Since Marty finally got his CPAP machine last week we both have been sleeping! Yay! 🤩
Feeling well rested and the sun shining brightly for days has me in high-gear cleaning mode.
I needed to give our upstairs a good cleaning and every day I accomplished a couple of projects.
The projects are things that I knew needed to be done such as high and low dusting.
Our two chandeliers also needed a dusting big time and I set up a CPAP area next to Marty’s side of the bed.
When it was in the low 50s this afternoon I tackled the four upstairs windows.
I was still in a funk and didn’t feel like fall cleaning them plus I didn’t do them in the springtime because I was still unwell.
Honestly, the windows were horrible . I am a clean freak so I was so disgusted when I noticed how much of the glorious sunshine wasn’t getting through the grime.
Now, the windows look fantastic and the rooms are brighter.
After I cleaned the mini chandelier in the bathroom I noticed how the reflections of the crystals danced around the room.
In true Julz fashion, I called Marty to come see. Him and my boys always come to look at things I show them.
I didn’t realize it’s living in the moment which I have been doing for as long as I can remember, not just something new when I pulled my head out of my ass this fall.
Big full moons or perfect crescents. The sky on a clear night. Star gazing, rainbows, big snowflakes, sun rises and sun sets, the smell of a summer rain. You get the picture.
I have a few more projects then I’ll be baking sweets for a tea party I am hosting on Saturday.
Many of you will recognize one of my guests, I’ll be sure to take photos.
I haven’t written about Nelly lately. She has been enjoying the glorious sunshine we’ve had for the last few days as much as we have.
Nelly loves to play and is also great about keeping herself occupied. When she’s tired, she naps.
She always finds a warm, sunny spot in the house when it’s sunny out. I’ve been joining her, living in her moment.
On Saturdays, when Marty is at the Troy Farmers Market, she looks out the window for him.
Yesterday, the three of us hopped in the truck and went to Clifton Park, NY. We had errands to run but found time for an adventure at PetSmart.
Marty said Nelly’s heart was racing when she met her first kitties. My heart broke watching how interested and cute the cats were waiting to be adopted.
Getting out and “going for a ride” through farmlands with blue skies and sunshine galore felt great. Hallelujah! We have another one of those days today!☀️
One of my favorite TV series is “The Bear.” I’m not going to get into the series or episodes, but in season two, Sydney makes Natalie, who is pregnant, an omelet. An omelet that is made with so much care and love.
After watching that episode, I started craving Sydney’s omelet. I watched Sydney several times making the omelet, taking note of Chef Sydney’s carefully prepared ingredients and techniques.
I made my first ever Boursin cheese and bought a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, something I hardly ever purchase. I finely chopped some chives and was ready to go.
Marty likes to turn everything into a competition, which I knew when I asked him if we wanted to make our omelets together.
This is what was left in the sieve. When working on your culinary skills, this is a necessary step.
Marty is a better short-order cook than I am and can make a perfect French omelet. It is harder than you think.
This is why an executive chef will ask an applicant to make a French omelet. It tells them everything they need to know about the person’s skills.
Marty’s omelet is on the left, and mine is on the right.
I circled the flaws in my omelet in these two photos.
Long story short, Marty made a perfect omelet, while mine had two golden patches. I would not have been hired if this was an interview.
I know most people would think, “Big shit,” that I had flaws in my omelet, but I am working on my skills, and this bugged the hell out of me.
The last scrumptious bite.
The omelet is a viral recipe, and people are going nuts over it. We aren’t the type to try anything viral like people do on TikTok, but this was different because we “know” Chef Sydney.
Many people are making the omelet their own by using different chips, but we wanted to make it exactly as it was on the show.
I’m skeptical if cheddar jalapeño chips would have paired with the Boursin cheese, or would it take over?
It was every bit as delicious as it looked on the show. The smooth Boursin cheese and the sour cream and onion ruffle chips crunch were a flavor bomb with a great mouth feel.
