The Coco Mocoa

Okay, kids.  Get ready for something yummy.

Have you had the coconut mocha frappuccino thing at Starbucks?

Yummers, right?

Yah, I know.

Well.

I make one at home that is pretty dang delicious.  You could blend it if you really wanted the whole frappuccino experience, but I like it just fine on the rocks.

Step 1.  Get ye the ingredients.  Cocoa powder.  Coconut syrup.  (I like the Starbucks brand.)  Coffee beans.

Step 2.  Put them on your table and snap a picture of them.  Because that's what weirdos like you do.  Take photos of groceries.

Step 3.  Mix two teaspoons (not the measuring spoon teaspoons, but the one from your silverware drawer.  No, not the big one.  The smaller one.  There ya go.) of cocoa powder with 3 to 4 teaspoons of the coconut syrup.

Be sure to spill the cocoa powder all over the table during this step because you are trying to document the whole process with your camera (because you are a seriously big dork), and you have your 50mm lens on, and that's way too close, and...  uh-oh.  You just spilled cocoa powder all over the table.

Step 4.  Clean up the mess you just made in step 3.

Step 5.  Stir it.

Step 6.  Add a one ounce shot of espresso to your mix.

mmmm....

Step 7.  Add milk and ice.

Step 7 1/2.  Stir it some more.  With feelin'.  Bon Jovi style.  (huh?  what the heck?)

Step 8.  Drink it.

Step 9.  Make another and drink that one too.

You can thank me later.

Basil Basil Everywhere

So...  have you noticed anything different today?  Yup.  I was getting antsy.  Needed an update.  I'm not a hundred percent in love with this new bloggy layout...  I don't care for the font.  Nothing gets under my skin like a font that isn't quite right.  I'm sure I'll change it all again soon.

So...

Anyhoo...

Basil.

Yah.  Got a lot of it.

So much basil, that a girl needs to make her family some homemade basil pesto every once in a while.

And then while I'm at it...

I should probably go ahead and make linguini to go with it, right?

Dang.  That's one shiny counter. I must be really good at keeping the house clean.  Mega lightening good.

Come to me, my pretties...

Homemade pasta is super easy.  Even a trained monkey could do it.  But I wouldn't want to eat monkey pasta, I don't think.  Too hairy.  And I don't think monkeys wash their hands good enough to suit me, I bet they mostly just play in the water.

But I digress.

Homemade pasta.

Easy.

Yummy.

Even happy chubby babies like it.

Cooking with Mama Perez

So...

I have this friend.  Her name is Jessica.  We went to college together.  We may, or may not know a couple of each others dirty little secrets.  But we aint talkin'.

She is stunningly beautiful.  Uber talented.  Vivacious, full of life and fun.  The Mommy to three gorgeous wee ones.  And somewhere in there, she cooks.

No, I mean the girl cooks.

As in, "Oh, give me a minute and I'll whip up a couple of breakfast burritos with avocado and homemade tamatillo salsa.  It's no trouble!  Have a coffee."

Yaaaahhh...  With three kiddos 5 and under.

Superwoman with a spatula, I tell ya.

She lives in Colorado, and I live in Oklahoma.  We haven't actually seen each others faces in person in 11 or 12 years, and we only talk on the phone every 6 months or so.  But with a friend like Jess, that really doesn't matter.  I could show up on her doorstep tonight at dinner time and she would meet me at the door with a big squeeze and a plate of homemade tortillas.

Which brings me to today's post.

Jess has taught me how to make homemade tortillas over the phone and through text messages and emails over the last couple of years and I think I'm finally getting the hang of it!  You can find her recipes on her blog, Cooking With Mama Perez.  

I made these the other night, to the delight of the men in my life.  And I'm telling ya, Gentle Reader.  Once you've had good, warm, fluffy homemade tortillas...  You're never going back.  And if you do, your husband and children will weep bitter tears.

So, I have a tortilla press, but I didn't use it this time.  Jess rolls hers out, and I want to be just like her when I grow up, so that's what i did this time too.

My heavy marble rolling pin is a little much for this task, so I got out my fondant rolling pin, and it worked like a charm.  A charm cast by Hermione Granger.  From the Standard Book of Spells Book Seven. Which Hermione never got to take because she was on the run from the Death Eaters and looking for horcruxes.

But I digress.

And, I 've discovered the secret, friends.  The magic step that really, really makes these bad boys yummy.

Let that dang dough rest.  Don't be in a hurry.  Let them rest, I say.  Then they are so, so beautiful.  And they puff up in the pan to tell you what a good job you're doing.  And each little bubble whispers what a good mother you are, and that your children will grow into strong, sensitive, well balanced adults, who will smile sweetly when they fondly remember the hot, fresh, tortillas you fed them in their formative years.  And then they will write a moving story about how wonderful you are, and you will hear it on NPR when you're driving your car to the grocery store.  Isn't that nice?

Mmmm...  Good stuff.

Festivas Ribs Spectacular

Fourth of July.

Fireworks.

Watermelon.

More fireworks.

Ribs.

Here are a few facts you may, or may not know about my Mother in Law.

1.  She is, indeed, a saint on the earth.

2.  For real on number 1.

3.  She is not a morning person.  Which, is rather unfortunate because my big boys ARE.  And they are at her house for a couple of days.  Probably hollerin' for sausage, blueberries, and juice at this very moment...

4.  She makes the best.  And I do mean the freaking best, BBQ ribs in the entire world.

I'm not kidding, folks.

I will meet you at the bike racks and fight you over this one.

It's one of my favorite meals in the entire world...

So.

So.

So good.

You might be thinking to yourself, Now Mariah...  I like Rib Crib.


Trash, I say.

or, Now wait just a cotton pickin' minute.  My Uncle Theo makes the best ribs in the world, and he's from St. Louis, so he knows a thing or two about BBQ.


I tell you, your Uncle Theo is an armature.  His ribs are mediocre.  Meet me by the bike racks.  You and your Uncle Theo.

I will run you over with this grill.  This Pandora's box of loveliness and beauty.

First, she makes an amazing rub out of magic pixie dust.  Then, she bastes them with pure liquid nectar from atop Mount Olympus.  Then, she tops them with a sauce that she fought Odin for, that time that she turned herself into a raven and scratched out his eye to get.  (What?  you don't get that Norse mythology reference, people?  Come on.)  

And yes, I do realize that I am mixing and matching my mythology, it's the Greeks who live on Mount Olympus, not the Norse.  The Norse Gods live on Asgard, across the rainbow bridge from Midgard.  Everyone know that.

But I digress.  

Anyhoo...  The entire family loves, LOVES my Mother in law's ribs.  But none more than little old me...

Really.

She makes them every year on the 4th of July.

I'm not proud of it, but I'm not sorry either...

But every year...

I eat more ribs than anyone else at the table.  Sometimes I say it's because I'm pregnant, but I don't always have that excuse.  I often have that excuse, but not always.

I eat more than my sainted Mother in law.

I eat more than my lovely sisters in law.

I eat more than my brother in law.

I eat more than my 6' 4" husband.

I eat more than my husband's 6' 4" brother.

I eat more than the little boys combined.

Glutton?

Probably.

Unladylike?

Undoubtably.

Sorry?

Nope.

I unabashedly and without apology eat everyone under the table.  And then I lick my fingers and say, "Please pass the ribs."