Or you can just be lazy and open a bottle of Barilla.

I'm a big fan of meat sauce. You saute up some ground meat, add a bottle of marinara, and boom. Meat sauce.

Orrrr you can spend an extra 10 minutes and do it from "scratch." I'm pretty sure I'm in competition for The Laziest Preggo on the Planet this week, but I still peeled myself off the couch and away from the TiVo long enough to chop a couple things.*

*I totally cheated and used the Chop Wizard. Much like the infomercials, it is ridiculous. It is also awesome, and luckily I have a mother who enjoys buying me As Seen on TV products. Also, for the sake of full disclosure, I am being overly dramatic and totally worked out for half an hour after work, so I'm not quite as lazy as I complain that I am.

I even made a salad. Although, by "making a salad," I really mean taking the walnut and raspberry leftover salad from the night before and adding an extra handful of greens.

It's a little sad how much the small things impress me right now. Anyway, here is Giada's Bolognese, modified just a bit. (And see? When you make it from scratch, you can give it a fancy name like Bolognese, which sounds so much more legit than "meat sauce," yeah?)

Easy Bolognese
Olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
1 carrot (or handful of baby carrots) chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 package (around 20oz) lean ground pork (or beef or turkey)
1/2 cup red wine
Large can crushed tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp oregano
Small handful chopped basil
Small handful chopped Italian parsley (opt.)
S & P
Shredded Romano or Parmesan

Heat a pour of oil (1-2 tbsp) over medium-high heat. Add onion, and saute for 5 minutes. Add carrot, celery and onion, and saute an additional 5 minutes. Add meat, and continue cooking until cooked through, about 8 minutes, moving often and breaking up into small pieces.

Stir in red wine and cook for another minute or two. Add tomatoes, bay leaf, oregano, basil and parsley, if using. Combine well, adding a bit more wine if it seems really thick. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low.

Cook over low heat for 20-30 minutes or until sauce has thickened back up. Add a good pinch each of salt and fresh pepper, tasting to make sure the salt is right.

Serve over hot cooked pasta and top with shredded cheese.

Let's just make a week out of it.

Since all I want lately is pasta, and I'm basically cooking for myself this week, I decided to just quit the front and let myself eat it every night. I'm starting with Ravioli with Sage-Butter and Walnuts, trying Giada's Bolognese next, and will round out the plan with butternut squash filled raviolis in some sort of sauce (a light alfredo?? Taking all suggestions.)

Served this with a side salad—mixed greens, raspberries, chives, toasted walnuts and balsamic dressing. Hubby asked if the secret ingredient for the night was walnuts...I guess kinda, though to be perfectly honest, I'm not a huge fan, and could have done without across the board. Plus, I probably should have chopped them more—or something. There were a lot left over on my plate at the end.

Ravioli with Sage-Butter and Walnuts
1 package refrigerated cheese ravioli
4 tbsp butter (1/4 cup)
1/3 cup fresh sage leaves (or about 1 tsp dried)
1/2 cup walnuts, roughly chopped
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
2 tsp honey
1 bay leaf
1/3 cup grated parmesan cheese
Sea salt

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. The timing is kind of weird here, so read through the rest before you continue...done? Ok, once the water boils, cook ravioli according to package directions.

While the water's boiling on one burner, melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat, then add the sage and walnuts. Cook for about 3 minutes, til the butter begins to brown. Take about a cup of the boiling pasta water and carefully add it to the butter, raise heat to high, and let boil about 2 minutes.

While that cooks, combine the vinegar, honey and bay leaf in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce to medium heat and let boil about 4 minutes. It should thicken quite a bit. Turn off heat and cover.

Drain the ravioli once it's done, and add to the butter mixture, mixing gently to coat. Remove from the heat, toss with the parmesan and season with salt. Check the balsamic glaze—if it's thickened too much and seems to be almost solid, return to low heat until it becomes syrupy again. Divide the ravioli among plates and drizzle with the balsamic syrup and a pinch of sea salt.

This is happiness.