Even perfectly cooked French omelets can be a bit bland, but this takes it to the next level. That is why this scene in the episode and the recipe is the talk of the town.
Call it what you will: meat mallet, pounder, or tenderizer. I have a 4-sided one that is about 30 years old. I have a flat pounder that I never use for meat but as a hammer.
It’s part of my Italian tool kit, which contains a pounder, a butter knife, duct tape, and zip ties. That’s what my dad called it, but I have to tell you this tool kit is very useful.
I admit that even though I had a 4-sided mallet, I never used all four sides. I never even thought about them until recently.
I become a better cook every day and love to share everything I have learned or taught myself with you. If only I learned these things decades ago.
Every kitchen needs to have a meat mallet, whether you are a vegetarian or vegan. Their use is not limited to only meats.
You can use a mallet to crush garlic, nuts, and olives to remove pits, peppercorns, potatoes, rice, lemongrass, cardamom pods, crackers, cookies, or candies. Pretty handy, right?
I wanted to attempt to make braciole, Italian stuffed meat that is braised in tomato sauce; again, I watched a video on how to make it and how to pound the meat with a mallet properly.
I felt stupid; I didn’t know how to use a mallet properly. You learn by doing, so that’s what I did. The braciole came out good! 100% better than my previous too-tough and thick version
Last Saturday, I wanted to make stuffed pork tenderloin. I remembered what I learned from the braciole and took photos as I went along.
Sam was visiting for the weekend, taking a class, so while he and Marty were out of the house, I prepped our dinner. This was perfect so I could spend more time with them instead of alone in the kitchen.
Knowing how to use a meat mallet is so much easier now. It’s all about using all 4-sides and letting gravity do the work—no more upper body workouts when preparing dinner.
The tenderloin opened like a book turned into this!
I removed the silverskin and butterflied the pork by carefully cutting it horizontally, like opening a book, making sure I didn’t cut all the way through.
Next, I placed the open book on the cutting board and covered it with plastic wrap. I used side number one, then two, three, and the flat side. Gravity did the work.
The first pork tenderloin came out textbook perfect; the larger one I cut a little too far in the middle. Ugh! I repaired it when I used butcher’s twine to tie the stuffed tenderloin closed
The stuffed tenderloin in the distance looks like it did before I started, the front one not so much. 😕
I made a simple stuffing for the pork; you can use any recipe or boxed stuffing mix. I added cooked chestnuts since I have a few bags on hand.
The chestnuts gave the stuffing a delightful sweetness Marty and Sam couldn’t put their fingers on. I am so glad I tried this; now I’ll always put them into stuffing.
Ocean State Job Lot always has packages of cooked chestnuts at their registers. How random, right?
I always stock up on them since I use them for a pasta sauce with chestnuts and mushrooms and a dish called chestnut chicken.
I seasoned the meat with onion & garlic powder, kosher salt & pepper, and paprika, then put it into the fridge until dinner.
I popped the pork into a 400-degree oven and roasted it for about 30 minutes or until it registered an internal temperature of 145-150 degrees.
I also made garlic & parmesan sweet potatoes, a recipe Sam found turned out to be a keeper. Here is the link to the recipe:
The sweet potatoes didn’t turn mushy; you could remove them still “shingled” when plating.
A few green beans sauteed in butter, kosher salt & pepper rounded out the plate. Marty requested this meal that he loved for his birthday dinner next month. Yay!
Don’t let seemingly intimidating recipes, like braciole, dictate what you can make or not. Try it if you have never used a meat mallet or use it often. What else can I do with a mallet, you may ask?
Chicken that has been tenderized and pounded thinner is perfect for chicken parm, chicken marsala, grilled chicken, or breaded chicken cutlets for sandwiches. The same goes for pork or flank steaks. Trust me on this.
If you don’t have a meat mallet, they run from $9.99 to $30 at most stores or on Amazon. I recommend a 4-sided one, but the decision will be yours.
