Italian Food Blog: Sundried Tomato Risotto

This is Pioneer Woman's recipe, and everything of hers that I have ever made has been phenomenal. I believe this makes up for the lack of authenticity. It is an assignment for my Italian conversation class. 'Twas quite definitely the most delicious assignment of my life.

Apologies if this Americanized version is offensive to actual Italians. If I am able to move there next year, I promise to reblog a legitimate risotto recipe in both languages.

Ingredienti:

• 4 cucchiai burro 
• 2 cucchiai olio d'oliva
• 1/2 grande cipolla gialla, spezzettato
• 3 spicchi di aglio, spezzettato
• 2 tazze di riso arborio 
• 8 interi pomodori essiccato al sole sott'olio, scolato e tritato 
• 1 tazza vino bianco
• 7 tazza brodo di pollo (low sodio = importante)
• 1 tazza parmigiano reggiano, grattugiato fresco
• 1/4 tazza panna da montare
• sale
• pepe
• basilico fresco

colori: voi & tu

Riscaldate il brodo in una pentola o nel microonde e mettete di lato. Tritate la cipolla e l'aglio.

Riscalda il brodo in una pentola o nel microonde e metti di lato. Trita la cipolla e l'aglio.

La ricetta dice 4 spicchi d'aglio, ma uso più sempre. L'aglio si tiene giovane, virile, e bello/a. Forse...?

Riscaldate il burro e l'olio in una pentola capiente a fuoco medio.

Riscalda il burro e l'olio in una pentola capiente a fuoco medio.

Aggiungete le cipolle e l'aglio; cuocete per 3–4 minuti.

Aggiungi le cipolle e l'aglio; cuoci per 3–4 minuti.

Riso arborio è una varietà italiana di riso. Prende il nome dalla città di Arborio dove è coltivato. A cottura ultimata, i chicchi sono arrotondati, fermi e cremosi, grazie all'elevata quantità di amilopectina.

Aggiungete il riso secco nella pentola e mescolate fino a quando rivestito, circa 3 minuti.

Aggiungi il riso secco nella pentola e mescola fino a quando rivestito, circa 3 minuti.

Versate il vino bianco. Utilizate un vino secco.
Versa il vino bianco. Utiliza un vino secco.

Ho usato Chardonnay.

Mescolate e cuocere a fuoco medio-basso fino a quando la maggior parte del liquido è assorbito.
Mescola e cuoci a fuoco medio-basso fino a quando la maggior parte del liquido è assorbito.

Tritate i pomodori essiccato al sole.

Trita i pomodori essiccato al sole.

(Ho dovuto cambiare a un coltello migliore.)

Aggiungete i pomodori e mescolate.

Aggiungi i pomodori e mescola.

Quindi cominciate ad aggiungere il brodo, una tazza alla volta. Mescolate delicatamente mentre il riso assorbe il liquido ogni volta. Ripetete questa operazione fino a quando il riso è finito.

Quindi comincia ad aggiungere il brodo, una tazza alla volta. Mescola delicatamente mentre il riso assorbe il liquido ogni volta. Ripeti questa operazione fino a quando il riso è finito. 

Generalmente, ci vogliono circa 6 a 8 tazze di brodo. Il riso non deve essere soffice totalmente, ma anche non croccante affato. 

Questo procedimento può durare 45 minuto a un'ora.

Grattugiate il parmigiano reggiano.
Grattugia il parmigiano reggiano.

Togliete dal fuoco, poi aggiungete il formaggio e la panna.

Togli dal fuoco, poi aggiungi il formaggio e la panna.

Adattate di sale e pepe a piacere. Aggiungete il basico, se vi piace. 

Adatta di sale e pepe a piacere. Aggiungi il basico, se vi piace. 

Mangiate e vi divertite! 

Mangia e ti diverti!

Fruit heads, veggie tails

Yeah. We fresh.

Halloween is a chance to be a bit ridiculous. But, some of us live in a near constant state of ridiculous, so this holiday just levels the playing field.

What do you call two banana peels? A pair of slippers! 

On what do chickens grow? Eggplants!

Kudos to whoever actually watches all of these. 

Happy Halloween! 

Time is an illusion.

