“Do we have bagels?” is a question Mrs Mom frequently asks me early in the morning.

As a bachelor for years before I was lazy and was lucky if I got up in time for a bowl of cereal.

Now I get up a little earlier and breakfast has become slightly more complicated. During the work week I make myself an omelet consisting of ham, cheese and egg. On weekends my Breakfast Bagels have
become a favorite early morning staple.

Mrs Mom is from Canada where Tim Hortons serves a variety of breakfast bagels; our McDonalds down the street from where we live here only has sausage biscuits and Egg McMuffins. I have my own feelings about McDs, most of which I will not post here. I can stomach the sausage biscuits but they frequently upset Mrs Moms tummy so I decided there must be a happy medium.

A couple of years ago I decided to introduce my (then) ten-year-old grandson to the fine art of smoking meat Texas-style. I got a fire going in the fire box, chopped a pile of wood and soaked it in a tub of water,
laid a brisket on the grill etc.

He watched me intently during this process and then it turned into “Are We
There Yet?” after that.

“No” I explained to him; “we're slow-cooking this”

“Oh”

He waited patiently as I shoveled wood stick by stick into the firebox, but he didn't really get the beauty of watching the blue-gray smoke escape from the steel tube on top of the smoker. After an hour or two I lost him and he made his way into the house to get lost in a game of Minecraft.

Twelve hours later however he was more than ready to sink his teeth into my brisket.

Ah...kids these days; whattya going to do?

“Not THIS again” a week later as I laid a rack of ribs on the grill. “Oh don't worry; these only take SIX hours” which for some reason was little comfort to him; once again his attention span was somewhat brief.

We were watching TV the other night and saw someone doing something I just HAD to try.

I've smoked briskets, ribs, turkeys, whole chickens and even burgers but there was a guy showing one of his restaurants best selling items I would have never thought of attempting in a smoker. And I wish I had known about this while my grandson was here.

The guy on the show was showing how he smoked meatloaf in his smoker. YES meatloaf.

Often referred to as a “comfort food” meat loaf was something my own mother served up frequently when I was a small child, but she merely cooked it in a pan in the oven. I wasn't nuts about it but it was a meal I could drown in ketchup and not get chewed out.

But smoking it was something I might never have thought of and as it turned out this is something we will probably be doing a lot more of in the future.

For one thing it was very economical. For under $10 we got about five  meals for two out of it.

And as my grandson would no doubt appreciate, it only took about three and a half hours to cook.

We bought a five-pound package of ground beef from the store, used a pound for another recipe and used four pounds of beef for our loaf. Mrs Mom kneaded it in a large mixing bowl with an egg, some bread crumbs, chopped onion.

(RECIPE BELOW)

We laid it out on an aluminum pan on the smoker and I smoked it for about three and a half hours with chopped pecan wood (you can use whatever wood you prefer; I just happened to have a bag of pecan logs laying around that day) and I maintained a temperature between 250/300 degrees.

After about two hours I rotated it end to end and we coated it with a sweet Memphis-style barbeque sauce (once again; you can use whatever style sauce you want ) and about 90 minutes later it was cooked according to the thermometer we stuck into the loaf. (170 degrees F)

The outside of the loaf was a very dark color and when we sliced it, it had a perfect smoke ring on the outside perimeter of the meat. It had (oddly enough) a very subtle smoky flavor considering where it had been for nearly four hours and tasted like...well...meatloaf, only better. In addition, I had the satisfaction of cooking a meatloaf on my own and for a first attempt I thought it turned out pretty good if I do say so myself. And with a splash of ketchup, I was taken back for a brief moment to my childhood with every bite.

Not sure if this would have held my grandsons attention any longer than the brisket or the ribs, but it didn't take ALL day to fix. And I'm pretty sure even he could appreciate that.

RECIPE - Smoked Meatloaf

4 lbs ground beef 
3/4 cup milk
2 eggs
4 cloves minced garlic
1 1/2 Tbsp minced garlic
2/3 cup BBQ sauce
1 onion, chopped fine
1 cup bread crumbs
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
3 Tbsp BBQ rub

Combine all ingredients, except for rub and 1/3 of the BBQ sauce in a large bowl and mix well. Shape into one large loaf on a foil pan. Coat all exposed sides with BBQ rub.

Baste meatloaf after 2 hours with remaining BBQ sauce.

250-300 F for 3 - 3 1/2 hours until internal temperature reaches 170F. 

You've probably seen these at the grocery store; those little four-ounce hunks of steak wrapped in bacon and sealed in thick plastic. There is an “overstock” grocery store here where I live that has on occasion had freezers full of these for as low as a dollar each.

Steak for a dollar? Who could possibly resist these? And wrapped in bacon to boot; what's not to like?

Well the problem is that when something looks too good to be true, it usually is. I've read that these “filet mignons” are more often than not cheap cuts of meat chopped up and formed to resemble filets and unfortunately when I open these up they fall apart once the package is opened. So what's a person to do?

And being cut as thick as they are has also presented another problem for me. The first few times I attempted to grill these they came off the grill in one of two conditions:

(A) Burned black on the outside and pink/raw in the middle OR

(B) Charred black inside and out and inedible. Wound up phoning in for a pizza or driving through someplace for a burger later in frustration.

But still the call of dollar steaks is a persistent one. Back to the drawing board, then the grill.

I refused to be beaten by these things; there has to be a way to cook them properly. 

And after a number of failures I finally figured out how to do this without pulling my hair. 

First off: open the package carefully. I've found these things to be truly delicate. Then get a box of toothpicks and depending on the cut spear them through the side where the bacon is wrapped around them in a triangular pattern to hold them together for cooking. Stick the first toothpick through near the end of the bacon strip, then stick two or three more as necessary to hold it together. 

Lay them in a pan. Mrs Mom has a rectangular cake pan that works well; you can use an aluminum pie pan or a small cereal bowl if you want. I pour a little Worcestershire sauce or soy sauce over the top surface of them, then sprinkle a steak rub on them, then place the pan in the fridge while I start the fire on the grill.

