Cucumber Leek Soup

One day, back in my high school days, I was hanging out with your Grandpa Bob (my dad, not your father's dad who is also named Bob, or my stepfather who is again named Bob, but whom everyone calls Bab thanks to me) at the grocery store because I was one coooooooooool kid (you may have guessed that I was not cool). A rack of those little free recipes caught my eye, so I started perusing. Now, this was before I was the master chef I am today, so I wasn't interested in anything I couldn't make without burning the kitchen down. An interest I should still have, sadly. So with limited options, I came across this soup. I had never even heard of leeks before, but like the blind walking unaided across a freeway, I plunged on undaunted. And was rewarded by a supremely bad-ass soup that coincidentally your father hates. More for me!

Ingredients

• 2 large cucumbers
• 1 bunch leeks. There are usually 3 in a bunch...so I guess 3. 3 leeks. 1 leek 2 leeks 3 leeks! Now the word sounds weird. This is going to make the rest of this recipe difficult for me. 
• 1 TBS butter
• 1 TBS flour
• 1 carton (4 cups) chicken broth or stock
• Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

• Intermittently peel your cucumbers, leaving long strips of peel intact lengthwise. Quarter lengthwise, seed, and chop in about 3/4 inch pieces
• Quarter and slice your leeks, making sure to wash them thoroughly AFTER you cut them up, as leeks are filthy, filthy vegetables. I didn't do this the first time I made this soup, because I'm an idiot I had never worked with leeks before and didn't know this about them. The soup had dirt in the bottom which was VERY unappealing (looking). It was still delicious though because of course I still ate it. 
• Melt your butter over medium heat in a large stock pot
• When your butter is melted, sprinkle in your flour and stir until browned 
• Add your broth/stock and bring to a boil
• When your broth is boiling, add your vegetables and cook until tender, about 10-15 minutes
• Salt and pepper to taste

This is probably one of my favorite soups in the universe, and it is dead easy to make. Even people who "can't boil water!" can make it! By the way, the only way a person could not boil water is if they're above sea level. And even then, I'm pretty sure there are ways around nature. You're just a shitty cook, get a Betty Crocker and get over it. "Can't boil water" my happy ass.

Even though your father hates this soup, I'm hoping you like it. Because while I love it to death, I either have to eat it everyday for a week or eat HUGE helpings at a time. You guys have to be my soup wing-mans. Wing-mens? Either way.

Man-Catching Pot Roast

I have always believed that people need to play to their strengths. MY strength does not lie with my appearance. I mean, I'm fairly ok with how I look (the perks of being arrogant), but I know I'm not in competition with any classically hot ladies, capisce? So I figured out early on to slow my roll on the Miss Universe pageantry and learn a trade that would up my marriageable ante. And so I (unfortunately for my waistline) chose cooking. I don't know if it was because of the 50's propaganda that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach or if I just really, really like to eat. Either way it worked, because that's how I bagged your dad. I just kept inviting myself over and cooking for him until I glutted him into submission.*

*It helps that we were best friends first. I would not advise doing this with a stranger.

The dish that sealed the deal was one I like to call the Man-Catching Pot Roast. Now, I personally find myself to be quite the little kitchenista (thanks again, arrogance!). And while this dish is pretty fab, it's also possible that it snared young Nan because he was subsisting entirely on frozen chicken nuggets and fast food when we got together. It's a little late to question it now, as the ink has dried on our marriage certificate.

The lesson is: when you find that someone you'd like to make your special someone, do like your mom and feed them into a coma so that they are susceptible to your influence. Works every time...unless it doesn't.

Ingredients

• 3-5 pound pot roast (or chuck roast or whatever. I'm not looking at names here, I'm only looking at price. Your mother is nothing if not occasionally a tight-wad)
• 1 package Lipton onion soup mix
• 1/2- 1 cup beef broth, depending on how much sauce (or beefy dregs, as I call it) you want to brew up while cooking this bad boy. These dregs are crucial to making a delicious stew with the leftovers, so don't overlook them because of their unfortunate name.
• 4 medium potatoes, cut into quarters
• 2 carrots, cut into quarters
• 1 large onion, cut into quarters 
• quarter cup flour
• 2 TBS butter

