The Divamom Life Love Shopping and Food Blog

God Bless You, Viktor Frankl

In the words of Paul Simon “Everything put together sooner or later falls apart…” Not exactly uplifting, but yesterday when someone asked why I never write about the “existential vacuum” since that’s one of the topics this blog is allegedly about – it came to mind.

“Oh great,” I thought, “people are actually reading the fine print? Fine – I’ll come up with something…”

And then the universe intervened! Oh happy day! Hallelujah!

Here is what happened: this morning I awoke with a crash (as in “was wrenched from restless sleep against my will”, and upon investigation (after a blatant and uncensored “What the [deleted expletive] was that?” discovered that one of my three cats had knocked a pasta-filled dish onto the floor so that the floor was covered with shards of glass and penne with meat sauce. Since apparently I don’t feed them enough, they began to try to eat the pasta. So after banishing them to another room – while cleaning up the mess – I thought “This is a blessing from the universe…we forgot to put the pasta away and someone would have gotten sick if they had eaten it…”

Then I thought, “This positive spin stuff is getting old fast…all we have lately around here are broken dishes and open wounds – what’s going on?”

Of course, this brought up thoughts of the Existential Vacuum which is one of the topics of this blog (allegedly, at least if you read the “description).

For those of you who are not familiar with the term – (those who were fortunate enough not to have their lives burdened by having read Viktor Frankl's Man's Search For Meaning in high school or college - or group therapy – here’s an excerpt:

"...many patients complain today, namely, the feeling of the total and ultimate meaninglessness of their lives. They lack the awareness of a meaning worth living for. They are haunted by the experience of their inner emptiness, a void within themselves."
I must admit – it was not much of a stretch for me to feel a sense of the ultimate meaningless of life when cleaning up the mess the cats had made.

First of all – how did I end up with three cats? I’m not a “cat person”… hell – I didn’t even give them kitty names like “Cookie” or “Butterscotch” or “Spot” …and I don’t think it’s cute or clever when they jump into my plants or dive across the room…
Then I thought of the analogy of the Aegean Stables.

Everyone knows that happy tale for sure: one of Hercules’ tasks was to clean the Aegean Stables which housed a mess of horses that were virtual “poop” machines; continually producing mass quantities of excrement.

Although Herc attempted repeatedly - with superhuman strength no less - to clean them, he was continually outpaced by the oh so many horses pooping faster than he could clean…so as soon as he had cleaned one corner of the stable, the other areas were again manure-laden - so he despaired.

But – as luck would have it – Hercules had an “ah ha” moment and diverted a great river through the stables – which turned into a sort of mass flush – the whole of the stables were suddenly clean at once, and his task was accomplished!

With that in mind – I went to the sink – took the hose – and sprayed all three cats that kept coming back to the glass-sharded pasta mess. For a brief moment – I felt that I had discovered the mysteries of the universe – or at least reached a new plateau…
Then of course, I had to clean the water off the floor – and the Myth of Sisyphus started all over again…

OK – next blog will be about love, food or shopping. Have a great recipe for Penne with Pink Meat Sauce and a special crunch…

Happy Monday.

Googling for Kugel

When my friend “who is like a daughter to me” Jessica Levin was turning 30, I offered my home for the party, as I live in Northern New Jersey which is halfway between New York (where several of Jessica’s friends and relatives live) and Central Jersey (where Jessica lives). Her relatives gratefully accepted and her grandmother, Nana Corbin, generously offered to help me with the cooking – which actually meant that she would get her husband (Boris) to cook and then complain about how tired she was afterwards. (I learned this secret – a variation of making reservations for dinner – when Jessica and her sisters explained it to me).

“My nana will call you,” Jessica said, “and offer to make food – but my grandfather will actually make it…but the last time I asked for kugel, he gave me frozen kugel that he bought somewhere and pretended he made it.”

This was getting more complicated by the minute, and became even more so when I finally got the call from Nana.