You will need a good bed of hot coals to cook these babies; I use charcoal covered with a mix of mesquite and hickory chips when building the fire. On a breezy day this will give you a good hot glowing red bed of coals to grill these with. Once the coals are white hot I place the filets over the coals, close the lid and leave them alone for at least five minutes or so before I flip them with a pair of tongs. Even with the toothpicks, they still need to be handled carefully or else they will fall apart. This is the part I have found to be the most exasperating; cooking them thoroughly without burning the bacon. Once it falls apart, so do the steaks.

I flip them every few minutes until they are just short of blackened, then pull them off the grill, remove the toothpicks and cut one open. They are just perfect if they are blackened on the outside but not raw pink in the middle. Serve with the side of your choice; I like opening a can of Ranch Style Beans to go with them but Mrs Mom usually prefers a salad as a side dish. Either way you have an inexpensive meal fit for a king when you are finished. Enjoy! 

There is nothing a woman loves more than a man who'll step up and cook once in awhile. 

I'm a blessed woman in that regard. Mr Mom not only loves to grill, but he loves to expand the list of specialties that he's mastered. These inexpensive filets are one of his best, and when we can pick them up for $1 a package, the appreciation multiplies. 

The fact that they're wrapped in bacon takes them through the roof. I can't wait til we get a smoker, to see what he conquers on the grill next!

Mrs Mom has been asking me for over a year now about obtaining a table and chair set for our tiny back yard and I've put up every excuse imaginable (“Can't afford it, we don't have the room, it's going to be an obstacle when I mow etc.”)

The expiration date on the excuses ran out when our local Aldi popped up with a table and chair set for under $200; Mrs Mom decided Now was the time and we had to have it.

We raced out to Aldi the day they went on sale and they weren't exactly flying off the shelves, partially I'm sure because of the price and also because the main box measured forty inches square and weighed almost 75 lbs. I had to borrow a wheeled cart from the back room of the store because there was no way this this was going to fit in their regular grocery cart; the employees reluctantly let me borrow it as if I was really going to load it up into my truck and drive off with it. We also loaded it up with an 9-ft umbrella, a 30-pound base for the umbrella, a battery-powered light that clamps around the pole on the umbrella and an extra chair and slowly wheeled it up to the register.

Our new purchase filled the back of the truck once I got it all loaded and when I drove it home I remembered that my two wheeled dolly was a couple of miles away in storage so I had to drag the heavy box into the backyard while praying I didn't damage anything inside. The next day I cut the huge box open with a Stanley knife and was relieved to find only a minimal amount of pieces and some fairly simple instructions for assembling it all. I managed to get it assembled in a short period of time, stood back and took a good look at our new purchase, and had to admit it made the back yard a little bit more home-like. A 38X38 inch table with a tempered glass top, a big umbrella to shade us from the Texas summer sun, and five chairs; all we needed now was some friends to join us as I dusted off the grill for a backyard feast.

Then the local weather forecasters predicted a “possibly severe weather outbreak” for the upcoming weekend, including the possibility of a hailstorm. Oh isn't that just wonderful; and here was our glass table sitting out waiting to be shattered. Meanwhile I had another minor dilemma to deal with; the large cardboard box this all came packaged in was laying around in an unsightly manner and needed to be disposed of. Then the light-bulb above my head went off.....

I got out a pen and a measuring tape and cut the table box into 38X38 squares with a two-inch slot to slide around the umbrella pole in the middle. I slid two of them over the top of the table and Voila! Now there were two heavy-gauge pieces of cardboard covering the table. Unless we got hit with a really extreme hailstorm with softball-sized hail, the cardboard even wet would absorb most of the impact from hailstones. I clipped four clothespins on the corners, weighed it down with a couple of dirt-filled planters to keep the wind from blowing it off the table and we were now ready for Mother Nature to do her worst. And the remainder of the box pieces fit easily into the trunk of my sedan where it found its way into some lucky dumpster pre-dawn on my way to work later that week. 

The weekend arrived and as happens so often here in Texas, the skies got dark, the wind howled and then we got a few large drops of rain and....not much more than that. We got rain and not the drought-breaking amount that we really need but at least I didn't wind up picking broken glass out of the grass in the back yard. The cardboard held up fine in the light rain and dried out just fine in the sun the next day. Eventually I'm going to locate a 38X38 slice of all-weather carpeting to replace the cardboard but I think even Mrs Mom was impressed with my improvisation with the residual cardboard packaging. Now we are ready to do some grilling and some entertaining in the backyard this summer. 

Yes, I am very impressed. First, with the fact that we can now dine outside (I love doing that!) but mostly because he's pretty in handy with these ideas, that use up things most people would just toss out.

Clamping them with the clothespins will help it from being blown away, unless of course the we get hit with an F3. Then, I'm just going to have to start advocating for a new table and chairs all over again.

In my 55 years like a lot of people here in the South I've learned to keep one eye on the sky in between March and June. Actually all year long since tornadoes can theoretically happen anytime but especially during the spring. The Weather Report becomes important for not only planning family outings but just knowing if and when it's safe to leave the safety and comfort of my house or removing my wheels from the covered carport.

I've seen it begin to rain suddenly and watched the streets and highways fill with rushing water so fast the roads resemble rivers.   

I've watched helplessly through a window as hailstones the size of grapefruit reduced my pickup truck to so much battered scrap metal.   

I've seen the skies turn a dark green and heard that sound like a freight train as funnel clouds made their way across town less than a mile from my humble home.  

And far more often I've watched the local weather forecaster predict the “possibility” of all of these things happening while I'm getting ready to go to work and then.... nothing happened .

