When Life Happens: The Addiction Monster (Thank You for Waiting: My Vegan Brownie Breakthrough)

I am on my second pan of eating through my "vegan brownie breakthrough"--just to be sure. Had I made these under too much stress? Was my recipe share-worthy? Just what the heck did I use? So, in case you've been through the great "vegan brownie" hunt as I have, go ahead and give these a try. I'm not saying everyone will love them, but I do, and truthfully, that's all that matters at this point. 

This theraputic knit-for-a-cause handbag went so fast, I really don't remember how I made it! I just began knitting and grabbing whatever yarn I had. It went to the highest bidder on Sunday's silent auction. I loved it--hated to part with it. But someone else can love it now.

Mr.Thyme is the best photographer ever. Is that shot of the Botanical Garden lake not the best?

Even with the garden dormant, it was so worth walking through and enjoying the sparseness of it.

Uh, I am going to put this out there just because I feel I need to: Don't even think about copying my stuff off my site without my permission. It's all copyrighted to me--and I know people in high places. So ask first.

I've added this tidbit in my profile, too.

Again, the orchid show was spectacular and great therapy in the dead of winter.

Just a bunch of oohs and ahhs taking place here.

More oohs and ahhs. . .

Pretty in pink and yellow.

I can't stand to see a water fountain off--it makes me sad and sort of feels like armageddon. So I jumped in and Mr. Thyme grabbed a picture of me in the fish fountain. It was a good moment.

I haven't left yet. Thank you for sticking with me. If you've left, I totally understand. I have been, what can I say? Recovering. Little did I know that my setback in the hospital would have this lingering effect. Little did I know that within a week of my returning to somewhat normal activity--hives lifting, appetite returning, that I would have to face the emotional trauma of someone very dear to me (okay, let me be frank--my only living relative I have left on the planet) facing a long hospital stay. (The kind of stay that is sort of forced upon you when you've gone "too far" with really bad social habits--habits, in the plural here.) I am talking addiction. I could talk about the utter destruction addiction has on both the families it emotionally destroys, or about the cost of addiction to our society. Either way--dealing with the breaking down of someone I love dearly is what has kept me from my blog, from my cooking and from my life these past few weeks--that and my own post-traumatic recovery from "the incident" have all built up to a "hard stop".

A Return to Nature And Art Therapy

Here I am looking at the most amazing and largest owl I have ever seen. The gentleman holding the creature is a twenty-year volunteer of the Bird Sanctuary.

This is the shot Mr. Thyme got of the owl up close--is that not breathtaking?

I love eagles.

Then some birds with names I've forgotten. Oh well--still amazing.

Hello! This one I remember the volunteer telling us is one of three on the North American Continent. I believe it hails from Africa.

Mr. Thyme and I debated this little guy for a bit. I said it's a baby bison. He says elk. I said bison. He said elk. He just came walking along as we were driving through--the cute little baby bison.

Seriously. . . how incredible is that face?

Again. Peaceful, quiet and gigantic big wooly balls of fur. I love them!

My favorite places to be are either on a mountain, or in the middle of the woods. I grew up loving to explore nature. I'm no Annie Dillard, but studied her writings in school and those of other like-minded women who sought refuge from the world by connecting with all things "outside." I am someone who thrives in less populated areas of the planet. If I'm around concrete and pavement for say more than a few days in a row, I really begin to have a "reaction". Don't get me wrong, I want modern conveniences. . .within walking distance if I can. Right now, however, I am seeking to heal from the events of the past month by going outside. Putting it all behind me. Having some PTSD moments along the way, Mr. Thyme works with me as I gather strength for each day. This has been a roller coaster affair. This weekend being no exception. So nature it was.

Baked Tempeh, Apple, Mustard and Onion Chutney Panini with One Bowl Chopped Salad (Bread Diva Photo)

For the millionth time, I love sammiches! Even better to have when you bake your own bread--and the flavors of sweet, sour, bitter were all present in this tempeh/apple-bake. (I don't have a panini press--come on now, do we really need every single kitchen gadget ever made? I think not. I use good old elbow grease and a griller pan with a heavy wooden cutting board on top and smashed!)

For the layering: I first spread vegan margerine on the inside pieces, then grill them face down to get the crusty flavor going. Then, I spread vegan mayo on both sides, then layered my tempeh/apples on and finally, put my onion chutney on top and a bit of shredded vegan cheese--I love vegan cheese! Then lightly spread some margerine on the outside, and press away! They are superb, trust me!

I know, I am totally a "Bread Diva".