I’ll never forget the conversation – which was actually a 3-way call, even though only two of us were technically on the phone – Nana, me and Mr. Nana Corbin (Boris in the Background who gave a running commentary on everything Nana said, which I would have heard even without a headset).

Here’s roughly what it sounded like:

Nana C: Vicki? It’s Jessica’s grandmother – Nana Corbin – but you can call me Nana. Oh – you’re such a nice person to have the party in your house. Please – let me know what I can do…is there anything you want me to make?

Boris (in the background): See if she wants stuffed cabbaged.

Nana C: “Vicki – do you want me to make stuffed cabbage?

Me: Sure – that would be great…

Nana C (interrupting): Oh – that’s good – but I make mine unstuffed…

Boris in background (BIB): Tell her we make it unstuffed.

Nana C: I told her! Do you like it unstuffed?

Me: I’m sure it will be fine –

Nana C (interrupting): What about meatballs? I make nice meatballs…

BIB: Ask her if she wants meatballs.

Nana C (to BIB): I’m asking her now…Vicki do you want me to make meatballs?

Me: Well, actually, I’m half Swedish and half Italian – so usually make meatballs echoing each of my ethnicities…

Nana C: Oh, ok, no meatballs

BIB: No meatballs? Why doesn’t she want meatballs?

Nana C: She makes meatballs. She’s Italian.

BIB: She’s Italian? Does she want lasagna?

Nana C (to BIB): She makes meatballs. I don’t know about the lasagna.

Nana C (to me): Sweetie, do you want lasagna?

Me: No thanks – the stuffed cabbage will be fine.

Nana C: Ok, so you want the stuffed cabbage

BIB: Tell her it’s unstuffed cabbage

Nana C (to BIB): I told her!

Nana C (to me): You know it’s unstuffed…that’s how I make it…

Me: That’s great; anything you want to make is fine with me…

Nana C: There’s nothing else you need? Nothing?

BIB: Ask her if there’s anything else she needs

Nana C (to BIB): I asked her! She doesn’t want anything else…

Me: Well – actually – it would be great if you would make some kugel…I think Jessica loves it and I have no clue how to make it – I’m a shiksa

BIB (in a psychic frenzy): Ask her if she wants kugel.

Nana C (to BIB): She already asked me for kugel

Nana C (to me): Darling, do you want some kugel?

Me: Yes – I would love it if you would make kugel…

Nana C: Do you like it with or without raisins?

BIB (to Nana C): Ask her if she likes it with or without raisins.

Me: I love raisins.

Nana: Jessica hates it with raisins.

BIB (to Nana C): Jessica hates raisins in her kugel.

Nana C (to BIB): I know – I just told her…

Nana C (to me): Jessica doesn’t like it with raisins…

Me: Oh then – make it without – it’s her birthday…she should have it the way she likes it…

Nana C: But she can take them out – it’s no big deal…

BIB: She can take them out – it’s no big deal.

Nana C: Is there anything else you need, dear?

BIB: Ask her if there’s anything else she needs.

Nana C: I just asked her that!

Nana C (to me): Is there anything else you need, dear?

Me: You really don’t have to do this…

Nana C (to me): But I want to …please tell me if you need anything else at all…
(At this point, I paused to hear what BIB had to say. After 10 seconds of silence, I spoke again)

Me: Maybe if you want to make a brisket?

Nana C (to BIB): She wants a brisket.

BIB: Brisket?

Nana C (to BIB): Brisket.

Me: You don’t have to…

BIB: Brisket?

Nana C (to BIB): That’s what she said – she wants brisket…

Nana C (to me): You really don’t have to serve so much food….no one eats anymore…

BIB: She doesn’t need brisket – they won’t eat it…no one eats anymore…

After all of that I was, as you can imagine, exhausted. So I stopped arguing and said "You're right - no one eats...you know Jessica better than I do - so just make what you'd like to make and I'll serve it."