I love me some Italian Wedding Soup. Like, to pieces. Not only does it make me happy, it's also awesome for preggo sickies like me who can't take Nyquil and therefore are stuck with a cold for a week and a half and need to live off of soup and OJ. This makes about 6-8 servings, which has lasted me about a week.

I know I've posted this before, but I changed up the recipe enough to warrant a Round 2. This time I based it off of a Giada recipe and went with ground pork (which actually has less calories than the turkey) and went with mustard greens instead of spinach. Totally enriches the flavor...Hubby says we're adding it to the menu (of our imaginary restaurant).

Italian Wedding Soup
Half a small onion, grated
Handful of chopped basil
1 egg
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup Italian breadcrumbs
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
1 package ground pork (97-3% or so)
Large pinch ground black pepper

14 cups chicken broth
About 8 oz mustard greens, chopped and rinsed well under hot water (or use spinach, curly endive, or escarole)
1/2 cup orzo pasta (or other small shape)
1 egg
2 tablespoon freshly grated Parmesan, plus extra for garnish

In large bowl, combine onion though pork, and sprinkle with pepper. Use your (clean) hands to combine well. Pull off a small chunk and roll into a ball with your hands. Aim for about an inch or so across. Place on a cookie sheet and continue with remainder of pork mix. You should end up with roughly 12-14 meatballs, but more or less is fine.

Bring broth to a boil in a large stock pot. In the meantime, heat a large saute pan over medium high, coat with cooking spray, and place a half dozen (or however will fit comfortably without touching) in pan. Let that side brown about 2 minutes, then turn over and brown another side about 2 minutes. Remove back to cookie sheet and brown remaining balls.

When broth is boiling, add the meatballs one at a time. Reduce to a simmer, and cook about 4 minutes. Add greens and orzo, stirring very gently, then cook another 8 minutes. Combine an egg and 2 tsp parmesan in a small bowl, and whisk with a fork. While soup is still simmering, stir gently while adding egg mixture very slowly. The egg should cook immediately, making strands throughout the soup (just like egg drop soup).

Serve hot with fresh parmesan and fresh pepper on top to taste.

Pass me the bottle.

Guest posting over at Salt & Nectar today! They let the lush talk about drinking while pregnant. Uh-oh...

Well, this was not what we expected.

Before yesterday, this was exactly how much I knew about chicken tetrazzini. Which, really, was plenty, because it's been an ongoing joke in our house for no particular reason other that it's just fun to say.



Is it southern? Is it pasta? Is it a casserole? Why is it named after an opera singer? I just don't know.

But what I do know is that this is some cheesy, delicious, keep-a-man goodness. Hubby took a bite, looked at me, and said exactly what I was thinking, "Well, I had no idea what to expect, but this was not it. Thumbs up."

Chicken Tetrazzini
2 tsp butter
1/2 medium onion, finely chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 stalks celery, finely chopped
1/2 tsp salt
large pinch fresh ground pepper
1 package sliced mushrooms
1/3 cup frozen peas
1/3 cup vermouth
1/4 cup flour
1 and 1/3 cup chicken broth
1 cup grated parmesan
4 tbsp reduced fat cream cheese
1/2 box vermicelli or thin spagetti noodles (8 oz)
2 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cooked (375 for 25 min. or so)

Break pasta in half. Bring a large pot of water to a boil, and cook pasta about 4-5 minutes. When done, drain. Chop the cooked chicken into bite sized pieces and set aside.

Melt butter in a large pot (make sure it's big...a stock pot or dutch oven will work well). Add onion, garlic, celery, salt, and pepper. After about a minute, add mushrooms and peas, and stir fry everything for about 4 minutes, stirring often. Add vermouth and cook about a minute.

Add flour a bit at a time, stirring constantly. It's going to get crazy thick and will seem impossible, but keep whisking and stirring and try and get out all the lumps. After a couple of minutes, add broth slowly, stirring constantly. It should still be really thick, so bring to a boil then reduce to low and still stir often, making sure the lumps are gone, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat.

