What a Way to Go...

There’s nothing more American than baseball and apple pie.

Except for ranch dressing.

Seriously, add a side of ranch and your food goes from mediocre to extraordinary like that. Everything tastes better with ranch, even broccoli. 

Let’s talk about that last one, shall we? Broccoli. Blah. Could anything be grosser? Even the President doesn’t like broccoli. Okay, maybe not the current president, but George Bush numero uno wasn’t having it and until a sitting president publically denounces the awful stuff, I’m sticking by ol’ H.W. Seeing as the 2012 election is just around the corner, this is the perfect time for politicos to take a strong stand. The economy, war, pro or con-broccoli. These are the important issues, people! (Shockingly, CNN has yet to recruit me to be a political correspondent. Weird.)

The point is, ranch can hide the disgust that is broccoli, cool the fire of hot wings, add a zip to pizza and be a delish addition to most everything. It has a can-do attitude, and what’s more American than that?

That’s why, to celebrate our nation’s birthday, I made sure a hearty amount of ranch dressing was on hand.

Every year, the Kelly fam goes to the Farm, builds/paints/tears down/repairs/fills in/mows/rearranges something over the Fourth of July weekend. It’s my favorite weekend of the year, filled with family, food and the great outdoors. 

The Fourth itself fell on a Monday this year, and as the relatives packed up to head home, my family and I thought about what delicious eats we could scrounge around for before I, too, hit the road, Jack. 

As my luck would have it, good old country towns like Patton, PA, observe Independence Day the way it should be—by closing everything early and spending time catching things on fire with their nearest and dearest. Because of that, only the pride of Central PA was open. 

Sheetz.

I could write an entire post solely on my love of Sheetz. Seriously. It’s like everything delicious in the world in one spot, plus windshield wiper fluid. Amazing.

Anyway, we ordered our mouth-watering meals and headed back to the Farm to nibble away and contemplate the deeper things in life. Like, why the heck’s that horse looking at me like that?

My food of course came with a side of ranch. Dip-able, cool, delicious ranch. As I finished eating and started whining to my parents about how I didn’t want to go back to work and that my apartment was stupid and my landlord was a poopy head, (A taste of home instantly reverts me back to my six-year-old self. It’s better for everyone if I space my visits accordingly.) a gnat attacked. Kamikaze-style, it dive-bombed right into my ranch. (I immediately had flash backs to Pearl Harbor. Not the real thing, of course, but the movie starring Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnett. Remember the parachute hanger scene? Swoon.)

The poor little guy died on impact, and as I eww, eww, ewwed and held the ranch-packet-turned-gnat-coffin at an arm’s length and hustled to the trash can, I couldn’t help but think my love of ranch may just land me in a similar spot to poor Gnat McGee.

Did you know that two tablespoons of ranch dressing has 15 friggin’ grams of fat in it?! I know! I mean, the stuff’s delicious, but come on! (P.S., Thank you, Google, for the quick reference. You’re a peach.)

So, friends, I’m on a mission. I, Laura Patricia Kelly, am going to find a delicious, delectable, dip-able alternative to ranch. And not the artificial fat free crap that leaves a weird aftertaste in your mouth until you brush, but something made with ingredients I can pronounce. I might even make it myself. Perhaps turn on the stove for the fourth time since I moved in 18 months ago. The possibilities are endless.

Stay tuned…a recipe is on its way!    

The Big 2-4

Over the holidays, I was in the midst of a very serious culinary discussion with some of my friends. Items like leg of lamb, creme brulle and collared greens all came up. Then I, with eyes as serious as a heart attack said, "You know what's really good? Rice Krispe Treats cereal with chocolate milk on top."

One of my friends replied with, "How are you not diabetic?"

That's a great question. How aren't I diabetic? For lunch today I had a crab cake sandwich, followed by two chocolate bars. But, the chocolate bars had almonds in them, so protein, right? And I drank water all day, so those calories are all balancing out, yeah?

I should know better. Really. My mom's a dietitian. She tells people how to eat right for a living, for goodness sake. She's all about the food plate verses the food pyramid. Monica P., R.D. and Michelle Obama--saving our nation one chunky kid at a time.


Except I bet the Obama girls didn't sneak into bed with left over cinnamon rolls last night. (Psst. That was me admitting that I did.)

So what to do? There are a couple schools of thought I've been subscribing to. The first? I'm 24! I can eat what I want! It does seem to be true. For the most part, I can eat what I want without worrying too much about the pounds packing on. I used to not have to worry at all, though, sooooo there's that.


The next school: Garbage in, garbage out. Do you remember the movie "Riding in Cars with Boys?" Me neither. What I do remember, though, is how much trouble I got in for seeing it. Like, unibrow-forming, Kelly-look-giving, Teachable Moment kind of trouble. (I"ll explain the horror of those things later.) Anywho, I was in it deep because me seeing a movie about drinking, bad decisions and 'riding in cars with boys' would inevitably lead me down the road of sex, drugs and rock & roll. Did my parents overreact a bit? Sure. But I think they may have had a point. (Did you hear that, Mom and Dad?) I was now exposed. Ideas were in my head and when my friends laughed at an innuendo, I finally knew why they were laughing. Granted, I was probably 15-years-old at this time. Sheltered doesn't even begin to describe it.

But I digress.

What does this have to do with my lovely eating habits? While I'm a cutie-patutie on the outside (my self-esteem is just as healthy as my appetite) my insides probably look like the drain of the shower I shared with three other girls my senior year of college. Shortened version=gross. And if they don't now, it's just a matter of time. As my dad always said, "Throw enough crap on the wall, some of it's bound to stick." He was talking about my foul shots, but I think the same applies for plaque and arteries and everything else that's related to plaque and arteries. (Mad anatomy skills. I haz them.)

Finally, and probably the real reason I'm doing this, is because today is my 24th birthday. Mid-twenties. I'll need two boxes of birthday candles from now on because they only come in packs of 24! I'm not upset about turning 24. I love my birthday, always have, always will. I am, though, concerned. 24-years-old is really close to 25-years-old which is really close to 30-years-old which is really close to I'm-never-fitting-into-that-again-years-old, and THAT my friends is the age I'm dreading.

So, I'm making a preemptive strike. I'm going to eat like a grownup! And exercise! And do laundry on a regular basis! Okay, the last one will do nothing to ward off said scary age, but it's still a goal.

So come back soon, friends, and see how it goes. Maybe I'm a culinary master and for my 25th birthday I'll be writing my own cookbook. Or, ya know, not. Whatevs.

That's all for now. After all, it is my birthday AND Taco Tuesday at my favorite bar!

Baby steps.