Instructions

•  Melt your butter in a large pan over medium-high eat
• Sift soup mix through a strainer to get out most of the onions because your dad is a weenie. Mix half of the remaining powder in with your flour. "But Mom!," I hear you ask plaintively, "Why sift out the dehydrated onions if we're only going to put a GIANT one in with the roast?" The answer is simple: because your dad can eat around a giant quartered onion. And you need the giant one for flavor. Go do your homework. 
• Dredge the roast with the flour mixture 
• Now SEAR THE SHIT out of that floured roast in your pan. Make sure you get all the sides, and make sure all those sides are deliciously brown looking. This is to keep all the juiciness in your roast. Theoretically, I suppose you don't have to do this since we're popping that fucker in a crockpot, but I like to do it because it makes me seem more chef-like and makes the whole house smell really good immediately, as opposed to waiting around for that roast-scented Glade to permeate. 
• Pop aforementioned roast into a crockpot on low heat for 8-10 hours, or high heat for 4-6 if you're impatient. Guess which one I usually pick? High.
• Pour you broth in the bottom of your crockpot and sprinkle the remaining soup mix.
• Now put the lid on and go watch some episodes on Netflix in lieu of doing other housework
• 2 hours before you want to dive face-first into that roast, put in your veggies. I've found that if you put it all in at the same time, the veggies get hella limpy and that's just gross. 
• You'll know the roast is done when a) the meat shreds to hell with a fork when you're trying to slice it, b) the vegetables are tender but not soggy, and c) you come back to the crockpot to find some meat is missing, forgetting that you accidentally ate some when "testing to make sure it was ok." 

And there you go. This meal is how I tricked your father into dating me. I even fancied it up and made TWO (2) kinds of gravy, which your father didn't even touch because he slops ketchup on everything but breakfast cereal.

So should you think of becoming vegetarian (be my guest-I have several cookbooks you can borrow and they are the shit), remember that the only reason you exist is because of pot roast 

An Instance in Which Your Father is Conceivably WRONG

Your father seems to think I'll be a great mom when the time comes. I disagree. No offense, but you already terrify me and you don't even exist. I think once you get the point where you can hold your head up without assistance I'll be ok, but it's going to be a rough couple of months until that happens. So let's make a deal: you have insanely strong baby necks and can hold up your noggins and I'll try not to be terrified that I'll kill you accidentally by holding you incorrectly.

Your father bases his criterion that I'll be a good mother on the fact that our cat Roark (full name Schroedinger Roark Oedipus Jables-I hope he's still around long enough for you to remember him) likes to be held in a traditional baby-cradling way. I have several arguments against this.

One, Roark is a CAT, and a dumb one at that. He thinks he's a person, and was very in love with me before we fixed him. I don't want to get into the specifics, but let's just say he sprayed me while I was reading a book and I grabbed his tail and punched him in the kitty nutsack for it. He didn't notice.

Two, if I accidentally drop a CAT, he should conceivably land on his feet. This one doesn't always; again, he's not very smart or cat-like. Babies will most likely not do this.

Three, to feed him I dump food in a bowl and walk away. There is considerably more effort in feeding a child.

Four, did I mention he's a CAT and not a HUMAN INFANT? This is pretty crucial to my argument, and I fear I didn't highlight this enough.

I feel this is how having a baby will go:

Baby: Gurgle gurgle coooo!

Me: Oh God are you choking on something? How are you choking on something? WHY DON'T I KNOW BABY HEIMLICH?

Baby: *adorable cough*

Me: How did my baby get TB? How did you get TB baby? How is that even possible?! Is it the black lung? HOW DID YOU GET A MINING JOB?!

Baby: waaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiillllll

Me: What's wrong? Why are you crying? WHY AM I SUCH A TERRIBLE MOTHER?


And that's probably the best case scenario.

I know I'm coming at this from the POV of a) never having kids and b) not having much interaction with babies in general. I'm sure this level of paranoia is normal for new mothers or women embarking on the journey to be mothers. The only positive I can think of is that I'm getting my parental paranoia out of the way super early so that I don't become one of those insufferable helicopter mothers that you grow to resent by age 8.


Don't worry. Your momma has always and will always want you and love you, you just terrify the ever-loving bejeesus out of her right now.