Add in cream cheese and parm cheese, stirring gently until melted.

Rinse drained pasta, and add to mixture. Add in chicken, and stir everything until combined. It will take awhile...make sure all is coated and evenly mixed.

Coat a baking dish with cooking spray, and pour in the mixture. Cook at 350 for 30 minutes. Let stand 10-15 minutes before serving.

When I am hungry, your job is to feed me.

So I've stopped being hungry alllll the time, which is good, except that my brain is still used to eating every 2 hours and I find myself fighting myself from eating when I'm not the least bit hungry. (Because I'm not eating, say, an apple. I'm eating entire boxes of Hot Tamales. The baby likes cinnamon, damnit.)

When I AM hungry, however, it means I need to eat. And I need to eat now. (Some of my girlfriends have referred to this pregnancy side effect as 'being so hungry I would eat my own arm.')

I refer to this as pure hunger insanity. Case Study time:

Last night, around 6:30pm. At 5:30, Hubby had asked if I was ready for dinner. I replied, "yes." He laughed and replied that he had actually said, "What time will you be ready for dinner?" Either way, he got the point. Or so I thought.

Hubby: Ok, so what do you want to eat?
Pammy: I don't know. Food. I'm hungry. I told you an hour ago I was hungry. But I don't want Red Lobster. All I will eat there are the biscuits.
H: (Pouts, as he has been talking about Endless Shrimp for 3 days) Fine. I'll go with Scott...so what DO you want.
P: Siiiigh. Basque? I want bread. Somewhere with bread. Benjy's? BJ's? I'm into B words today. Pick one. Feed me.

I finish putting makeup on. Hubby goes into the bedroom, comes out in sweat shorts.

P: ...Or you could get dressed because I AM HUNGRY.
H: Whaaat. You don't look good either, what if we just get drive through?
P: ......I don't LOOK GOOD? What the...?
H: Siigh. You know what I mean.

I do. I've got a cold and am currently kind of a snot monster. Hence why I put on extra mascara and concealer, but WHATEVER.

P: What kind of drive through?
H: Leo's? (One of those awesomely ridiculous burger/greek/mexican/etc. places)
P: Whatever. Just.feed.me.
H: You want to eat there?
P: Oh, god no. They play religious music in there. Drive through takes forever, but at least I don't have to hear Jesus Effing Loves Me while I eat.
H: Fair enough.

At Leo's, which has the largest drive through menu ever, btw.

P: Ok, I want mushrooms. And taquitos. And a green salad.
H: AND mushrooms?
P: YES, AND mushrooms…oh, fuck, just get me a chicken salad.
H: You don't want taqu—
P: IT'S FINE JUST ORDER.

He orders, remembering, as always, that I don't want croutons or cheese. Which reminds me that I want some damn bread and therefore kind of DO want croutons, but I decide to shut up about it. We pull forward.

P: Oh, crap, they have taco salads. I want that. Do you think we can change it?
H: Really?
P: Yes, really. I didn't SEE it before.

We pull up to the window, where we wait. And wait, way too long to change the order.

P: Gah. So much for my taco salad. This is dumb. And I still want bread.
Most Patient Husband Ever: They have toast, want me to ask for toast?
P: I don't want it toasted.
H: Just bread.
P: Just bread. Maybe they have dinner rolls?
H: Good call, they have to. I'll ask.

And then we wait some more.
Guy comes to the window, Hubby asks if they have dinner rolls.

Guy: How many do you want?
H: Babe?
P: Two.
H: Two.
Guy: Ok, I'll charge you 50 cents, cool?
H: Yep, great.

I do a happy little bread dance in my seat.
And then we wait. Some more.

Guy comes to the window with rolls, and my heart leaps.

Guy: You want these now or in the bag?
H: No, in the bag is fine.

Window closes, he disappears again.
I stare at my husband, mouth dropped. He stares back as it slowly occurs to him why I'm giving him the deathstare.

P: Are you.Fucking.KIDDING ME? Did that JUST HAPPEN??
H: What…but…seriously?
P: OH MY GOD!!