I've had friends in California call me long distance wanting to know if I was “all right” after they saw stories on the news about a tornado battering some town 100 miles away from where I live, just as I've called them after seeing a story on the news about earthquakes on the West Coast. We've often asked each other “how you could stand living there” knowing that Any Day the Big One could strike. And I'm sure they shrugged it off just as I've done so many times in the past. There's only So Much one person can do about it and living in fear is no way to live. Que sera sera and all that.

So when Mrs Mom moved here from an island that has a crack down the middle of it from past earthquakes and whose roadways have signs pointing out tsunami escape routes I didn't really expect her to panic each and every time we had a storm roll through. But guess what?

Now mind you I realize the weather forecasters are in a bit of a conundrum about giving people adequate warning in the event that a really bad storm is imminent. If something happens and people get killed, armchair quarterbacks everywhere will say: “They should have warned everybody!” and if nothing happens they get accused of Crying Wolf and I'm as guilty of feeling that way as anyone.

While I don't live in say Kansas or Oklahoma who get battered with tornadoes on a regular basis they happen just often enough here where I live to the point I don't really take the weather warnings as seriously as perhaps I should. But every time they predict hail storms or the possibility of tornadoes, Mrs Mom is online begging me to come home from my job. “Make up an excuse; just come home” she texts me while my supervisor is glaring at me for being online instead of performing my job. On April 3rd of last year I was online telling her to “relax, the forecasters just love to go on TV and scare the heck out of everyone” while she was watching 18-wheeler trucks spiraling through the air in the next county live on local television. It's kind of hard to compromise simultaneously with a woman online who's scared out of her wits and a supervisor pointing to a large pile of neglected work at the same time.  

But because I love her, when the sky turns dark and threatening outside I make up an excuse, any excuse (“The toilet boiled over and she doesn't know how to turn off the water!”) and hope that my supervisor doesn't put two and two together someday and realize that I mysteriously have plumbing problems each and every time there is a ominous looking storm rolling in so I can rush home and be there to comfort her. And besides I like having my car under the safety of the carport instead of it being a sitting duck for hailstones in the parking lot where I work. Also you never know; we might just have that Big One and I would rather be with her if that happens than on the other side of town.  

In my defense, I'm a tough woman. I can handle a week or two of being stranded in a blizzard with no power, or tolerate -40 degree temperatures while taking the kids out trick or treating. I've driven through blinding snowstorms on mountain passes in the middle of the night, and even survived the maze of driving through Houston's city core during rush hour and lived to tell about it. But if a weatherman comes on my television set and starts telling me that tornadoes are a possibility then I take him at his word until I'm proven otherwise. I'd rather be safe than sorry, and because I'm not experienced enough in Southern disaster scenarios, I prefer to have Mr Mom by my side, even if he's shaking his head in disbelief at my frantic preparations for The Big One.

That said, I think I should just note here that a certain southern gentleman made a trip up to visit me during the summer while I was still up North. I took him to the sunrise, which was a morning ritual for me. It was August and the pre-dawn temperature was about 65. He practically turned blue, even while snuggled in his fleece hoodie. I wore a t-shirt and sandals.  Needless to say we had to make a trip to the local secondhand store to get him 2 heavy wool sweaters, which he wore to every sunrise after that underneath his jacket. 

It looked something like this:

Now I'm not ridiculing him in the least (sort of) but I am pointing out that we come from very different places, and if its okay for him to shiver in the Summer up North, its okay for me to fret in the Spring here in the South. Right?

Went in for my yearly physical this week; did an EKG, the nurse drew blood from one arm and took my blood pressure. Then I was instructed to step onto the scales.The nurse slid the bar across in front of me.130 pounds, 140 pounds….up to 150 pounds finally. What? 150 pounds? This can’t be….

I’ve weighed more or less the same thing for thirty years despite eating anything I wanted and as much of it as I wanted. I’ve virtually worn the same size clothes for decades. In recent months however I’ve split three pairs of jeans at the crotch and have noticed some of my older t-shirts didn’t quite cover my belly; I assumed they were all merely shrinking from too many washings. It seems that wasn’t the case at all; I had simply put on an additional twenty pounds in the course of a year. My clothes weren’t shrinking; I was getting larger.

The changes in my diet haven’t gone unnoticed by my body it seems. When I was in my teens and twenties I lived on fast foods; Big Macs and super-sized orders of fries from McDonalds, tacos, tostadas and burritos from Taco Bell, fried chicken by the bucket from KFC and Popeyes. It’s no small miracle I didn’t weigh 300 pounds by the time I was thirty. Then somewhere between the time I turned thirty and forty I noticed something; these same foods would shoot through me like an RPG. Maybe it was the years of grease adding up inside my body. Maybe it was these companies that owned the restaurants started using cheaper grease, grease substitutes or just didn’t bother changing the grease at all but after eating their products,The Purging just wouldn't stop…

Then I swore off fast foods, or at least the ones offered up by mainstream chains. Burgers by independent grills seemed to taste better and their fries or onion rings didn’t have me bolting to the restroom within minutes. I began ordering dinner salads on hot summer days or getting subs from Subway or Quiznos. Steaks grilled on my own grill seemed to taste better than the ones from the local “steak houses” A room-mate I had in the 80′s had an enormous steel grill and taught me the joys of cooking my own barbecue, not to mention it was more economical to go to the store and buy meat than to pay the exorbitant prices most barbecue joints demanded. Cooking burgers myself was also more economical too.

As the 80′s turned into the 90′s I began to switch to an alternating diet of red meats one night, white meats the next in an attempt to find some sort of balance that seemed to be lacking in my appetite. But I still ate an ungodly amount of unhealthy foods or at least foods I knew deep down inside weren’t healthy choices. It was much akin to an addiction to drugs or alcohol; I just couldn’t help or control myself. Fried fish tasted GOOD. Mexican food tasted good. Pizza tasted good. I knew deep down inside I needed to somehow include more vegetables and fruits in my diet and yet I felt helpless about it; it was so much easier to grill hot dogs than to take the time and trouble to fix a salad. As a life-long bachelor I felt it was not only my calling but my duty to exist on a diet that subsisted of meats wrapped in bread.

