Ella vs. The Kitchen: Jif Edition September 29, 2011

 

so many choice

I’ve shared many stories of how my skills in the kitchen are not the best. Now, I may not be the best but I do try to improve so that one day my future children won’t go hungry. Last time, my entire meal turned out an unfortunate shade of orange but this time I won’t have the same problem.

 

Why?

 

yay!

Because JIF sent me a box of peanut butter to promote the Jif Most Creative Peanut Butter Sandwich Contest. At first, I was excited because it would be my chance to redeem myself (see previous posts) and use my creativity to make the best peanut butter sandwich ever. Then I read the contest rules and realized that the contest is for kids. One kid can earn $25000 dollars towards a college fund. I wish this was available when I was growing up and perhaps I could have turned out to be a chef instead of just admiring them.

 

Here are the Rules:

 

• You have until October 12^th to enter by visiting www.jif.com  or www.jifenespanol.com
• Your sandwich will be judged on creativity, taste, nutritional balance, appearance and easy of preparation.  (that means it must taste good, look good and someone like me should be able to make it)
• Four runner ups will receive a $25000 college fund

Need some inspiration: Check out last years winner’s ” Wushu Chicken tacos”

There’s also a chance for parents to share their stories and win a four day, three night trip to New York and serve as a judge for the contest in March. All you have to do is submit an essay on Jif’s website telling them how you make the best choices for your family and why you choose Jif peanut butter.

 

My answers would be something along the lines of “I wish my mom would have started me out making peanut butter sandwiches. Then maybe I wouldn’t have so much trouble cooking as an adult.” That answer probably wouldn’t win but I’m sure you can come up with a better one.

 

So what are you waiting for? Choose from chunky, all natural or creamy and get started on your creative recipes. Meanwhile, I will put on my new apron (courtesy of Jif)

fancy

 

and continue with my battle against the kitchen.

A jaded Adult September 22, 2011

via

 

A teacher once encouraged me to pursue a secondary degree by saying the following:

 

Go to college. Go away to college. It is the only time in your life you’ll feel like you can make a difference without being jaded by the real world.

 

Perhaps he was right or perhaps his advice strongly resonated with me because while I was in college I was certain that I could make a difference. I protested the iraq war, I openly voiced my opinion on racists incidents occurring on campus, I performed in open mics, I debated with my fellow students hoping to change opinions.

 

I could make a difference.

 

I graduated, I got a job in the real world and then I somehow became a lemming. A zombie, who woke up, went to work, met up with friends to complain, went to bed then woke up to do it all over again. Gone were the days where I openly let the world know about injustices and how we could be better. Instead, I chose to discuss things behind closed doors with likeminded friends taking the adage “preaching to the choir” to a whole new level.

 

Then slowly (read as: at snail pace) I started being more vocal about issues that deserved my attention. Immigration (SB 1070) wrote about it.  Holding companies accountable for their ads, I gave my opinion. Self empowerment, Eating disorder, mental health? Done, Done and Done.

 

Then yesterday, I found myself checking twitter incessantly waiting to hear about the execution of Troy Davis. I did what I could. I signed petitions, I called the office of the D.A in Georgia, I prayed. Then, at 11:08pm he was executed and my soul ached for him. By the time it was midnight my eyes were puffy, my heart ached and I was exhausted. I didn’t want to write about this. I let Troy down and even more daunting I let myself down. I thought I could have done more.

 

Maybe if I wasn’t so jaded? Maybe if I didn’t stop believing that one voice in a choir of many can still be heard.

 

Then I looked at my twitter timeline. Prayers being sent, links to other causes to care about, trending topics that mattered. I looked at my homegirl maiah’s post and was inspired to say something.

 

• Read about his case. See whether it changed your mind on capital punishment. It definitely changed mine.
• I am encouraged by those who support a cause bigger than themselves. No matter how small or large. Standing up for something you believe in is always a great lesson.

For me it was a wake up call. For you I hope it inspires you to seek out causes you believe in and stand up for something bigger than yourself. After all, if you don’t stand up for something, you’ll fall for anything.

Ella Vs. The Kitchen September 20, 2011

from Cozypad.com

Last weekend I was happily shopping at Ikea to get some things for my new apartment. I was walking around with a smile on my face and an excitement I hadn’t felt since going to universal studios in 1997. I must have looked too happy, or maybe I was enjoying myself too much because Boyfriend decided to ruin my moment of bliss with the following statement:

Boyfriend: You know what would be nice? If, like, sometimes you would cook more often.

The moment I hear cook or kitchen I break out into a cold sweat and anxiety sets in. I’ve already explained before that I’m not exactly Martha Stewart in the kitchen. To be honest, I’m more like what if Edward Scissorhands decided to be a chef. However, Boyfriend is right. For the last two weeks I’ve been having grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner (grilled on the George Foreman grill. Very Fancy). This is no way to live. Especially because I have been having nightmares about turning into a grilled cheese sandwich in the near future.

The only way to tackle this is to get in the kitchen and get to work. I got home from work yesterday and marched straight into the kitchen. I put on my apron (Which I got from JIF, not because I actually bought one. More on this tomorrow), took out the diced chicken from the fridge and some brown rice and got to work.

Me: Hmmm, You know what would be awesome? If I made yellow rice! But, how does one make it yellow? Oh I know! I have these orange seasoning packets. I’ll just add that and make the fanciest yellow rice ever.