And then the tears come. I fight them off, but they are definitely there.
(He is trying SO hard not to laugh at me at this point, which reminds me that I made a good marital decision after all.)

And so we wait. I pout and make little whining comments about how close the bread is to me and I can seeeee it from my seat and what is taking soooo long and OMG if they forget to put my bread in the bag I will cut someone, and he acts like I'm not being a complete psychopath.

And then there is food.

P: Bag. Give.

The dinner roll"s", by the way, are just one small roll cut into two pieces. And toasted.

H: Those look good.
P: Do you want a bite?
H: No, babe, you eat it.
P: You can have a bite…baaaabe! Not THAT big a bite! (as I literally pull it OUT of his mouth to control his portion size.)

We pull onto the street as I finish chewing the second one.

H: Did you just…?
P: Um, yeah, they're gone. They were tiny. I told you I wanted bread, damnit.

Starbucks Homeboy, I hate you

After two days in bed with a cold, I finally got my ass up and out of bed this morning and decided to celebrate Friday (and "Fall," even though it's a hundred and effing TWO here today) with a pumpkin spice latte.

And then I had encounter #2 with judgey Starbucks guy.

If you missed encounter #1, here it is:
Pammy: Can I get a decaf skinny cinnamon dolce latte?
18 year old (overweight, btw) Vons/Starbucks employee: Why decaf?
Pammy: ...I don't think you're supposed to ask me that.
18yo: Well, it's better than asking if you're pregnant.
Pammy: (blank stare)...well. My doc told me decaf.
18yo: They actually just mean, like, soda and stuff.
Pammy: I'm pretty sure that's not true.
18yo: No, it is. Coffee's fine.
Pammy: Actually, no, fresh brewed coffee is the worst. It has the highest caffeine count. Espresso is a little better, but still.
18yo: But decaf is full of chemicals.
Pammy: And if you give me my decaf now, I can HAVE a soda later.
18yo: ok. $4.20

I haven't seen Mr. I'm A Nutritionist Dontcha Know for awhile now, so I foolishly thought I was safe. No such luck. Yet while I immediately recognized him, apparently he didn't remember me. And so here we went again.

Pammy: Can I get a nonfat decaf Pumpkin Spice?
18yo: Why are you ordering decaf?
Pammy: (stunned. STUNNED.)...Because I like decaf.
18yo: Is that the real reason?
Pammy: (SERIOUSLY FLABERGHASTED)
18yo: What's the real reason?
Pammy: (through clenched teeth) Because I only have so. much. caffeine a day. And this. is. not. one. of. those. times.
18yo: (gives me an "I don't believe you" look) Mm. Most people order it when they're nursing.
Pammy: Hmm. (pays, fuming, without even looking at the smirking POS.)

Did someone tell these people to chit-chat with the customers? If so, let me educate you on idle conversation:
"Can you believe it's supposed to be in the hundreds today?"
"Happy first day of Fall!"
"Looking forward to the weekend?"

It is not, however, questioning my order. It is not trying to convince me to order something else. It is NOT making a face when you dislike my order. And it most definitely is not asking personal questions that are none.of.your.effing.business.

Seriously? A) I do not need to defend my orders. B) Just f&*^ing MAKE MY DRINK. and C) It's none of your goddamn business, and I am not here to educate you on the ins and outs of pregnancy and what is and is not "allowed." It's effing 7:30am. I am not in the mood or mindset to do so. I just want my coffee, which I will now enjoy a little bit less.

Oh, and Vons' Starbucks? I am through. with. you.

Oh, and the Parm won.

Shocking, I know.

But I did stuff the chicken with fresh mozzarella and basil leaves, sprinkled them with salt and Italian bread crumbs, then cooked them for 8 min a side in a bit of chicken broth and a dash of balsamic. Covered with marinara (with a dash of balsamic in there, as well) and a few more slices of cheese and basil strips, then covered and let steam over low about 5 minutes til sauce was hot and cheese was melted.

And then served, obviously, over pasta.