Then after many decades of this, "Mrs Mom" came into my life and like the Marines landing on the beach at Normandy liberated me from my bachelor diet. But the changes didn’t happen over-night. First she had to evict me from the kitchen. The computer desk I had strategically placed in front of the refrigerator and coffee pot in previous years had to go. Despite my screams of protest a USB wireless device found its way into the back of my desktop computer and was now suddenly liberated from the ball-and-chain of the modem wire and my entire computer desk was unceremoniously wheeled into the living room so she could prepare meals with me out of the way and its former space was replaced by an actual dining table.

Slowly home-cooked meals began to work their way into my diet. The transition from processed meals to real food was actually pretty painless initially. Strange phrases like “sugar-free” and “low-fat” began appearing on the labels of items in my kitchen but the differences were subtle enough although old habits die hard. When we would visit my parents house for meals she noticed my father would put salt and pepper on his food then hand me the shakers and I would sprinkle both on my food just as we had both done for years when I was still living at my parent’s house.

But despite the healthier food, I was apparently eating  too much of it; I have still gained the lot of twenty pounds over the course of the last year. Exercising is foreign to me and something I just never seemed to have the extra time to bother with. My doctor told me besides exercising I needed to eliminate the copious amounts of salt from my diet. That evening I started examining the labels of almost everything in my kitchen and this was a real eye-opener. I wasn’t surprised to see the high sodium percentages in some items like the sliced ham I made my lunch sandwiches with, or Fritos or tortilla chips but almost all of my favorite foods had high percentage rates of salt or sodium in them, even things as seemingly benign as the bagels I had daily for breakfast. I somehow felt a sense of betrayal within; how could bagels be unhealthy?

So now besides putting on more weight, my doctor tells me my blood pressure is up and I have to cut down on salt. This is going to involve much more than merely retiring the salt shaker; I now have to actively monitor the foods I am reaching for and putting in my mouth. I’ve stopped dumping salt on my sandwiches, We've started buying low-salt chips for my lunches and also putting things like apples and oranges in my lunch-box. It’s not perfect but it’s a start. And when the weather permits, I’m going to start going for long walks after work.

Meanwhile I still have a ton of salty chips and other unhealthy snacks laying around the kitchen; the pinch-penny in me won’t allow myself to throw them out but once they are gone, I’m not buying any more of them. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” Add to that list some way to stop my craving of unhealthy food and I think they would have something there.

How ironic is it that I happened to fall in love with someone who was the poster child for something that constitutes one of the worst thorns I can think of in my side -- people who can eat anything and not gain an ounce.

Seriously - on our first fancy dinner date Mr Mom wore the exact same suit he wore to his high-school prom decades earlier. It had hung in his closet long enough to become vogue again. There was no tailoring or adjustment needed because he seriously hadn't gained an ounce -- and yet, he ate like a mad man. Burgers, pizza, chips and salsa; BBQ, Mexican, Italian -nothing was off limits. 

He could, and did, eat literally anything he wanted; well, at least until this past week. 

When he headed off to have his physical last Monday morning, his biggest fret was that he had to fast after midnight, until after his exam. He was particularly vocal about having to give up his morning coffee.

From the look on his face when he returned home, I knew something was wrong. I braced myself for the worst. 

"I gained 20 pounds, and I have to give up salt." He said, with a look that would break a mother's heart.

Now, personally, I like him with the added weight. He was far too skinny before and he's filled out nicely with my TLC, but I wasn't surprised by the new salt restrictions, becausee he puts salt on everything, even before tasting it. 

I, on the other hand, hardly put salt in anything, even when a recipe calls for it. I know there's enough that occurs naturally in our diet, and we certainly don't need to add more.  

However, that didn't stop the pangs of guilt building up in me that somehow something I did might have caused this situation. 

We sat down over lunch, and talked about where the extra salt could be taken from. It wasn't long before we zeroed in on the trouble, other than his hefty handed use of the salt shaker at dinner. His work lunches were enough to put him over the recommended 1500 mg a day all on its own.  

Ham sandwich (with extra salt, mayo and cheese) 1098 mg at the minimum
3 oz Frito corn chips 580
Dr Pepper 55 mg
Fried Pie 275

Grand Total for lunch alone: 2008, or more

He has 2 other snack breaks at work, and if you add in the 500+ mg of sodium in his morning bagel he's hitting close to 3000 even before dinner or dessert. There was no question what we needed to do -- change up his lunches. 

He's been a trooper -- he takes fresh fruit now instead of fried pies, low salt Frito chips with a little fresh guacamole instead of the high sodium alternatives with salsa. We haven't wrestled the soda away yet, but we will. One step at a time. Given the number of deaths he's had to cope with this past year, I didn't even need to put my foot down. 

In addition to the diet changes, we've also resigned up for the gym, he's taking extra walks when he can, and he reads even more labels when we shop than I do when we shop. 

I am most grateful, because I want him around for a long, long time. 

When I was a child I loved candy. That's an understatement; I would have lived on candy if my parents had allowed me to. “MOM... please....I've GOT to have this....” as I clutched a precious Marathon bar or package of Sprees in my sticky little hands. Then the inevitable happened; I got older. My habits went from irresponsible to more sensible, and that included my diet. Started cutting back on soft drinks, fried foods and yes, my beloved sweets save for an occasional pint of ice cream. Candy became one of those things I just stopped paying attention to. Too much sugar is bad for you right? ( as I dumped a large spoon full into my Kona coffee)

It was about a year or two ago while walking through a local drugstore when something caught my eye.

There was a display for two brands of chewing gum I hadn't seen in years: Teaberry and Beemans.

The last time I even heard the name was while watching THE RIGHT STUFF; Chuck Yeager “borrows” a stick of Beemans off one of the ground crew members right before he goes up in his jet.