It will make you a better cook if it inspires you to become one like me. I always want to get better at everything I do, like dancing, gardening, drawing, and writing. I will never settle for “good enough.”
For the last few years, I have had three stressful recurring dreams. How I feel in these dreams is being lost, unprepared, stressed, and bewildered.
I know the places in these three places. I spent significant time in these places and sometimes felt like I didn’t belong.
One dream is returning to a job and returning to the same shit show I had in reality.
Another dream is being lost in a city I thought I knew and couldn’t understand why things weren’t where I thought they were.
The last dream is going down the stairs in a train station and always being on the wrong side of the track, unable to get to work or home.
As soon as I wake up from these dreams, I remember them in detail, reviewing how the scenario differed from the last.
I have these dreams every other week or so. Having these dreams without a positive or better outcome is stressful and tiring.
As I dream, I am aware I am having these dreams again. I dread that I am in these situations again. I say to myself in the dream things like, oh no! This shit is happening again, or why? What the fuck?
God knows I have written about my mental health since the beginning of this blog. People who experience reoccurring dreams and nightmares are usually dealing with depression, PTSD, anxiety, and panic disorder. That’s me.
These are common recurring dreams with definite meanings. Researching the implications of these dreams includes feeling lost, not fitting in, and not where I should be at this point in my life, either spiritually or physically.
I never feel lost or do not fit in because I am highly adaptable. I am confident about who I am—not being at the right place at this point in my life? Well, hell, I’m not a millionaire yet. Lol.
Am I at a point in my life where I am stuck? I had one of these dreams again last night after having one just a few days ago. I felt compelled to write about it today.
I’m not looking for advice; I’m writing about it because I want to share important things about my life. This has turned into a more significant something lately.
From the beginning of this blog, my goal was to be my true, honest, authentic self. A fucked up person at times, yet someone who tries her hardest to be kind, loyal, supportive, and loving with all her heart.
I’ve been told I am a highly evolved soul, which you can read about in the “My Gifts” section of the blog. Older souls agree to help people in their soul cluster learn lessons.
Perhaps I feel this way because the relationships and lessons I agreed to weren’t fulfilled in this life again. Am I the problem? Are they my lessons or the other people’s in agreement? I don’t know.
Some agreements crashed and burned even though I tried my hardest with different people in different scenarios. People who constantly manipulated me and caused me heartache, stress, and pain.
However, I’ve said for years that I must have been one stupid son of a bitch in a past lifetime; to deserve hurt and pain. Was it karma?
Ironically, that was the name, stupid son of a bitch; my mother screamed at me when I was a child. 😞 What kind of person does that?
These complex agreements and scenarios have made me the strong person I am. A person who never wants another person to feel the way I felt.
This makes sense to me now. My message could be to let go of the past and move on, which is much easier said than done, and how?
Many hours later, as I researched more answers to this piece, I stumbled upon an article about whether these are recurring dreams or lost parts of my soul.
Bingo! As I read the title, I realized I had lost pieces of my soul whenever I had to go into survival mode. This usually comes from trauma, sickness, and abuse, whether it’s mental, physical, or emotional.
As I am thinking about where I lost pieces of my soul, I can pinpoint where and when it happened. I went into survival mode when I was a child. I have lived in survival mode for most of my adult life.
Wow! I’ve done soul retrievals on myself in past life regressions, and one occurred when I was a baby in this lifetime. It’s time for me to get back to work.
Whenever I am troubled, writing is therapeutic for me. In my report, such as today, I found an excellent place to start finding ways to get all of me back.
Writing certainly helps with healing, but I still have a long way to go. I didn’t realize until my mother passed away how broken, hurt, disappointed, and angry she left me.
The part that hit me the hardest was that she never apologized for anything she did to me, and now she never will. This goes back to the agreement I mentioned earlier, which crashed and burned.
Could taking pieces of my soul back help me leave those traumas and abuse in the past?