Lemon Basil Chicken

Well, it started off as a chicken dish.

I know the whole carb overload has been out of control lately, but I swear, it never sounds bad. (As I'm writing this I'm rethinking my dinner plan for mozzarella and basil stuffed chicken and rice-a-roni and thinking chicken parm over pasta could be better...hmmm) So I was on a search for a chicken dish that could stand alone. Of course, then I saw the photo here and decided the only thing better with a side of pasta would be to make the whole damn thing a pasta dish.

It's just pointless, I swear.But it was a good call on my end. Quite yummy and different.

Jesus Christ, a trailer for Dolphin Tale just made me bawl. BabyH is messing up more than my taste buds, let me tell you. Anybody watch the new Office? Big Pregs=me (but not so...big). I love that commercial.

Lemon Basil Chicken and Aioli with Linguini
handful chopped basil
3 green onions, chopped
zest from one lemon
juice from half a lemon
1 tbsp apple cider vinegar
1 tbsp vermouth
good pinch fresh black pepper
2 boneless, skinless chicken breast
olive oil
Chicken broth as needed

handful chopped basil
1 green onion, chopped
3 tbsp light mayo
juice from half a lemon
2 tsp dijon mustard
small pinch salt
dash olive oil

Package refrigerated linguine (Buitoni or similar)

In large bowl or dish, combine basil, green onion, zest, juice, vinegar, vermouth (or white wine) and pepper. Add chicken and toss to coat.

Bring a medium large pot of salted water to a boil and cook pasta according to package directions.

As water boils for pasta, heat a splash of oil over high heat in large saute pan. Add chicken (and marinade) and cook 8 minutes a side or until done. If pan gets dry, add a splash of chicken broth now and then.

In the meantime, combine remaining ingredients in small bowl to make aioli.

When chicken is cooked, remove from pan and keep warm. When pasta is cooked, remove from water with tongs and add to the saute pan the chicken was in. Add about a tbsp
of the aioli, and toss the pasta to coat. If it's really dry, add a bit more chicken broth.

Serve chicken over a bed a pasta, and top everything with a spoonful of aioli.

Musings of the Fat and Sober, Vol. 2

Cross posted today at Salt & Nectar.

Well, almost halfway through the second trimester, and things are as fun as always. Pregnancy, I've decided, is boring. At least at this point, when I still don't look pregnant (and instead just look a little "thick," as my mom so sweetly pointed out), and I don't feel any movement or any other proof that something is actually happening in there. Boring.

Plus it's football season, and the deal with Hubby has always been that I will watch football with him if I can also eat and drink. AND being the key word, here. I am not a football girl. And so I spend the game with my nose in my computer, catching up on Netflix. Sober. In other words, boring.

But there are, of course, other joys.

I've got preggo brain. Already. Words and thoughts just escape my brain without warning. I'll give my Art Director info on a project, say, about a print ad, and end up trailing off about the color of pocket folders. I don't know if it was me finally hearing myself or her utter silence on the other end of the phone, but that was a fun one to recover from. Luckily, she's a mom. Her condolence was that it'll get worse, not better...

But it's not just words—I'm calling hotels to confirm reservations and am being told I never made them. Putting milk away in cabinets. I was washing some pillowcases the other day, and when I went to go transfer them to the dryer, I noticed my half-full cup of detergent still sitting there, completely unused. Oops. (Let's keep that example between us, shall we? Hubby does the laundry because "I do it wrong." Sometimes I do it anyway to be nice and to prove otherwise. So, yeah. Shh.)

I want dessert, at all hours of the day. I ate the largest frosted cookie ever the other day. At 10:30am. I'm pretty sure it was the most sugar my body has processed at one time in the past 16 years. It was ridiculous.


And it was delicious. And I will eat the other one in my fridge in the very near future. (But not right now; I'm working on a bowl of sugar-free Pistachio pudding right now—and by bowl, I mean the one the pudding was made in. And I'm not sharing, so don't ask.) And don't get me started on ice cream. Luckily there are a million 'lower cal' varieties out there, but they are still completely unnecessary calories. And it's confusing, because I'm not a huge nut fan, I don't like the taste of butter, and I don't really care about ice cream. But get between me and some butter pecan and I will cut you.