“Got a stick of Beemans? I'll pay you back later....”

But I hadn't actually seen a package of it in years and shrugged it off as some novelty promotional advertising stunt on the part of Clarks, probably an attempt to get people to buy something anything if it jogged some nostalgic twinge of memory. Then later on I began noticing more candies from my childhood gracing the shelves of local businesses.

Cherry mash. Mike and Ike. Hot Tamales. Milk Duds. Laffy Taffy. Ju Jubes. Big Hunk. Charleston Chew. Cow Tales. Dots. Abba Zabas. Stuff I hadn't seen since the last time I visited the snack bar at the local drive-in theater that closed nearly twenty years ago was suddenly popping up on the shelves of local retailers. First it was the gift shop at the front of Cracker Barrel; but they specialize in nostalgia so I didn't think much about it. Then I started seeing candy from YesterYear on the shelves at World Market, which caters to a slightly more sophisticated clientele. That's when it really started getting my attention. World Market not only had candies I hadn't seen in decades but like Cracker Barrel a selection of soft drinks like Nehi and Frosty root beer I thought had gone out of business years ago.

Now since I am an adult that pays my own dentist bills, I don't ordinarily eat a lot of candy and when I do, I look for words like “sugar-free” on the label. Oh occasionally I would grab a Peanut Butter Twix or Snickers off the “impulse shelf” by the register at the grocery store, but , most of the time I paid little attention to the inventory on the candy aisle I spent so much time perusing as a child. For years I walked past the candy aisles of my local convenience store without stopping but when I first started seeing these ancient candies again I shrugged it off as my mere inattention to what they were stocking the candy aisle with. Maybe they were there all along for all I knew. If they got my attention at all it only sparked amazement that they had survived in a competitive consumer market after all these years.

Mrs Mom's daughter in BC saw a package of Razzles somewhere and put in a request; she wanted me to send her some Razzles. No Problem I told her; I'll pick some up. So once again I started looking around and found out not everyone carries Razzles. I hit every convenience store and drug store in my neighborhood to no avail.

Then I remembered a candy store I had seen while walking through the local “tourist trap” area of town, the Candy Barrel in the Fort Worth Stockyards district. I made the trip over there and spent a long time looking for a free place to park and went into the Candy Barrel, which lived up to its name.

Dozens of varieties of candies were on display around the store stocked in old wooden barrels. But there were no Razzles to be seen anywhere.

I finally found her some Razzles at a hole-in-the-wall kiosk at a local shopping mall (“Take A Break”) that anywhere outside of a mall would have been called a convenience store. They had rolling papers, cigarettes and cigarette lighters, but amongst the junk food and candy shelves I found honest-to-goodness packages of Razzles and bought several packages for her. Success!

I have rekindled my love of sweets in recent years however; Mrs. Mom introduced me to a line of candy bars sold in Canada I have gotten quite fond of like Aeros which come in a variety of styles: Milk chocolate, peppermint, white chocolate etc and Coffee Crisps both of which I filled my backpack with on the way home from my last trip to Canada (the Customs guy at the airport laughed out loud when he asked if I was bringing anything back and showed him my Coffee Crisp stash) and then recently a business opened up locally that may just prove to be the undoing of my healthy eating habits: Cookies and Cream.

Cookies and Cream is an old fashioned candy store with multiple aisles of glass jars filled with every kind of candy imaginable and also has an ice cream bar that features several flavors of Blue Bell ice cream and a separate counter just for their extensive line of gourmet popcorn. Just imagine popcorn flavored like pizza, macaroni and cheese, dill pickles, cheddar and bacon and my current favorite: Loaded Potato. I could just OD on the goodness contained within their walls; they even have sugar-free candies; I sense a new regular shopping destination after I take Mrs. Mom here for the first time.

Well Halloween is fast approaching and here I am without a single piece of candy to hand out. Just as I always seem to wind up doing my Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve with all the other people who put it off until the last possible minute, I'll probably be out looking for the cheapest candy bars I can find (“What's so FUN about half-size candy bars?”) but I have one rule of thumb I religiously stick with; I always buy candy bars I like just in case no trick or treaters knock on my door. I hate getting stuck with a bunch of unused candy but I'll be darned if I'm getting stuck with something I don't like. And consequently it's about the only time I ever eat Snickers or Reeses peanut butter cups anymore.

First, let me say, I have to smile as I look at his picture of popcorn, because despite his insistence he's trying to eat better, I happen to see a coupon flyer for fast food tacos in the background. :) 

I freely admit my role in turning him back on to sugar. When we're apart he always sends me reminders of Texas in care packages. Rotel, my favorite white chicken chili mix, he even paid $30 once to send a $2 package of corn flour when I couldn't find any in the small town I was in up North. It's only fair I return the favor. 

Just yesterday I found Grilled Cheese flavored potato chips and Halloween editions of his favorite Canadian candy. As much as he protests he doesn't eat a lot of sugar, I'm pretty sure he's going to be diving into the box I send, leaving nothing but the wrappers by nightfall. 

Way back in the early days of his career Jerry Seinfeld used to do a bit in his monologue about how cereal was the perfect bachelor food because you put it in a bowl, added milk and Hey I Made Something!

And from spending a good portion of my life as a bachelor I can attest that there's some truth in that.

But eating out Every Single Night can be expensive just as eating Stouffers frozen dinners can be repetitive. And sometimes it might even be a result of curiosity but once in a while there comes a time when men might actually stumble into the kitchen and Make Something.

Sometimes it's just a sandwich. Other times it might just be that bowl of cereal. More often than not it's merely a colossal mess ( I've had room-mates who were good at this) but sometimes men might get the foolish notion that Hey How Hard Can It Be and attempt to actually cook something.

In some ways chili is like Jerry Seinfelds bowl of cereal; it's not really that hard to fix; the complications set in when men start trying to improve on it. And in some ways it is the ultimate bachelor food. It has a limited number of ingredients, tastes like barbeque except you fix it inside the house and depending on how it's fixed it would be a suitable thing for the guy on ManVsFood to eat.