Nana C: Ok darling - I'll bring the unstuffed cabbage and the kugel...

Before BIB could interject, I said my grateful goodbyes and hung up, knowing that if nothing else, the food at the party would be covered and no one would go hungry (especially since "no one eats anymore").

Of course, the fact that the kugel had raisins in it when Jessica hates raisins caused what has become known as the Corbin Family Kugel Controversy, an un-holiday which occurs several times a year at Corbin Family gatherings.

"Can you believe my nana made the kugel with raisins?," Jessica's little sister Tiffany said, "Jessica hates raisins in her kugel."

I paused - waiting to hear BIB say something (even though he was two rooms away at the time). He didn't, however, either because he didn't hear what Tiffany said, or because his mouth was full of the meatballs I had ordered from the Italian deli at my corner. I would have rolled them myself, but took a leaf from Nana's recipe tree.

And if some of you are now craving kugel, here's a recipe for dairy kugel that I "borrowed" from someone. I've never actually made it - but either did Nana C, and if you make this one, Jessica Levin might Twitter about you since there are no raisins in it.

Enjoy!

• 4 cups uncooked egg noodles
• 1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted
• 5 eggs
• 2 cups small curd cottage cheese
• 2 cups sour cream
• 2 cups milk
• 1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
• 1 1/4 cups sugar, divided
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/8 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

Cook noodles according to package directions; drain. Toss with butter; set aside. in a large mixing bowl, beat the eggs for 8-10 minutes. Beat in cottage cheese, sour cream, milk, cream cheese, 1 cup sugar, vanilla and salt. Stir in noodles.

Transfer to a greased 13-in. x 9-in. x 2-in. baking dish. Combine the cinnamon and remaining sugar; sprinkle over noodle mixture. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees F for 55-60 minutes or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean. Let stand for 10 minutes before serving.

Sausage Festival Reunion

  When a case of Diet Coke exploded in our garage refrigerator, in a spring cleaning frenzy, I asked my husband to hose it down since it would soon be grilling season again (although for Kagee, it’s apparently all year round). During the purging of the exploded cans and a few bottles of presumably stale Coors Light -he stumbled upon a package of frozen blood sausage which was left over from our first annual sausage fest held last July.

"Should I throw this out?," he asked.

Even though it was about 9 months old old, and frozen (almost) beyond recognition, it wasn’t a rhetorical question; he knows well how upset I can become if something is inadvertently tossed. "You threw away my lucky sage?," I might say, "I was saving it for a smudging ceremony." (To him, it was dead foliage in the back of the vegetable drawer; to me it was an aborted purification ritual).

Our sausage festival was one of our more memorable parties - even more so than the "bring your own ball" tree-trimming bash or the martini "wakes" we host in celebration of Xmas and my birthday (in January - see above photo of some of the babes in black). The most notable martini party was held at the same time as a Pampered Chef demonstration. The hostess was somewhat dismayed when she realized no one was paying attention to her demonstration, but retrospectively thrilled when she realized how many sales she had made based on the number of martinis consumed. Of course a lot of the guests ended up sleeping on the floor, but I scored quite a lot of crockery for future celebrations…including a sausage casserole made with kielbasa, apples and cheddar cheese…

