photo friday: and points new year o’clock

I’ve never been one to run around from party to party (well, except maybe in college), particularly on New Year’s Eve (because I like to drink myself into the new year in one place) (lest I forget where I am and what year it is). But for those of you who will be party hopping tonight, please be safe. Don’t drive drunk, and for God’s sake, don’t boat drunk either.

Seriously, if you’re party hopping by ship, watch out for icebergs, salmonella at the buffet, and Leonardo Di Caprio. Though if you see the latter, please tell him I loved him on Growing Pains.

 

by the chimney with care

Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine. May Santa bring you everything your Christmas heart desires, including peace, goodwill toward men, and either a Whirlypop or some new perfume.

 

 

photo friday: a regular miracle on 34th street

A couple of the girls had never experienced Baltimore’s Christmas street. Since we had time to kill before eating our faces off at Woodberry Kitchen, we took a quick tour down 34^th Street to show them what it’s all about.

Taken from the car window while rolling down the street.

And what it’s all about is every house on the block decked out in mad electrical gaudy awesomeness.

Happy birthday, Baby Jesus.

candles & prayers

Last Friday was our annual Candles & Prayers excursion.

It’s actually Lessons & Carols, but way back when we started going, when it was just something we did that year, before it got to be the yearly event involving massive amounts of food as well, before it got to be five years in a row that we did all of this, my friend J could never remember the name, tripped it up, and always referred to it as Candles & Prayers.

Which makes sense, when you think about it. There are candles. There are prayers. (Both spoken and sung.)

It has since also been referred to as Candles in Paris, as my friend HO misheard me when I said Candles & Prayers.

Pre-concert, as the choir rehearsed

Candles & Prayers, Lessons & Carols, Candles in Paris…whatever. It’s probably my favorite holiday-related tradition I’ve established since moving out to DC.

Other favorite traditions include the Falltacular, Crab Days, Tuesday Night Dinners, Sunday Family Dinners, and shopping at the new Wegman’s.

People have commented to me before that my friends and I seem to do an awful lot of things in the name of “tradition.” I blame J. That girl is always looking for an excuse to throw a party and/or eat food.

Not that I’m against any of that.

What?

Never mind.

All you need to know is that I’ll tell you more about our C&P excursion throughout the week.

And that I cried during the Ave Maria.

It’s not my fault I’m a sap.

Okay maybe it is.

Don’t judge me.

the reason for the season

If you’ve been trying to find meaning this holiday season, might I point you in the direction of two of my favorite Christmas-themed websites? Sure, they’re a couple years old, but that doesn’t stop me from falling out of my chair laughing each and every year.

(“Whoooo is the son of God? Whoooo?”)

Cavalcade of Bad Nativities

Cavalcade of Bad Nativities II

Angels We Have Heard Are High

oh give thanks

Tomorrow morning I, along with The Swede and one of my brothers-in-law, will be lining up with a bunch of other jive turkeys to run an 8K in Lincoln Park.

If I survive, my Thanksgiving blessing will be thanking the sweet Lord above for that fact alone.

If I do not survive, you’re welcome to my helping of the pork sausage stuffing.

Unless I decide to come back to haunt you and snatch that helping of stuffing away into the ether that is The Other Side.

I have no one to blame but myself for these Thanksgiving morning shenanigans, because it was my idea (being that I was like, “Oh, right. I said I’d run a 5, 8, and 10K this year. Huh, the year’s almost over. Better get on that shit.”) and I fully expect that at some point The Swede and my brother-in-law will both point fingers at me and say, “This was a stupid idea, do you know we’re missing the Macy’s Day Parade?” But then The Swede will remember that he hates those Macy’s bastards as much as I do, so he’ll eventually forgive me. I’m not so sure about my brother-in-law.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my Interwebers. If you’re traveling, travel safe. If you’re visiting family, remember to play nice. And if you’re eating, eat slowly, and wear expandable pants.

photo friday: state edition

Today’s Photo Friday is brought to you by the letters C and T.

Which stand for “Chicago” and “Thanksgiving.”

WOO WOO! Thanksgiving! In Chicago! I didn’t get home last year for Turkey Day, so I’m extra thrilled to be going this year.

Particularly because not going home last year means I didn’t get any pork sausage stuffing.

Which makes me a sad panda.

And kind of an angry panda, too.

Well, no, not angry. More like lamentable.

Why? WHY??? did I not make myself some pork sausage stuffing in the last 12 months? WHY?!

Sigh.

Mom, I hope you make an extra pan. Maybe you could make some for me to take back to DC with me, too?

It’s just a suggestion.

I know I normally don’t post on Saturdays, but check back tomorrow when I’ll have a new Cake Slice Bakers post up. THAT’S TWO FOR TWO, MY BITCHES! I’m on a freakin’ roll here with the baking, people. A ROLL.

 

kiss me

Because in case you don’t know, I’m Irish.

I’m also Polish.

A great combination.

