than to order fried chicken with two grandmothers from Kentucky. Shame on me. I’m sure the restaurant would be more pleasant if it were full, but I’m not in a hurry to go back and neither is Blair, particularly if she has to come all the way from Boston. So maybe I should have quit while I was ahead with the blind adventures. Thankfully, Blair was willing to write off that one since we started off well at the Vineyard and had several days of pre-approved adventures ahead.

And that was just the first 8 hours.

Stay tuned for parts II & III.

Y’all come back,

Sugarlump

A Very Costly 46 Cents

Posted on March 4, 2013 by The Sugarlump

I’d like to start by saying that I pay most of my bills online as this is my preference for the sake of efficiency, peace of mind and instant gratification. Two of my utility companies, however, are stuck in the previous century and charge a fee of roughly 10% of my bill to accept payment electronically. I refuse to pay this outrageous fee given it is significantly higher than the cost of a stamp (even though postage has gone up).

As I went to pay my two paper bills by check (quick poll: how long do you think before checks are obsolete?), I realized I only had one stamp. No problem, I would stop at the mail center store just down the road from my apartment when I was out running errands.

I pulled into the parking lot for the mail center store toward the end of the day only to find that the store had gone out of business in the month since I had been there last. If only I had to pay more bills by mail so I could have kept them in business. It sure was a handy location.

The bills sat in my car for the next few days as a reminder to buy stamps at a less convenient location.

On my lunch break a few days ago, I headed out to McDonald’s for some McNuggets. I’d had McDonald’s on the brain ever since one of my coworkers ate a sausage biscuit in front of me as my stomach growled, unsatisfied with the oatmeal and blueberries I’d had for breakfast. Feeling slightly guilty for straying from my healthy choices, I asked if anyone else wanted anything from McDonald’s. My pregnant boss asked for a medium order of fries.

I went through the drive-thru and headed back toward the office. When I was almost there, I happened to glance down and notice my bills in the center console. I figured I might as well stop off and get some stamps while I was out, so I made a U-turn and drove to Fedex Kinko’s. I waited at the counter for about 5 minutes as the 3 employees decided not to pay attention to me. When one finally came over, he told me that they don’t sell stamps but the Walgreens across the street does. So I hopped back in the car and drove over to Walgreens.

I arrived at Walgreens to utter chaos. There were two checkout lines, both manned by people who seemed to have the opposite of a sense of urgency despite the fact that there were about 10 people in line. I waited in line for nearly 10 minutes as the cashier studied each of the purchases of the people ahead of me. I was delighted to wait in line on this dreary, raw day as the young boy in front of me, wearing basketball shorts and no coat, proceeded to cough up a lung.

I finally made it through the line and asked the cashier where the nearest mailbox was. The woman behind me in line suggested I take my bills to Fedex Kinko’s just across the street.

So I headed BACK to Fedex Kinko’s. A line had formed and the staff seemed flustered. Seeing a box that said “outgoing packages,” I walked up to the desk and asked one of the employees if she would kindly just toss my bills in the “outgoing packages” box. She proceeded to tell me that they don’t take regular mail, but there is a mailbox in the shopping center down the road. Just fabulous.

I headed down the road to the mailbox and dropped off my very irritating bills. I probably wasted at least a gallon of gas and 30 minutes on this adventure for a stamp. And by the time I got back to work, I had only room temperature French fries to present to a pregnant lady. It might have been worth that online fee after all.

Continuing my brilliant success at life, yesterday, I vacuumed up my phone charger.

Y’all be smart,

Sugarlump

Jailbreak

Posted on February 16, 2013 by The Sugarlump

Until recently, I had left Gus and Scarlet in my bedroom suite when out of the house so that I did not return to find them patrolling the top of the upper cabinets in my kitchen. I’ve heard that animals like to be somewhat confined anyway. Maybe somebody feeling guilty about leaving his/her animals in a small space made that up, but I was going with it. My cats had all of my bedroom, hall and bathroom to roam and they had all the food they could eat, water they could drink and litter box they could…well you know what I mean. They were all set.

Imagine my surprise one night when I come home from work and am greeted at the front door by two 15” tall furry creatures eager to see the world beyond the front door. I quickly closed the door and stood there for a minute, amazed that they could have gotten out. I have small French doors that must be very forcefully pulled open and closed for the spring to lock. How a 13 pound cat without thumbs or considerable muscle mass can open a door I struggle with on a daily basis is beyond me. I thought maybe this was just a fluke and that perhaps I hadn’t closed the doors all the way. But lo and behold, the next day, I was again welcomed home/hounded for food at the front door.