So to segue back to the Sausage Fest - since many of my gal pals were unattached at the time, when I extended the invite to the Sausage Festival they immediately thought I was using Freudian imagery and that I was actually inviting them to singles networking event of sorts and wanted no part of it.  "I'm happy with Ben and Jerry," one said, "I don't want a sausage in my life."  When I convinced them that the invite should be literally construed and that the sausage they would meet would be the likes of Jimmy Dean or Bob Evans - they flocked in droves. Kagee, who helped me formulate the concept, invited her sister-in-law with two young dogs (Monkey and Tula) to help eat the spoils of the event, as well as her dog Polly (name changed to protect the guilty) - who can stuff more into her small frame than a team of Alaskan Huskies.  Kagee and I had determined some months before at a Pierogi Party (the details of which I’ll spare you) during which one of the guests was a hyperkinetic caterer, Kent, who had an "in your face" style of conversing (despite his protective girlfriend Para's "looks that would kill" to any woman who went near his rolled proscuitto appetizers - which were even worse that her usual disgruntled "I hate the world" stare) made everyone afraid to talk to him and incur her wrath (particularly since she, like most of the people there, were like Sumo Wrestlers) – we got into a rousing discussion about a safe subject - food - and collectively came to the conclusion through that every ethnic group makes some type of sausage; even our Jewish friends, who shunned pork, ate Kosher hot dogs from time to time…and the Vegans ate tofu…and so on and so on… The more we talked about it, the more types of sausage we thought of and then we realized that July was the birth month of Basha, the Kielbasa Queen – so we had no choice but to schedule in July.

Left - Basha and Slim Jim after the fateful meeting at Sausage Festival.

Everyone came to the table with something delicious (with the obvious exception of whoever brought the blood sausage, which never made it to the grill).  Irina and Katrina, a/k/a The Mojito Mamas brought their own mint masher for the drinks which made them famous and got everyone smashed; Katrina also brought an abundance of chocolate covered strawberries from the infamous Carlo's (City Hall) Bakery in Hoboken; Mrs. D. made sausage and broccoli rabe; Slim Jim (who, coincidentally, has is slender and has the same name as a popular type of beef jerky treat) brought macaroni salad (I think he might have gotten the invite to the Pasta La Vista bash by mistake); Basha was crowned not only with Kielbasa, but ended up linking up with Slim Jim (probably because she brought tuna pasta salad and they sensed they could make beautiful macaroni together); Mrs. Meo - three hours late as usual - looked more like Liz Taylor than ever - and brought cupcakes.  I tried to spike a melon but only once section ended up with any alchohol content whatsoever, so whoever had that chunk might still be somewhere in the garage...

All of the above being said – and despite unappetizing blood sausage frozen solid into an igloo-esque mass in the back of the garage freezer…I’m already trying to figure out the best time to hold this year’s bash and searching frantically for recipes involving weenier, bangers - and of course – seasoned tofu tubes. All recipes gratefully accepted.

Basha's Football Lesson

My husband told me that he would love it if I learned the ins and outs of the game of football so that we could watch it together. 

"I'll teach you the game," he said enthusiastically.

I cringed inwardly (and probably outwardly as well). 

"Husbands and wives should never teach each other anything," I told him, "it causes too much tension.  I'll read one of those 'Football for Complete Morons' books."

It was on my "to do" list for three weeks from Friday, and then I realized that football season was upon us.  Since my husband is unflaggingly supportive of all or most of my idiocyncratic interests (including my compulsive need to feng shui our home and everyone else's) - I felt compelled to cram for the season. 

Serrendipitously, my friend Basha called (to tell me about a few red flags waved in front of her face when she heard a potential love interest cooing to his cats during a telephone conversation).  I mentioned the football issue, and she said

"Want to impress your husband?," she said, "Next weekend - for the first time in history - two quarterbacks on opposing teams - who are brothers - will be playing each other...tell him you know about that...he'll think you're up on the game."

Immediately upon hanging up, I retreated to the kitchen to continue crocking a pot roast (literally as well as figuratively; I dumped it in a slow cooker with - inter alia - some merlot, some blackberry brandy and some onions).

Trying to sound off-handed, I called out to my husband who was watching television in his back room.

"Honey," I said, "are you going to watch the game next weekend when the two brothers play against each other?  It will be history in the making."

"No," he said, "They are both [expletive deleted]...I hate them."

Of course, at that point, I was back to square one.  I suppose a trip to Barnes & Noble for the aforementioned primer would be in order.

C'est la guerre!