Here in Texas Chili Cook-offs used to be a popular social event until they degenerated into drunken riots. Like barbecue everyone thinks they are an expert on it, everyone thinks everyone else does it WRONG and the BeansVsNoBeans argument is older than I am.

Me? I stick to the basics and lets start with the ingredients. The recipe on the Wick Fowlers box calls for two pounds of ground meat; I always buy a slightly larger portion but we'll get back to that later. And despite chili having a reputation as a Meat Dish I put a lot of actual vegetables in mine. I like to use a good fresh onion and a large bell pepper, preferably a red, orange or yellow one. Green peppers can be used but aren't quite as pretty. And while this can get you lynched in Texas I like red kidney beans in my chili. Recipes abound but I generally use either Wick Fowlers Chili Kits or the ones made by Carroll Shelby; both of them taste just fine to me. You'll also need a 8oz can of tomato sauce.

First you have to brown the meat in a skillet. This is the part that nearly stopped me dead in my tracks the first time I attempted to fix chili ; I mean I'm using a crockpot, isn't that supposed to do the cooking? I also as a matter of routine chop up the onion and cook it in the pan with the ground meat; I have a electric chopper that pulverizes an onion into an eye-burning mushy pulp that caramelizes into the rest of the ingredients as the chili cooks.

While the meat browns in the skillet, I chop up a large bell pepper into tiny pieces. Theoretically this could be done with the electric chopper but I usually just do it by hand. Once the meat is brown I drain the grease into a steel can over the sink which is easier to do in theory than in real life with a heavy skillet and two pounds of hot ground beef. And this is why I always use slightly more than two pounds; inevitably some of the beef falls into the sink; then I pour what I hope is still two pounds into the crock pot and add the chopped bell pepper, a can of strained and washed red kidney beans (this is optional if you don't like beans in your chili) and the spices from the Wick Fowler box (except for the masa and the red pepper) Then I add the 8oz can of tomato sauce and two 8oz cans of water, turn the crockpot on “high” for an hour and turn it down to “low” and hour later.

Mrs Mom and I have debated buying His and Her crockpots; I like my chili spicy and prefer to add chopped jalapenos (not ghost peppers or habaneros) and small amounts of red pepper ( a quarter spoon maximum) but Mrs Mom is adamant about it being too hot for her sensitive Canadian taste buds. I've tried to explain to her that red pepper adds a pleasant taste to it if it's not over-used and will open up clogged sinuses but so far it's been a big No Sale with Mrs. Mom. She insists that Wick Fowlers and Carroll Shelbys both contain enough spices to give it a sufficient “kick” so I generally only make chili when Mrs Mom isn't here.

There is no real time limit when making chili in a crockpot; generally after about four hours the smell drives me nuts and I have to break down and dish some out. I add the masa mixed with about 8oz of hot water about 30 minutes before serving. When I'm ready for it finally I put about a cup of corn chips in a bowl, then put either sliced or grated cheese on top of them and pour the chili over that. One can also add some chopped onion if preferred.

So there you have it; Mr Moms chili. No big secrets involved here; just Texas style chili the way I like it. Now if I could only convince Mrs Mom that chili is supposed to be hot...

Mr Mom's pretty proud of his chili, and he takes great care in every step, so I'm not going to rain on his parade except to say that the Texas level of heat in food is a little more than this gal can handle, but I'm learning. I've actually cooked with fresh jalapenos this past year -- a first for me. Hopefully he'll be patient with me, but until then, that His and Her crock pot idea isn't a bad one. 

If you don't have the chili spice kit in your area you can make your own using the recipe here. Homemade 2 Alarm Chili Kit Now you too can cook like Mr Mom ;) 

Before Mrs Mom moved into my humble abode, she had a lot of questions regarding my kitchen.

How big was my oven?

Did I have a freezer?

How big is my refrigerator?

Did I own any pots and pans?

Did I have a crockpot?

Did I have a kettle?

And so on and so on....

My kitchen up until the time she moved in was a multipurpose room. I didn't even own a dining table; I ate Japanese-style off of a coffee table in front of my TV. And that's when I ate at home.

Instead of a dining table I had a computer desk and a rolling office chair in there where for years I worked at my own pitiful little website, guzzling coffee and pecking at my keypad.

If I needed a cup of coffee, I could spin around and get it from the coffee maker right behind me. When the fish sticks were done I could wheel over to the oven, pull them out and spin around and get the tartar sauce out of the fridge behind me. My spice rack consisted of salt and pepper.

It all started off innocently enough.

A few years back we began talking more and more about the inevitable day in the future when we’d be coexisting under the same roof. We knew that it would involve me relocating my roots to Texas where he has lived and worked all of his life.

During one particular Google chat, after he'd returned back home to Texas, we meandered as usual through a myriad of topics ranging from bluebonnets to whale watching when somehow the topic of his oven came up. It went sorta like this:

Mr Mom: I just got an ATMOS bill. I just paid one right before I left.

Me: What is atmos? Gas? You have gas? I thought you just had electric.

Mr Mom: Got both

Me: What is the gas for?

At this point, I’m almost holding my breath; waiting for “the” answer.

Mr Mom: dryer, hot water heater, stove

Ding! Ding! Ding!

We have a winner! I tell him how I love gas stoves, they cook food so much better than electric. But then he breaks the news that throws me for a loop, and starts a proverbial snowball rolling.

Mr Mom: small oven

me: Oh? How small? You can't cook a turkey in it? What about holding a cookie sheet?

You see women care about these things, because they know they matter.

Mr Mom: It's called an "apartment" oven, it’s about 24 inches across. I don't have a vent like you have, if you cook on the stove top we will have to open the door and point a fan at you :)

I then gave him the response that says everything while only using two letters; the response that sets any man into panic mode, and therefore -- action.