When my parents were here a couple of weeks back, we decided to run an experiment to see how long it takes them to get the door open. I closed the cats in my bedroom and headed out to work, leaving my mom in the living room. My mom texted me not 20 minutes later that she had company. Those little rascals.

I also used to close my bedroom suite a night to keep the cats from standing on the stove and potentially scorching a tail or two. In the middle of the night after the first few daytime escapes, I would hear the rattling of the door and then all of the sudden a click sound as the spring released and the door opened.

Turns out Miss Scarlett is the brains and the brawn of this operation. Gus doesn’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’.

I have relented and let them roam the place as they please when I am gone now. Although the other night, I had my hands full of groceries as I walked in the door and little Mr. Gus waltzed right out into the breezeway. I shuffled groceries at lightning speed and grabbed Gus by the tail to drag him back inside. I almost had a heart attack because there would be no catching that little booger if he got out and were beyond my reach. Ever since, I stick my foot in the door first and Gus has learned not to stand so close. In fact, the novelty is beginning to wear off and there are times Gus and Scarlett decide it’s not worth their energy to get up from their cozy perches to welcome me home.

I’m slowly losing control.

Y’all send reinforcement,

Sugarlump

Tackling Tiramisu

Posted on January 14, 2013 by The Sugarlump

There are very few non-chocolate desserts that I will give the time of day. My absolute favorite non-chocolate dessert is butterscotch brownies, which continue to baffle me with their non-chocolaty deliciousness. There are some things that cannot be rationally explained and I believe this is one of them. Next on my list of acceptable non-chocolate desserts is tiramisu, but only a handful that I have tasted in my life are up to snuff. One absolute deal-breaker is any trace of almond. In my opinion, it does not belong in tiramisu.

I tried to make tiramisu once before in my life. It was not a success. I went a little overboard on the coffee and put in about twice what the recipe called for because those lady fingers just didn’t look saturated enough as I was assembling the dessert. The next day, my tiramisu was sitting in a puddle. The taste wasn’t bad, but I definitely had a texture issue to work out. Unfortunately, I had volunteered to make this dessert because my mom’s boss and his family were coming over for dinner. They were sports and cleaned their plates. It was on that fateful day that I learned firsthand the valuable lesson that one should never prepare an unfamiliar dish for the first time when company is coming over, particularly company you would like to remain in good standing with. Instead, I would highly recommend preparing something that you have perfected.

My mother did not get fired in case you were wondering.

Since my tiramisu had knocked me down instead of picking me up, it was a while before I was emotionally ready to tackle it again. My neighbor Anna is Italian and a wonderful cook and baker, so I decided it was safe to try to make tiramisu again with her.

I only allowed myself to measure the dry ingredients and did not deviate from the recipe in the slightest.

For the most part.

When Anna and I were discussing the ingredients for the dessert, I offered to pick up the lady fingers. She informed me that that would not be necessary as we would be making the cake portion ourselves because it would be a better texture and flavor. Boy was she right on about that.

This recipe is a long one, but it’s not difficult. It originates from Southern Living magazine, circa 1988. Heregoes:

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and line a half-sheet pan with wax paper and then butter and flour the wax paper so the cake does not stick.

Separate 4 eggs and let them come to room temperature.

Melt 3 tablespoons of butter and let it cool.

Brew some potent coffee and put 1 cup of it aside to cool. (I would recommend drinking the rest of it if you’re sleepy because this is going to take a while.) Add ¼ cup of sugar and a miniature of Kahlua to the coffee.

Sift together 1 cup of all-purpose flour, ¼ teaspoon of baking powder, and ¼ teaspoon of salt.

In another bowl, beat together the egg yolks and ¾ cup of sugar until light and thick. This will take about 5 minutes so I would recommend stretching beforehand if using a handheld mixer.

It will look something like this when it’s ready.

Then pour in 1 tablespoon of lemon juice, 1 tablespoon of water, and 1 teaspoon of ‘niller extract.

I love vanilla extract.

I also really like this nifty little gadget that allows one to dust cocoa powder on things.

Sorry, I got sidetracked by the idea of something chocolate.

In yet another bowl, beat the egg whites on low speed until they are frothy and then add in ¼ cup of sugar. Increase the speed of the mixer to medium and beat the egg whites until they are stiff but don’t overbeat.

Add half of the egg white mixture and half of the flour mixture to the egg yolk mixture. Fold the mixtures together until combined. Repeat with the remaining half of the mixtures.