.... Lunchtime doubly so. - Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

This year is packed to the max. The penultimate has passed, and now all gears must run in overdrive. People who started college with me are now in the real world, in grad school, in careers, in Germany, etc. and whatnot and so forth. Meanwhile, I plow forward here in beautiful Fayetteville with a hazy future and a to-do list that could crush a toddler.

Yet, I have peace.

So much peace. The real kind. Tranquility in excess, I'd say, and I haven't even made it to yoga class. The Lord has been so good to calm my ragged mind and soothe my perfectly-capable-of-being-ridiculously-anxious soul.

I find it difficult to be worried in a hammock, similarly to how I believe it impossible to play a ukulele and be sad. Consider Tiny Tim, for crying out loud!

Time has been quite an intriguing commodity in my life. Some hours stretch out their legs and trample all over my ability to resist checking my watch, others pass too quickly to be noticed. Days and weeks breeze by, but the month is never-ending. I count down the days until fall break with an iPhone app with seemingly static numbers, yet deadlines approach with unceasing ferocity. 

So it goes. And goes. And goes. And goes some more. 

But someday the going will grow bored of my bubble of insanity. It will leave me for a spell, and I shall gaily contemplate the stillness around me with utmost admiration.

Until then, andiamo.

Andi-freakin-amo.

Age and its consequences.

As of late, particularly with graduations and summer weddings, my friends have frequently remarked on our age. We say we feel "old" and our teachers, parents, and everyone laugh hysterically. We selfie-obsessed millennials have less than a quarter century under our tackily rhinestoned belts and think that we've attained some semblance of wisdom via Twitter or an inspirational Tumblr.

I get it. We aren't ancient or anything.

But cut us some slack; it's something when 20+ Facebook friends get engaged over Christmas break and besties from high school have weddings and children. It may be a natural something, but it can be shocking.

In high school, we're all on some similar level. No one really knows what the hell is going on, and those of us who momentarily think we do are wrong. We have the same classes and see the same people. In college, it changes. Diversity flourishes; we are forced to make definitive choices on the daily. Some don't even do the college thing and instead dive directly into life. When I went home in May, I ran into several classmates (class of '09) with 2 or more children. Good for them, but I couldn't even fathom having a family at this point.

Those differences aren't negative, but rather something beautiful. We're blessed to have the opportunity to choose. Many people in many places simply don't; I acknowledge that.

Regardless, time has passed. In my older age, some things have definitively changed.


I'm more calm. 
Laugh as you might, but this is the truth. Though it was truly a different lifetime, I can still remember my spastic high school self. That more high-strung and dramatic version of me would not be handling all that goes on now very well.

Introversion has increased.
I really ought to redo the Myers-Briggs. When I took it at DLA back in 2007, I was wayyyyy on the extrovert side. I still am on that half, but certainly far closer to the middle. I enjoy my lonely time. My room is a haven. I don't constantly search for companions.

Far away future things seem plausible.
Marriage. Kids. Career. Health insurance. House payment. All these things that seem so adult will potentially start happening in the next 3-7 years. Wut.

I've finally accepted moving as a part of life.
When I was a kid, I cried when my parents wanted to build a new house and move. I refused to accept a change of home. Now, I'm semi-eager to find new digs in the coming years. It'll be great to live in other parts of the country and see how life is there. Nothing will lessen my dread of packing/moving, but the nesting/settling process that follows will be fun.

There's only hope.
The biggest change in my life from my former self is Jesus. Knowing Him has altered the fibers of my very weird being, and the repercussions reverberate though every moment of every day. I'm changed because it's no longer me me me, but the singular and glorious Him. I still fret and I still get down, but at the end of it, I'm not in control and I trust the One who is. So it's all good. It's all hope.


When I'm actually old, I'm fairly certain I'll be cool (or whatever lingo means "hip" in 50 years). I look forward to the prospect of being a grandma.. one who pranks her grandkids and destroys them at all games, but has the most delicious homemade snacks to help soothe their crying afterwards. The thought of tending a garden and playing Pinochle and Catan with other white-haired friends is exciting.