You don’t like it?

Póg mo Thóin

because who doesn’t love a casserole?

Have I mentioned that I’m on a sausage kick lately?

Haaaaaaa……I said sausage.

Sorry.

Ahem. ANYWAY, nothing says, “HAPPY HOLIDAYS!” to me like massive amounts of sausage.

Haaaaaaa…..there I go again.

I’m sorry! I just couldn’t help myself.

Let me start over. I recently made an egg-sausage casserole that is smothered with cheese for a party.

BAH. Come on, people, you and I both know that’s like the most boring intro ever. Wasn’t it much more fun when I was tapping into my inner 12-year-old and giggling about the word “sausage”? Yeah…I thought so, too.

Maybe we should just move on to the photos.

It really is the easiest casserole to make. And so full of deliciousness and memories. The Strzelecki family has it every Christmas morning when we are done oohing and ahhing over presents and we’ve ravaged through our stockings that are hung by the fireplace not necessarily with care, but definitely with intentions of being stuffed with goodies. It (the casserole, that is, not the stockings. We’re back to the casserole now) can even be made the night before and shoved in the fridge. (If you go this route, let it stand at room temp for about an hour. I’m not really sure why. That’s just what my mom does and MOM IS NEVER WRONG ABOUT THIS LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER SHE MAY BE CRAZY BUT SHE KNOWS FROM CASSEROLES.) (Actually, that’s probably a lie. She’s not all that crazy. And my mother could probably give two shits about casseroles, but this particular one she’s been making for…hmm…how long? Lessee….add the 5…carry the 7….439 years. So she at least knows from this casserole.)

So first, butter some bread on both sides, then cube it and put it in the bottom of a pan. If you don’t you will RUIN. CHRISTMAS.

Next, brown some pork sausage – in this case I used savory sage flavor, but I’ve used hot or just regular in other instances, which is just as tasty. Drain the fat off the pork sausage, and snicker a bit about the word sausage.

Haaaaa…..sausage…..

Spread the sausage on top of the cubed bread.

Then, mix up some eggs and some other things. Like milk. (Though for this one I had some heavy whipping cream laying around, so I used a cup of that and a cup of skim milk.) And salt and pepper. And, for some unknown reason, dry mustard. (Why dry mustard? I don’t know. But that’s what the recipe says. LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER’S RECIPE DAMMIT AND DON’T ASK QUESTIONS HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY JESUS.) Dump the mix on top of the bread and sausage.

And finally, and this is super-important, throw some shredded cheese on top of it. The original recipe apparently called for a mere 4 ounces of cheese, but, as my mom pointed out, who doesn’t like things cheesy? So just go for the full bag of cheese and be done with it, people. Listen to Kathleen. You’ll be glad you did.

Bake it for about an hour at 350, then slice it and serve it and enjoy your cheesy, eggy goodness, and even if you don’t like eggs you will probably still like this casserole. Sister #3 detests eggs and egg-like dishes but she lurvs this. Christmas morning is the one time of year that she will eat eggs and by God, it’s a Christmas miracle, praise to the newborn king and pass the bread in a can, please. (But that’s another recipe for another time.)

For the longest time, this recipe was called by its very boring name of “Egg Sausage Casserole.” But then Sister #2 got married and Sister #1 decided that it would be a good idea to put together a family cookbook for Sister #2, which meant that this recipe was officially re-named so as to reflect its place in our lives. The recipe that follows is how my mother passed it along to Sister #1, verbatim.

“Nice Goin’ You Ruined Christmas Egg Casserole”

5 slices of bread

1 lb pork sausage

six eggs (maybe more!)

2 cups milk

salt

pepper

dry mustard

8 oz cheese

(this is exactly how MUTHER gave this recipe to me, I’m not kidding)

butter 5 slices of bread on both sides and cube

put in the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan

brown 1 lb of pork sausage and drain off the grease, put on top of bread cubes

beat 5 or 6 eggs – maybe more (?? How can you tell for Pete’s sake?) with the 2 cups of milk in a blender—add salt, pepper and dry mustard to taste

pour over pork sausage and bread cubes

sprinkle 4 oz of cheese over the top—I probably use closer to 8 oz of grated cheese since everyone likes it cheesy

Do this part on Christmas Eve afternoon before you go out visiting and opening presents….don’t wait until you come home because you’re too tired and if you still have little kids you probably still have presents to wrap and anyway you have to get to bed so Santa Claus can come Christmas morning, when dad gets up first to enjoy some peace and quiet

Remove from the refrigerator and let stand 1 hour

When the kids get up and you begin opening presents, bake @ 350° for 1 hour—if it takes over an hour to open your presents you got too much!

Thanks, Mutherrr, for the casserole recipe and words of wisdom. And aren’t you proud that your baby girl managed to talk about Christmas morning traditions and make lame innuendos about sausage all in one go? Bet you’re pretty excited now about all that money you spent on my education. You’re welcome.