Pour the batter onto the sheet pan.

Spread the batter evenly across the sheet pan using a spatula.

Then pop it in the oven for 15 or 20 minutes or until golden brown on top and the center springs back.

Let it cool for a few minutes in the pan and then turn it out onto wax paper and let it cool completely.

Carefully remove the wax paper from the bottom of the cake as that is not a texture you want in your tiramisu.

Then, cut off the edges of the sponge cake so no one has to experience a crunchy/stiff bite of tiramisu. Remember, it’s all about texture.

For the filling, beat 1 cup of heavy cream until it forms peaks.

Then beat together ½ cup sugar and 1 pound of mascarpone cheese.

Fold together the mascarpone mixture and the heavy cream. If you’re feeling rebellious, add a few drops of vanilla extract into the mixture. In my experience, a little extra vanilla extract never hurt anything.

It was Anna’s idea.

Next, cut the cake in half and place one half on a serving dish.

Brush half of the coffee mixture onto the cake using a pastry brush.

It should look something like this.

Dust the cake generously with cocoa powder.

Then sprinkle on some chocolate shavings.

Spread half of the filling mixture over the first layer of cake.

Easier said than done. Don’t be alarmed if some of the chocolate shavings get mixed in. No one will ever know and it will still taste good.

Repeat this process with the second layer of cake and filling.

Coffee mixture…

Cocoa powder and chocolate shavings.

Filling…

Some more cocoa powder…

Smooth the sides with a knife.

Decorate the top with dark and white chocolate shavings.

Then let the cake sit overnight in the refrigerator and enjoy the next day (preferably not with your mom’s boss unless this is at least the second time you’re making this recipe).

Here are the recipe cards:

(We deviated from the recipe a little bit by adding Kahlua instead of sherry or Marsala. Don’t tell anyone.)

Y’all hurry back,

Sugarlump

Lemon Hummus

Posted on January 8, 2013 by The Sugarlump

I like lemon hummus. My mom got me hooked on it years back. No other hummus seems to measure up to the fresh, savory taste of lemon hummus. Trust me, I’ve tried them all. Since moving to the South, I have been unable to find lemon hummus available for purchase. Not that I’ve been able to find it unavailable for purchase. I haven’t been able to find it at all.

So I got the bright idea to make my own lemon hummus. I looked up several recipes for a basic hummus and realized that I would need to get myself some tahini paste, which all recipes assured me was available at any grocery store these days. I headed out to Kroger on my lunch break and placed my bet on the international food isle. No tahini paste to be found among the other 439 pastes/sauces, some of which were made from a) things I had never heard of and/or b) things I would not like a paste/sauce made out of. But that’s another discussion for another time/never.

I must have looked perplexed because a nice man who worked at Kroger came over to see if he could help me. I asked him for tahini paste. He thought about it for a minute and then remembered that another lady had been in earlier that day looking for the same thing. He motioned for me to follow him to the organic food isle, where he presented me two tahini paste options, which I had no way of discerning a difference in as they were the same size and price. I thanked him, picked up the jar that had cuter packaging and walked to the register.

The cashier scanned the jar and said, “That will be $9.67,” and held up the jar in disbelief. Tahini paste will set you back a pretty penny, let me tell you. I said to him, “Yeah that stuff isn’t cheap. I guess it’s so high because it’s organic.” He said, “Did you want the organic specifically? Because there are two or three other options in isle 2 and isle 5.” Now you tell me. I decided that if I were making my own hummus, which is about as granola crunchy as I get, it might as well be organic. So I sucked it up and spent a month’s pay on that silly tahini paste. Feeling a little too natural, I went straight to Chick-fil-a for a 6 count nugget kids’ meal. It really hit the spot.

After work, I came home and turned on the Alabama -Notre Dame game. What a nailbiter. About 10 minutes into the game, I determined it was probably safe for me to go get started on my hummus. I pulled out my food processer, which weighs more than a small child and has more attachments than I can find space for in my cabinets.

Here’s what you will need for the hummus:

· 1 can Chickpeas, drained and rinsed

· 2-3 cloves Garlic, chopped

· 1 lemon, zested and juiced

· 2 tbsp. Tahini paste

· Salt to taste

· ½ tbsp. Olive oil

· 1-2 tbsp. water

· You might add a pinch of cayenne pepper to give it a little kick. I haven’t verified yet whether or not that’s a good move.

Drain and rinse a can of chickpeas. Chop up several cloves of garlic. I would go for 3, but I really like garlic. I also happen to dislike vampires, so that works out really well for me.