What my tempeh and apple stuff looked like after it baked. Yum! I could have eaten this as is. (And I did before Mr. Thyme came home!)

"Bread Diva" with scar (see my little scar next to my chin--there's a few under my neck, but you can hardly see them and sorry no close-up shots). I have a date with Mederma every few hours. My make-up skills will totally hide this. My hives, still there, but slowly getting better. What will the doctor give me tomorrow?

I craved bread. I made ciabatta again. The ciabatta has earned a spot as a staple in our bread cabinet.
Again, I turned to Peter Reinhart's pain a l' ancienne for my recipe--it's so easy! As I contemplated the type of sammich we'd have, I thumbed through my cookbooks. I have so many, it's a blessing and a curse sometimes, honestly. As I narrowed it down, I ended up taking two recipes and making them into one, making my own adaptations to satisfy both my taste and my fridge's content.

I have not been to the store or left my house in a car for three weeks, expcept to make one stop last Saturday when Mr. Thyme and I had a "grocery-store-visit-to-get-Kelly-out-of-the-house" moment. I was too tired to do much else the rest of the day. (We needed dog food.) Same still holds now as I await the disappearance of my measle-hives (which still cover my entire body, thus, keeping me from getting any good sleep because I wake up every few hours scratching then going into a benedryl coma). I won't leave the house until the rash lessens a bit--I look like a bad science fiction character. Seriously. I took a photo of me outside--I have some more healing to do, clearly.

Hello Hives! Vegan Honey Mustard Chicken (Sans The Bees) with Horseradish Mashers & Red Onion Gravy

I craved honey-mustard last night. So, out came the agave. This was yet another vegan comfort food classic re-made! It came together in a jif and I used, what else: Match Meats Chicken. You could use tempeh or seitan for your protein. What made this even better was my little mixture of agave-mustard I drizzled over the chicken patty after frying them--giving it an extra dose of that yummy flavor combo! Plus the mashers with the red onion gravy: yum!

Your main ingredients for this entree. Pretty simple.

I am covered in hives! Covered! Initially, I thought I'd maybe brushed against a poison ivy vine taking the dogs for a walk yesterday--just a spot on my arm was all that bothered me. Then, I started to itch on my chest, neck, back and stomach. Then I looked in the mirror, showed Mr. Thyme and began to sink into a bit of a "state" because this was not what I needed right now. So, I took some benedryl--hoping to relieve whatever it was causing me to look like a measles case. Not much help. Really, not much help at all--last night I woke up some four times to "scratch" and try to relax back into sleep. Then after five this morning, I just stayed up and waited to place a call to my doctor, I knew it had to be the new oral antibiotics. I really wished it weren't, but the rash wasn't getting better. I waited to call the exchange to not appear like I was in dire straights, though, I really was. The measles had spread. He phoned me back promptly and I explained it all to him. He said what Mr. Thyme and I had already sort of figured out: I am now allergic to penicillin. I was like, How? I've had an IV of penicillin in me for two weeks now--how could this happen? He said, Your body has just decided it's had enough. (Oh, has it now?) So, I am off the orals until Friday, when he hopes this rash will have calmed down--then we'll probably begin a new antibiotic course of treatment--penicillin-free. Meantime, there is another prescription waiting for me to deal with another problem as a result of my new "allergy" which I will pick up today.

This is becoming a comedy. I have to laugh--if I don't, I think I'll cry, well I do cry. I know I will look back at all of this and tell this story without as much emotion and hysteria as I feel today. But if you could see my skin right now--along with my new dimple in my face--well, you'd hopefully find this amusing, I'd encourage you to laugh, in fact, I'd laugh with you!

So, as for another aside: I was a beekeeper. I loved honey. I once had three hives. I still love honey--I've turned to agave, take it easy there. But my last hive of bees flew the coop this past summer and you know what, I think they secretly knew I had become vegan. What else could have caused them to leave? (I don't really need any PETA commentary on the matter either. In fact, more of my bees died in thunderstorms than ever died during my honey harvesting, pre-vegan.) Anyhow, I am almost fifty and make my own decisions on the matter. Thanks to the hobbyist beekeepers, we have not lost the bees. As many of you know, if the bees go, our fruits and veggies and flowers go, too. For now, my bees are probably hanging out in my neighbor's hives. They may come back as I did not extract any honey at all last year. I'll keep the light on for them.

About All One Woman Can Take (And Two Words: It's Over)

A favorite morning activity: the lookout from the deck. My boy on the bench. My constant companions through all of this--I don't know what I'd do without them.