Me: Hmmm

Mr Mom: oh no, shouldn't be that bad

Me: We'll have to find cookie sheets to fit and a small roaster, no cooking for a crowd that’s for sure and we’re going to have to get the largest crock pot you can find

Mr Mom: There’s a thing in the bottom I think is for roasting

Me: you think? :) Take a picture...

I heard him sigh heavily even with all those miles between us, and my door closed.

Mr Mom: hold on

While he was taking a photo, I was searching online.

Me: Ohhhhhh!! They have a 5 qt crock pot at Walmart on sale now for $16 and a 6.5 qt for $19...

He tells me to hang on. He was measuring, and shortly thereafter informs me his cookie sheets fit inside the oven.

Mr Mom: I use them for nachos and fish sticks and pizzas.

What a bachelor. I find myself wondering how he managed to live this long on such nutritionally void food.

Mr Mom: the broiler has about five or six inches clearance, my oven is basically 18x18x18 inches and the broiler about 18x 5

I could tell he’s in full don’t-give-up-on-me-now mode. I tried to reassure him that we’ll make do.

There was a notice in my inbox and go to look at the picture of his stove. Not only has he sent me what I requested, he’s sent an entire series of photos of the inside and outside with ‘the roasting pan’ and a tape measure extended on the interior shots indicating the height, width and depth of the stove’s oven.

It was small. Really small. I reminded myself that size really doesn't matter and tell him if we have a crock pot we’ll be fine.

Me: your photos made me smile :) :) :) getting out your tape measure and all ;) :) I love you :)

Mr Mom : Love you too, Hon. Just showing you a cookie sheet will fit. The stores here have an amazing array of things in all sizes

Me: Yes, there are a lot of single or 2 people families these days. It’s not like the old days when there were families of 12 to feed

Mr Mom: Yeah, the Lonely Bachelor model :)

Me: or the Couple Just Starting Out Model ;)

All was well. I love this, man and I knew, that although it was going to be a challenge we were going to do our best to make it work. I looked at the photos he sent and imagined cooking a small ham or turkey breast in it to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Then --

I notice the two small pots sitting on the top of his stove in the top photograph.

Me: Are the pots on top the extent of what you have for cooking?

Mr Mom: we can buy what we need

Yes, he’s right, I reminded myself for the millionth time, this isn't the end of the world.

Fast forward a couple of days; we were on Google chat once again. He’d come home from work and we were catching up on each other’s day. He’d worked a long ten hours, and had stopped on his way home to get BBQ’d ribs and had just finished feeding his cat.

He asks me what I’ve been up to. I’d been to the local market and had gotten some great deals on produce, and the day had been on the cool side, so I’d been cooking and baking up a storm to stock up the freezer. I’d cooked corn on the cob to freeze the kernels, made a huge green bean casserole and divided it up into smaller portions. I’d made a pot of pulled pork, meatloaf and to top it off two batches of cookies. He sounded impressed by my wanton display of domesticity.

Little did I know, I'd just added another layer to that proverbial snowball we'd been forming.

Me: I's a cool Fall day here. Perfect for cooking and stocking up the freezer. On nice days there, I'll do the same. Wait, your freezer is small though huh?

Mr Mom: Yeah that is a problem, I don't have room for one either.

Me: I have a small one in my kitchen I got for a couple of hundred dollars. It's really nice to have when deals come up.

Mr Mom: they sell smaller ones, but space is an issue here

I know his place is small, and I really don't want to have my arrival feel more like an imposition than the start of a wonderful chapter in our lives, so I tell him we'll work it out and make do.

Mr Mom: I will take you to the farmers market on weekends :)

Me: Oh, I love farmers markets!

Mr Mom: and we can shop in the evenings...

We were back into full tilt planning and dreaming mode. I loved this mode. It always made our dream seem real.

Me: I like talking about it though, it makes it seem real :)

Mr Mom: you will just have to make adjustments. Just keep in mind you are coming to a bachelors apartment.

Me: Is that a warning?

Mr Mom: my way of arranging things may seem strange, computer, washing machine and dryer in the kitchen

Me: well that is odd ;) I was hoping for a table and chairs

Mr Mom: Another thing, I have no dining table.

Me: Oh

Mr Mom: But we can get this stuff, I have a truck.

I tried to reassure him that I didn't need fancy, only clean and functional. I mentioned that I really like the little island I had in the middle of my kitchen for baking and cooking. Apparently he didn't have one of those either. And no cookware; but he assures me he has plates, utensils and glasses. A vision ran through my head of mismatched plates, and a set of plastic Tupperware cups. Ugh. I might as well be honest now.

Me: Glass glasses? I don't like plastic ;)

Mr Mom: Got glass glasses

Whew! Dodged that bullet. He continues on to tell me he's been looking at sets of pots and pans. I tell him I prefer stainless steel because the coated stuff has carcinogens. He assures me we're going to be fine. We'll start making a list of things we need, and watch prices. Then I realize, we're talking an awful lot about me cooking.

Me: We can eat out if it's too hot to cook right?

Mr Mom: Yes we can

I decide to have a little fun...

Me: You do have pillows and sheets?

Mr Mom: Yes! I have a real bed with a real mattress.

Me: Two sets of sheets? And towels?

Mr Mom: One to wash, one to wear and a bathroom closet full of towels.

Me: Dish clothes, dish towels?

Mr Mom: Some, but the dollar store has those.

Me: Curtains may be an issue, I've seen your living room ones.

Mr Mom: This is adding up ;)

Me: I'll bring the curtains if that's the deal breaker.

Mr Mom: Oh baby, we can get these things; going to cost to make you feel at home; take some work...good thing I have a truck... :)

Me: Do you have a dresser? closet for clothes?

Mr Mom: That's another problem. We are going to have to do some improvisation to make you comfortable here

That's it. I've got to let him off the hook and tell him that as long as he's there and happy about me being there, then the rest will come as its needed to. But dang it all, my teasing has gotten him worried and he shares something that's been eating at him.