Throw the chick peas, garlic, tahini paste, juice and zest of a lemon, a few dashes of salt and 1 tablespoon of water into the food processor. Pulse until the ingredients are combined and fairly smooth, adding more water as needed to help the ingredients blend. Drizzle in olive oil while pulsing at the end.

Now, do yourself a favor and start spreading this hummus on wheat bread with honey maple turkey, a few slices of red onion and lettuce. You don’t know what you’re missing.

Y’all come back,

Sugarlump

Inherited Mischief

Posted on January 7, 2013 by The Sugarlump

I’ve recently taken an interest in target shooting. Most people who know me find this surprising/troubling. Not to worry, you skeptics, I only care to shoot inanimate objects.

Uncle Santa gave me, my sister and cousins each a box of shells and some targets for Christmas. I think it’s one of my favorite gifts ever. Maybe next year I’ll ask for a gun. Watch out.

I was so excited to go out shooting the day after Christmas, but the weather was most uncooperative. A nice rotation of rain/sleet/snow carried on all day so my box of shells is still unopened.

Christmas night, as we were discussing our plans for the following day, Granny shared with us that she didn’t want her girls shooting guns. My dad called her out on this immediately because she shot guns all the time growing up. She said that didn’t matter; she still didn’t want us shooting guns. My dad overruled her on a count of hypocrisy.

All four of us are also adults and can shoot a gun even if our Granny doesn’t want us to, but we didn’t dare bring that up. We are and always will be her “babies” even though we’re no longer 2, 3, 5 and 7 like she thinks we are.

It’s no secret that my Granny was somewhat of a mischievous child. Shooting guns was just the beginning. We asked Granny to tell us some stories that night and it wasn’t long before we were all laughing so hard it hurt. There were some really good ones that involved playing hooky.

We asked Granny what she did when she skipped school one day for an entire day.

Granny: “Well, we had never seen a trial.”

Family in unison: “You skipped school to go to the courthouse?!?!”

Granny: “Yes, and we sat there all day and there wasn’t even a trial so we just went back to school.”

After we all died laughing, we just sat there for a few minutes processing Granny’s rather unusual item on her bucket list that warranted skipping school.

The next story was even better.

One day in high school, several couples who were “courting” decided to leave school without permission.

Granny said, “Now, our principle was a mean old man and he stuttered. “

Upon being caught, the couples were ordered back to school. They walked down the hall, past the principle, who had a habit of pulling up his britches when he was mad.

Granny stood up and hiked up her pants in the front using her forearms, imitating the principle.

We all just about lost it and waited for the punchline with the stutter.

Granny said, “He was so mad, he didn’t say a word.”

We all sat there for a minute and then questioned Granny as to what the fact that he stuttered had to do with the story if he never even said anything.

She just wanted us to know that about him, evidently.

That made us laugh even harder.

Granny always calls us the craziest bunch of young’ins. I wonder where we got that from.

Y’all mind your Grannies,

Sugarlump

Visiting Jack

Posted on January 4, 2013 by The Sugarlump

Cousin Lauren came down to visit me here in Nashville the other day. After some lunch and a trip to Comcast to switch out my cable box (I’m so much fun to visit), we headed to Lynchburg, Tennessee for a tour of Jack Daniel’s Distillery.

As we neared the distillery in the car, cousin Lauren remarked how another distillery she had driven by had these creepy old buildings. Moments after we stepped out of the car, we determined this place was creepy, too. Must be a distillery thing. And the fact that it was miserably cold, damp, and foggy. Other than that, it was a perfect day for a distillery tour.

I’m such a great host.

This was pretty nifty. There is a natural source of water under this here hunk of rock that is used in the production of Jack Daniel’s products. Apparently it’s some pretty pure stuff and makes Jack Daniel’s whiskey taste real good. How do people figure these things out is what I want to know.

This is not a black and white photo in case you were wondering.

After we went through the buildings where the whiskey is produced, we found ourselves by some very black trees. The trees turn black from a mold that grows on them as a byproduct of the distillery. Our tour guide assured us that the mold is not harmful to the trees or to people and is in fact a sign that the production of whiskey is going well. Looks can be deceiving!

In the next building, where the whiskey drips through 10 feet of hard sugar maple charcoal to be purified, our tour guide lifted the lids of the large containers so we could smell the whiskey. We got a huge whiff of the whiskey, which made me think of bourbon balls as the smell lingered in my nostrils.

Pleasant thought, no?