What happened to being a horny, glowing preggo? I was kind of looking forward to that, I won't lie. But glowing? Amorous? Um, my jeans are currently being "buttoned" via rubber band. I'm exhausted, bloated, and broken out. This is not exactly prime sexy-time. I was bra-shopping the other day, and started crying in the middle of the department store because I couldn't find any bras that would fit the girls and look cute. I just needed something a little sexy (a little would have gone a long way, trust me), and instead my options were nude, thick strapped, "full-figured" boulder holders.

Eff it, I'm just going to switch to sport bras soon and call it a day. At least they come in colors.

(Whispers)"Soooo...I'm knocked up." I find myself struggling with how to tell people, especially acquaintances. When the hostess at my usual pho restaurant asked how I was and commented that she hadn't seen me in awhile, I heard myself say, "Yeah, I know. I got myself pregnant and my tastes seem to have changed a bit..."

I got myself pregnant?? WTF does that even mean? And this is so not an isolated incident. "I'm knocked up," "Well, turns out I'm pregnant..." and other similar "excuses" have all left my mouth. I mean, we've already established that I'm not an "I can't wait until I'm pregnant!!" person, but to make it sound like it's some sort of trouble I got myself into like a derelict teenage runaway? What is that?

My husband is fantastic. Well, obviously, seeing that I married him, but he has become so...not concerned, exactly...I don't know the word. I can't EVER remember the right word, damnit. So examples, it is. Six months ago, had he walked into the room to find me sprawled on the couch and glassy eyed, his first reaction would be to reposition my half-full martini glass in order to keep me from kicking it over when I readjusted myself. Now, he walks in, kisses me on the forehead, and asks if I feel ok.

Swoon.

He's just been very sweet and protective while still remembering that his wife is a bullheaded Taurus who can do it her damn self. He knows I'll ask for help if I need it, and even when I won't, he understands that if a giant box of cat litter has been in the back of my car for a week straight, he should just carry it inside.

So far there's only been one serious exception to his fabulousness, which I must point out because I'm kind of a jerk. I wanted Thai food one day, and he talked me into Vietnamese instead. Seriously. I'm eventually going to get past this, but I pouted about this for a week and still want some Pad Kee Mow, damnit. Being finicky about food is really the only thing he hasn't been cutting me any slack on. (Except when I just want mac and cheese for dinner—he doesn't bitch when I'm doing the cooking-just when I want to go out) But I guess that's what I get for marrying a fellow food-lover.

But the most painful part of this whole ordeal so far has quite literally been the (knee) pain. I was born with old-lady knees...they just ache. Sometimes it's the right, less often it's just the left, and usually it's both. No, I didn't hurt them as a kid. No, physical therapy didn't help. No, it doesn't seem to matter how much I weigh. Yes, I've had them x-rayed (Nope, nothing "wrong" with them)...I was just born with bad knees. But the achiness, stiffness, and general shooting pain has just magnified over the past few months. Stairs hurt. Yoga hurts. Sitting on a toilet...O.M.G. This "chore" is usually manageable, but having my knees hurt this much means it's been pure agony...to the point where I've had to stifle yelps of pain when I sit down or stand up in order to not be the freak screaming in the bathroom.

Since we're already on this lovely path, let's just keep going, shall we? I'm 5'10, so long legs teamed with sore knees has always made the whole public bathroom ordeal a bit...tricky. Am I not being gross clear enough? Here it is: I'm a terrible squatter. I'll spare you too much detail here, but let's just say I'm a huge fan of toilet seat covers and lots of toilet paper hand wraps.

So I will also spare you a play by play of a recent concert experience involving pregnant Pammy's overactive bladder, this female bathroom skill deficiency, and excessively disgusting porta-potties. Shudder.

Speaking of bathroom issues, apparently I now need 35g+ of fiber a day to survive. And that's all I'm going to say about that.