I then proceed to follow the instructions on the back of the rice bag and add the orange seasoning packet that I have somehow convinced myself will make my rice yellow.

Me: oh! I have this diced chicken. How should I season it? I know, salt, pepper, cayenne, garlic powder. Something is missing. Oh look! I have the rest of this orange seasoning packet. I should put that on my chicken and then it will be so delicious.

I then proceed to pan fry this chicken. It was my proudest moment. I did everything correctly and finally I was going to win the battle with my kitchen. An hour later, I place my creation on a plate to admire my work. Everything.on.the.plate.is.orange. EVERYTHING. There is no other color. My meal is an orange skittle or M&M.

Exhibit A

I then tell Boyfriend what happened.

Boyfriend: um, it looks tasty. Maybe if you add some broccoli?

He’s so nice that he doesn’t want to add to my already overwhelming disappointment.

Kitchen: 1    Me: 0

The art of silence September 13, 2011

One recent Sunday afternoon I was sitting in my mother’s livingroom surrounded by my 2 sisters, their significant others, a sister-cousin (yes, a cousin that’s basically my sister. I’m sure you have one too.) my significant other and mami.  Now, I don’t know about your family but when my family gets together it’s an excuse to tell and retell a marathon of family stories we never get tired of.  Inevitably my mother turns to me and tells one of her favorites:

 

When my mother first came to this country she started out as a babysitter. One day, a gentleman stopped by to inquire about her services. They sat down and talked for about 20 minutes.

 

Let me stop the story here for a full disclosure: I was an inquisitive child who became an even more inquisitive adult.

 

I watched the man and my mother speak and then watched him leave. A few hours later I heard my father’s keys rattling at the front door. I ran from my bedroom to the front door just as he stepped into the house. Before he could form the words hello I yelled “Mami had some man here today!”

 

Eek. Just typing that story out makes me cringe. Blame it on being a child, blame it on having a big mouth, or on facing the wrath of my mother, but that day I learned a valuable life lesson: not everything you see or think has to come out of your mouth.

 

Your friend breaks up with a boyfriend you never really liked anyway. Say good riddance and keep it to yourself for some time. Trust me, because if they ever get back together you’re in for a long awkward road. Hate your job or your boss? Don’t send your fave co worker a link to your “I hate this place!” blog or ask them to follow you on twitter @MyJobBlows. Things have a way of getting back to your workplace and then your job is on the line.

 

Keeping your mouth shut is a way of minding your own business and thinking before you speak even if what you have to say rings true. You may feel insecure in your relationship, your talent, your path in life and in a moment of weakness think “I’ll never amount to anything!” Keep those feelings to yourself because if you say it enough not only will you start to believe it but so will everyone else who hears it.

 

Like one of my favorite writers, Demetria Lucas, says: knowing when to shut up is an under-practiced art form.

When I was 17… September 12, 2011

New York City

 

When I woke up yesterday, I opened my eyes and laid in bed. I reached for my phone on the bedside table and sent a happy birthday text to my homegirl (click the link, go say hi). Then I debated whether I should turn on the TV and watch the reading of the names of those who lost their lives on 9/11. Every year I tell myself I won’t watch. I can’t sit through it without hot tears streaming down my face and, like someone who has post traumatic stress disorder, fighting the flashes of where I was and what I felt. Like every September 11^th since 2001, I got up from my bed and did exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t do. I turned the TV on and cried as family member after family member read the long list of names.

 

I was going to write about where I was and my experience on that day like so many others have. I’m not. Instead, I’ll give you the three things that stood out most to me.

 

My mom

 

Unlike the way things are today where all teenagers have a cell phone I didn’t have one. Not that it would have mattered because it was impossible to reach anyone with millions of people attempting to contact their loved ones. Still, I was in the school cafeteria waiting for my turn to borrow a friend’s cell phone to try to contact my mother. I panicked. We couldn’t leave the school unless an adult was there to sign you out. I couldn’t find my sister, a junior, amidst the chaos and no matter how many times we were assured everything was fine I knew it wasn’t. An hour later a teacher called my name to tell me my mom was there to pick me up. She had walked from her job to my school to pick up my sister and I.

 

My Boyfriend

 

When you’re a teenager and in love it’s impossible to imagine that your boyfriend is not the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with. They understand you; love conquers all and what not. My boyfriend at the time was trying to figure out how to keep me safe. He came into my English class and says “my uncle came to pick me up. Pack up your things let’s go.”  I shook my head and said “I can’t leave my sister”. He looked at me dumbfounded and said “She’ll figure it out.” Is there a saying about knowing people’s true colors when disaster strikes?  Because the moment he said that I saw my future. He would be the dude who would push me into danger and save himself. Family is important to me and in that moment I knew he would not last.

 

My friends

 

It was hard for anyone to get around the city. Many of the students at my high school were not allowed to leave without an adult and the adults couldn’t get to the school fast enough. When I reached my mother in the lobby I gave her a big hug. My sister and cousin (who also went to my school) were standing beside her. “Mami you have to ask them for Criss and Jess. They’re still here and we can’t leave without them.” My mom then went to the person in charge and asked for her “other two daughters.” There’s this saying about friends becoming the family you choose and I couldn’t agree more.

 

 

What are your stories? I’d love to hear them.