This prompted me to ask cousin Lauren about some candy my mom had brought down with her from her friend. I was under the impression that all chocolate specimens in the tin were bourbon balls. Here was our clarifying conversation:

Me: “Those bourbon balls didn’t really taste like bourbon at all. They actually tasted almost like coconut.”

Cousin Lauren, “Did the ones you ate have pecans on top of them?”

Me: “No.”

Cousin Lauren: “Then you were eating coconut balls. The ones with pecans on top are bourbon balls. The ones without pecans are coconut balls.”

Me: “Oh……No wonder they tasted like coconut. At least I have a good sense of taste and could identify the coconut.”

Cousin Lauren: “…and the lack of bourbon.”

I’m glad we got that cleared up. It was really troubling me.

Towards the end of the tour, I asked our tour guide where she was from because she clearly did not have a southern accent and had been asking people in the group where we were from. Coincidentally, she was from Massachusetts, where I lived for 13 years and moved here from in April. I asked her where in Massachusetts she was from and she told me Salem, a town famous for the witch trials that occurred centuries ago. These creepy trees would fit right in there.

All I have to say is, this world is tiny.

And I like bourbon balls.

And try to arrive at the distillery before 2:30PM if you would like a tasting tour.

We arrived at 2:40PM.

Y’all be careful,

Sugarlump

Christmas Traditions

Posted on December 26, 2012 by The Sugarlump

This year marked a big transition in tradition for the Dyer household. Instead of having our family Christmas at my parents’ house as we have always done, I hosted here in my new hometown of Nashville.

In my one bedroom apartment.

I didn’t foresee an issue as I have a large sectional that can sleep two people so I knew all four of us would have a comfortable place to sleep.

What I didn’t foresee was the blanket shortage. I wound up sleeping under my robe.

It’s ok though. Santa still showed up and we had our family Christmas.

I may need a bigger place if I plan on hosting regularly.

After our family Christmas on Christmas Eve morning with just me, Eugene and my mom and dad, we headed to Kentucky for Christmas on Christmas Day with the extended family.

Got that straight?

We always sleep at my dad’s parents’ house on Christmas Eve. My aunt, uncle and cousins live just down the road so they do their family Christmas early in the morning and then head to my grandparents for the big family Christmas on Christmas Day.

Christmas morning, Granny made sausage gravy and biscuits. Man that stuff is good. I certainly couldn’t eat it every day but then again my great grandparents did and they lived into their 90’s so maybe there’s something to that. I’ll have to ponder that at a later time when I’m feeling less full.

Per tradition, we started with our stockings. Among other lovely items, there was a Starbucks gift card, which it looks like I could have used that morning if the nearest Starbucks weren’t over 70 miles away.

After the stockings, we moved into the living room and the youngins passed out the gifts. Eugene found a tagless gift, which was cause for great concern.

My mom and Aunt Vickie received some money in shot glasses from Santa (Papa). I found this hilarious. I’m glad Aunt Vickie thought so, too.

Granny got her box of tide with a dollar bill from Papa. He’s been doing this for decades and I’m still not really sure how it started. Maybe someday I’ll get to the bottom of it.

After Christmas at my dad’s parents’ house, we headed down the road (literally) for Christmas with my mom’s parents.

I went straight for a bourbon ball….or two. I have a wicked sweet tooth and there’s no telling when it will strike.

We settled into the living room and opened our gifts. It wasn’t the same without my aunt, uncle and cousin on my mom’s side, but we were certainly thinking of them and wishing they could have been with us.

After seeing the photo that my parents sent out unsupervised in the family Christmas card this year where I look possessed, Eugene and I insisted that we supply suitable photographs for next year’s card. We had my dad take about 437 photos and this was one of the better ones.

With cameras retired for the day, we ate the delicious Christmas dinner that Grandmother had prepared for us.

Then I had a few more bourbon balls and a piece of rum cake.

We played a game of Scrabble, one of our favorites. I wasn’t on top of my game. There’s only so much you can do when dealt X, B, J, H, L, L, T. That, and most of the blood in my body was likely trying to aid in the digestion of the forty pounds of food I had eaten in the past few hours instead of pumping through my brain for a stroke of vocabulary genius.

And then I might have had another bourbon ball.

And then some leftover dressing from Christmas Eve dinner back at Granny and Papa’s.

And a piece of the jam cake cousin Lauren and I made on Thanksgiving and let ripen for Christmas. It was scrumptious.

I think I’ll be full until next year.

These things are the devil.

Y’all be careful,

Sugarlump