Oops. Been too long without mommy. Hey, hey. Let me in. What up with leaving me out here?

I need to come in, come on! (So. . . I let her in.)

Not ten seconds later: Okay, seriously, if you're lettin' her in, you need to let me in.

Seriously. . . Let me in. (I am watching her through the glass--camera in hand--she is not loving this one bit.) 

Of course my boy, he's all like, Yeah, whatever you sissies--I'll watch the house then--leave me out here!

Forget that, mom, I know how to open a door, thank you very much (thumbs or not). I'm just coming in. . . see my nose, now see me walk in all the way.

. . . And she did.

Finally. I am free of tubes, of infusion, of IV antibiotics being pumped through my veins every six hours, of the fear of the thing strangling me at night, (or of me rolling over on it to cause this beeping which scared me half out of my wits several nights), of the fear of the infamous nearly foot long tube running to my heart--of it rupturing and causing me to collapse instantly. Over. Now, it's on to oral antibiotics for ten days (still heavy-duty stuff), then another doctor visit--and back to not gracing a doctor's door again for maybe another ten years. And. . . working on my scar. Mederma, here I come. Really, it's not so bad, considering how I looked two and half weeks ago. The body is an amazing healing machine.

Aside from being too tired most of the time to do much--looking back, I did post a few meals and breads--but I'll be honest, they required very little work--and left me dead tired. And, Mr. Thyme had to usually jump in to do sous chef stuff, plus was usually left with clean up. My motor runs down about five now. This "being tired" stuff has been the worst part. I am a ball of energy usually. Winding down at night with TV and Mr. Thyme, the highlight of my days.

Peter Reinhart's Pain a l'Ancienne: A Mere Babe in The Bread Kitchen

My finished Pain a l'Ancienne looked amazing straight from the oven and smelled heavenly. My crust on this bread was surprisingly chewy, much like the traditional ciabatta, but this bread had a more nutty flavor, a moister crumb--perfect bread for paninis.

When I cut this loaf in half, I noticed the crumb inside did appear tighter than the crumb from my first ciabatta loaf. However, upon closer inspection, I was surprised to learn that I'd captured a great deal more air than I thought as shown in the photo below.

The slice here shows the air bubbles a bit better. The crust was amazing!

This is my dough the night I had mixed the ingredients together with the ice cold water. You can see from this photo how wet the dough is. I transferred it to another bowl for the night.

After a night in the fridge--this is how the dough looked. It had expanded to about a third of its original size.

Take a closer look at the dough and how much it had  risen after sitting at room temperature for about three hours. Quite a difference from the photo above. But again, not a lot of work in handling time here.

The dough is so wet that I only folded it once in thirds--vs. stretching and pulling as you would normally do for a traditional ciabatta. It was too airy and too lovely, I didn't want to push much air from it. After my first tri-fold, I then used my pastry cutter and divided it into three loaves. I then carefully moved the loaves to an inverted cookie sheet covered in parchment paper and dusted with flour for an additional hour before baking. Again, little-to-no manipulation of this dough in its final proofing stages.

Yesterday, I let myself tank. I just became sad. I knew I'd hit this low mark at some point. I had been waiting for this like I wait for tornadoes in Spring (dread, holding of breath and hunkering down). Don't worry, I kicked the blues out this morning. I am not going to let anything keep me down. I have to get up, go for a jog (after my noon IV antibiotics run their course), touch up my roots--god love my blonde hair (and gray, too)--I am: Desperately Seeking Clairol! Lucky for me I had prepared a fermentation for some bread the night before. I felt the need for dough and a good fresh loaf of bread--Peter Reinhart to the rescue.

Rose's Heavenly Vegan Cake (Mending A Broken Heart, Snow Play And Tech Support)

Nothing quite like a decadent vegan chocolate cake in the shape of a heart to make you appreciate the little things in life: like your heart!

The crumb on my vegan version of Rose's cake is quite moist. I think this is one of the moistest single layer vegan chocolate cakes I've made to date. So much rides on the crumb texture and all in a single layer--you can hide a lot in a double layer.

This is my boy--he likes to herd the rest of his clan. He's looking on in such a majestic way--I just love him to pieces--I thought this shot captured a whole lot. Sweet. Loyal. (Scrappy sometimes, too.) But always on alert and on guard.

Then there's these two. Snow play-time! Downward facing dog, to get her sister's attention--it was a good day yesterday in the snow!

My real-deal heart-shaped cake pan from Michael's.