Mr Mom: Just afraid you will look around and go: 'how do you live like this?"

I smile to myself. I've seen his place. Pictures, videos. I've shared space with this man and know how carefully meticulous he is. I know he takes care of what he has, rather than thinking of his possessions as disposable and easily replaced. I know he doesn't  have much, but takes great pride in and care of what he does. I tell him I'm not worried. He believes me and we move on to an entirely different topic.

What pots and pans he has was really insignificant when I take in the full reality of the fact that after being a bachelor for his entire life, he was willing to open up his world and let me in. That is far better than a full-sized oven, don't you think?

Fast forward a few years from these conversations -- we made the leap and I made the move. A crock pot and a kitchen island later, all is well and life is good.

Before I met Mrs Mom, shopping was something I did once every two weeks, usually on the bi-weekly occasion of getting paid. My usual route consisted of:

A stop at the local utility pay station where I would pay all my current bills.

Filling up the car at the gas station with the least expensive gas I could find.

Lotto tickets (Hey you never know) at either a convenience store or the gas station

Two “dollar stores” ( snacks, bathroom stuff, pack of gum for my toolbox at work, hand sanitizer, sandwich bags etc.)

Aldi – where most of my actual groceries were purchased (bread, lunch meat, milk, cereal, coffee, half and half, sugar, bagels, burger patties etc. )

and then a trip to a regular grocery store for anything I couldn't find at Aldi.

This was usually accomplished in one whirlwind tour of my humble little city, then I would come home and put everything up and I was done for two weeks.

Then along came “Mrs. Mom”....

Shopping then transformed into a nightly excursion, usually extended by an inadvertent omission of one item we either couldn't find or just plain forgot to buy the previous night despite a nightly shopping list, or Mrs Mom had a new recipe she just had to try that required something we didn't have in the kitchen. My once near-empty refrigerator and freezer are now packed solid with meats, Ziploc containers of leftovers and the largest assortment of salad dressings, jams and jellies you will ever see outside of your local grocers shelf. My once-barren pantry shelves are brimming with various mixes, canned goods and a truly diverse potpourri of spices. And yet it's never enough; we wind up treading a well-worn path back to one of the several grocery stores almost nightly. 

Albertsons, Tom Thumb, Kroger, Aldi, World Market, Central Market, Trader Joes, Sprouts... I'm beginning to become all too familiar with each and every one of them and the regular inventory they carry. I know which stores stock lavender dish soap and which ones don't. I know which ones have rice in one pound bags and which ones only have it in five pound bags. I know which ones have the best prices on soft drinks and which ones have the best selection of produce. Not that I'm complaining mind you; sometimes this can be knowledge that helps me stretch a dollar just a little further. One of the stores I just named above has a regular weekly “Buy One-Get Two Free” sale on their meats including steaks, chicken breasts and pork chops, so guess which one we buy the most meat at? There's absolutely nothing wrong in my book with paying $45 for a heavy sack of meat I can just barely lift. And Mrs Mom frequently adds a much-needed level of common sense to our shopping; otherwise I could just as easily come home with a sack full of frozen fish sticks and peanut butter  Snickers. 

In my pre-Mrs Mom years, my diet consisted of frozen dinners, sandwiches from Subway, take-out food from a select hand-full of my favorite independently-owned restaurants and when I was feeling really rich grilling a steak or hamburger on my modest little tail-gate grill. Fast-forward to my Post Mrs Mom years and I have gained enough weight to require purchasing larger jeans and boxers thanks to Mrs Mom feeding me a diet of real food. Mrs Mom never ceases to be amazed on the rare occasions we do dine out how the owners of my favorite independently-owned restaurants come out of the kitchen to chat with me ( “Where have you been?”) because this is one example where familiarity did not breed contempt. But when she tries to pry me away from either the safety and comfort of my nightly SEINFELD re-runs because we forgot one item on the shopping list the night before I have to make a concentrated effort not to roll my eyes because I know it's another evening of “Hi ho, hi ho … it's off to the store we go....” and Mrs Mom has to remind me it's not just shopping; it's RESEARCH....

When we first decided to set up housekeeping, I envisioned shopping together would be something akin to the photograph at the top of this blog post.

Just the two of us, arm in arm, picking out groceries,while gazing lovingly into each others eyes as we strolled down endless aisles of pristine store shelves filled with all of our favorite foods.

Instead, it looks more like this:

I boil it down to one factor: Mr Mom doesn't like cute food or pretty products. While I prefer the dish soap that makes the kitchen smell like you're vacationing in the South of France, Mr Mom prefers to get the nondescript yellow dish soap from the 99-cent store that does its best to ground me in the reality that the view from my kitchen window isn't rolling hills of lavender but the overflowing recycling bins in our neighbor's yard.

While I liked the cute little gherkin pickles in handy individual single serving packages, he wanted the super-sized garlic dills the size of full sized English cucumbers, because they were more manly. 

There is a store in NYC that I think is really on to something. They have what they refer to as a Man Aisle, filled with everything Mr Mom would consider essential: Doritios, BBQ sauce, beef jerky and giant sized jars of dill pickles.

But never under-estimate my ability to adapt. I've learned now that when I want something I put it in the cart, without a word, because the minute I share how adorable I think something is, I get "the look" -- you know -- the "I can get this cheaper at the Dollar Tree" look. 

Bless his heart, he's learning though, albeit on his own terms. We needed dish soap last week and he stopped to pick some up on the way home -- from the 99-cent store of course. I braced myself for the industrial sized faux lemon monstrosity that he would be walking through the door with at any moment. Imagine my surprise (and pleasure) when I opened up the bag to find a beautiful bottle of pink summer bouquet scented dish soap instead. It sits proudly on my sink -- you know -- the one with the window that overlooks the rolling hills in the South of France...