I hope the internet doesn't explode before then so I can look back at this blog and see my feelings as a bright-eyed, vivacious 22-year-old. I'm not full of catchy wit or artistic stories. I don't take mind-blowing photographs or post my own recipes (though someday that recipe thing will be real). But yet I'm here, pounding away at my recently coffee-soaked keyboard to bang out words that maybe 3 people will read.

But you know, that's alright. There are worse things than blogging mediocrity.
Someday, something nice might spring into type from my sandpaper fingers. Hopefully this silly site will catch it.

For now: Life is good.
That's worth recording.

Proof of consciousness.

My last blog was back in September. A crying shame, though my eyes are no excess degree of wet.

I have had many interesting, clever, and potentially captivating ideas for posts. Yet, blog I have not. My empty promises to publish leave me melancholy, trapped within a guilty shell. The walls of this prison are white with nothing but a flashing curser silently screaming the dismal truth of my rut. At the mere view of the Blogger icon, my fingers curl back, laden with anxiety, unprepared to fight through the jungle of self-prepared humiliation.

Why does this happen? This perpetuating, woeful cycle of failure. At first, it's just an innocently missed pledge to write. The next week the weight of procrastination makes it more difficult to start, and the following week is practically a joke. Eventually I begin to hope that everyone had forgotten any comment made on social media about blogging. In extreme bouts of guilt I momentarily wish they forget I have one at all...

What's the hold up?

Sometimes I claim I'm just too much of a perfectionist about it. 

That's not entirely true. Usually words spurt out of me like puss from a ripened pimple, splattering onto the page with a great and brutish force. I often edit for a while to save embarrassment created by great haste and the speed of fiercely passionate typing.

Sometimes I think I'm not inspired. 

But that's mostly code for my absentminded laziness. My to-do list gains momentum and intimidation factor, and I reason that my time cannot be spared for trivial self-expression. Plus, I strive to imitate He who created all, so within me there is generally something trying to bust its way out.

Sometimes I feel I have someone to impress. 

And that's just stupid. My identity is not housed beneath the fonts of this page nor is my value calculated by the +1s, likes, or retweets I may (but generally do not) receive.

So what then is this curse? Why is it powerful? What/Who is its source?

My guess is that the source's got two thumbs and the password to edit the words you're currently reading. 

Pride clogs the pores of creativity. Sloth binds the energy of fingers. Wrath draws the eyelids shut in sheer indignation. These deadly sins creep into my brain folds, preventing the needed escape of thoughts.

Blogs are glorified thoughts. Choose a classy theme and snap some high res photos, and the internet might call you a pro. I know mine is not tremendously consistant or detailed, but I'm quite thankful for the ones I took the time to compose. These blogs may not dazzle, and they certainly don't make the boys swoon. This page might vanish in some post-apocalyptic crash of the web. My posts are just sentences, composed somewhat quirkily for hardly any purpose at all. These words are an escape route for consciousness, proof that neurons are firing and that life persists.

And what a persistent life I lead. Since my last blog...

I marched with some dear senior friends at their last performance with the Razorback Marching Band.

I spent time with precious family and friends over the holidays.

I brunched with a bestie. (WHO GOT A FULBRIGHT AND IS MOVING TO GERMANY!)

I participated in a swanky rave dance party on a moving charter bus. Crowd surfing may or may not have also occurred.

I was massively blessed by an amazing visit from my high school band director (and honorary father) at our first spring concert.

I met someone who is an entirely graceful loser at chess (and all other games).

I organized a surprise double half-birthday party for some presh roomies.

I mailed it, jailed it, bailed it, flailed it, trailed it, quailed it, WAILED it, and totally snailed it with the most fabulous small group in all the land. We walked like trustworthy people and ripped everything within reach.

These still firing neurons give me a ridiculous appreciation for this time. For this silly blog. For the opportunity to share, write, pray, think, do, praise, move, shake, produce. For you, in this merciful reading of my nearly aimless expulsion of type. There is no reason to let the shadow of my own doubt darken the doorways to what could, and often should, be.

Here's to being less of a weirdo about planning and executing my blogposts.
Here's to a future of confidence and remembrance.
Here's to life.

And I don't know much, but I do know this

With a golden heart comes a rebel fist

But I can't help agreeing with those that would not quit.