My other real-deal baking pan for Ingots--whatever the heck those are.

Since I was hospital bound on Valentine's Day, I sort of missed out on all the fun of the chocolate mania. (Even after being together nearly fourteen years, Mr. Thyme and I still celebrate this Hallmark Holiday.) I had big plans for the day, too. I bought myself Rose's Heavenly Cakes by Rose Levy Beranbaum for Christmas (with my Border's coupon, of course). I read this book cover-to-cover. I heard Rose interviewed on The Splendid Table and took her to be quite a serious cake-baker, pastry chef and all-around know-it-all in all things that I love: carbs--cakes, breads, you name it. (I've also signed up for her newsletter on her site: Real Baking with Rose Levy Beranbaum.) The photography in this book is magnificent. I don't think I encountered a single cake and went "ewww". (It would take an act of congress for me to shun a pastry, like maybe a brussel sprout cake or something--I'd shun that.)

Now if you are going to be a student of this cake book, be warned that there are plenty of "equipment" requirements. Some of it is so over-the-top, I laughed out loud. I thought, okay, we aren't building a bridge or transplanting a liver, we're working with some flour and sugar. I don't intimidate easily and jump at the first sign of, say, a "cake band" to ensure a full, even rise of your cakes, or of a recommended silicone Financier for making Ingots--pahlease. (And what the heck is an Ingot?) Plus, I am not going to go all nuts and hit Sur La Table for my baking indulgences. I cannot afford that place, so I opt for the second best cake-supply store within the Wal Mart budget and that happens to be Michael's. (Plus, I get a 40% coupon in the paper every week to shop there.) I am sure there are those that would blanch at the thought that I would even dare deviate from the prescribed tools as per Rose's direction. But deviate I must.

Familiarity Does Not Breed Contempt: Returning Home to Cook, Remembering The Care

I am finally home. Ready for some cooking and baking. Ready to re-set and begin anew with a fresh eye. I won't say that a seven day stay in the hospital is just what you need to get back your appreciation for home stuffs, but what I will say is that my time away cooped up in a hospital room without outside air touching my face, sun overhead, mostly seeing nurses and doctors, eating nearly intolerable "faux-vegan" hospital food choices (which helped me shed ten pounds--hooray!)--all makes for elation in returning home. When I had the energy, I'd wander the halls during sunny days and found myself moving along the corridors, following the sun's path. Even if the sun was just beginning to disappear over the corner of the building and it shone through in a tiny corner, I'd just stand there soaking it all in--the warmth and energy I got from those few minutes were precious to me.

My dogs will not leave my side. They were so happy to see mommy--it wore us all down to just have our big group hugs and tail-wagging reunion last night. They are my anchor. They will always be my anchor. I cannot imagine living without them. Some have worried about this "changing" me in any way, i.e., am I afraid? Fear? Of what? Of this happening again? Nope. I am of the canine, love the canine, will still rescue the canines needing homes, will still raise money to help there be fewer homeless and unwanted canines. (I just worry about the next full moon.)

Learning Who Your Friends Are from A Hospital Bed (And: Mr.Thyme on His Own Plus The Face Update)

I'll be the first to admit this: I am not really keen on people seeing me in my pajamas. And I'll also be the first to admit, I am not one to jump up out of my chair or sofa to visit friends in the hospital. (Not that this has been an ongoing theme in my life--I am "almost fifty"--but no one is dying here, okay?) I know this sounds awful. Hospitals have always scared me. I was so sick as a kid with my asthma, then seemed to get whatever the heck illness I'd acquire later in life to a degree that would label me "atypical" in nearly all instances.

The Hospital, The Accident

I am grateful for so many things right now. First and foremost for my health and my wonderful husband. Second (but tied for first) for the incredible doctors and nurses who are helping repair me--they are saints: every single one of them. I have had the most attentive, patient, kind, professional staff ever work on me during this past week. Third, but still tied for first are all of the dear friends and folks in our lives--my husband's office and their support has helped both he and I weather this storm in more ways than I can count. Without them, I don't know what we'd do. I was admitted on Monday, but am due to come home on Saturday--(my fingers are crossed). Phone calls to see how I was doing, just checking in--short chats--have been life savers. Two of my dearest friends--just checking in: life saving. Our healthcare system and its compassionate workers are what saved me, too. From a physical standpoint, the scars I have will be with me for the rest of my life. The incident that changed everything in a moment will also live with me forever. I begged Mr. Thyme to please bring me my laptop. My writing is in itself healing. I have felt lost without it.