Have any of you had recurring dreams? You don’t have to answer in the comment section, but you can email me at julziestyle@gmail.com if you would like to share your experiences with me.
Enjoy your day tomorrow; we are in for another snowy day here in Arlington, VT, which is fine with me. ❄️
Update…I lost a few more readers with this post. Some people can’t handle things I write about concerning past lives and spiritual things that aren’t their own.
I can’t take it personally or let it bother me. I know I am not everyone’s cup of tea. 🫖
It was one of my first posts of the year when I talked about subscribing to my go-to food blogs, hoping to have dinner ideas galore waiting for me in my email inbox.
Yeah, in theory, it was a good idea, but as I suspected, I was inundated with multiple emails from the five blogs I subscribed to.
The worst part was nothing inspired me. Most recipes call for a slow cooker or an instant pot. I have neither by choice.
Today, here in Arlington, VT, it was a gray, foggy, rainy, mixed precipitation kind of day. The miserable kind of day that makes you not want to leave the house.
When I look at the weather on Wednesdays for dance class, Marty tells me when there is snow in the forecast, I will be fine by explaining our truck is all-wheel drive, has good tires, and to just drive slow. Yup.
This morning, he told me things looked iffy for my drive home from dance. I thought about what to do while we were working in the production kitchen.
I came up with my decision and called my dance partner Kathleen.
I told her I was staying home tonight and explained why. She told me to relax and that things would be fine without me. I already knew that.
Kathleen and I have been dancing together for 20 years. We’ve danced and spent untold hours together. We are growing older together and getting wiser.
As we age, she tells me, since we don’t have any estrogen left, we give less fucks about things. True. ✔️
We also do what we want to do and not feel obligated to say yes to things we don’t want to do. ✔️
We listen to our bodies and common sense and don’t feel guilty about our decisions. ✔️
So instead of teaching dance class right now, I unsubscribed to those five food blogs. It feels good to get rid of things that drive me nuts.
Getting rid of things right away is freeing. Such as, stopping a TV show only after 1 episode helps me not waste my time.
Deleting a music playlist or Kindle book that doesn’t do anything for me or getting rid of old recipes that turned out like shit.
Ah, the power of the delete button. I’ve deleted many blog posts after I go back to edit them. I like to let them simmer for a bit and reread them.
This happens when I hear Jon Katz’s voice boom in my head; it was one of the first things he told me about writing. Ask yourself why would anyone give a shit?
I am proud I am not such a lazy ass anymore since I am better about returning things right away that I don’t like or am disappointed in.
Money is tight, so returning shit right away is cash back in my pocket. I used to let them sit in my backseat for weeks.
I missed class tonight and my friends but needed to play hooky and hunker down. I never would have done this ten years ago or known what self-care was.
As far as all those pesky emails from the blogs, they are gone. That is the beauty of the unsubscribe button way down the bottom of emails in a print so small you need a fucking magnifying glass to see it.
While typing this, I received emails from each site telling me I unsubscribed.
I appreciate you guys for not hitting the unsubscribe button and continuing to read my spontaneous blog.
I always say that sometimes I never know what the post will be or turn into until I start typing.
When I started typing about unsubscribing, I had no idea it would turn into talking about getting older and wiser. 😜
***Update the roads were horrible last night! The plow truck drove by our house at least 6 times while I would have been at dance. Cars off the road everywhere. Thanks Marty for the heads up. ♥️
Sometimes you just need a warm and gooey grilled cheese sandwich. Today, was that kind of morning.
These single-digit numbers we’ve been waking up to in the mornings make you want warm fuzzy everything.
This is the first winter I’ve enjoyed since I was a kid. I stared winter right in the face and said, “Hi, remember me?”
I was always a summer person but now after a horrendous year, I am appreciative of every season.
I am “wintering” like the nature and animals around me. It’s like a “when in Rome” kind of feeling. A feeling of acceptance.
Nelly is lying on a heated blanket after coming in from doing her business early this morning. She’s no dummy!
Instead of hating to put on winter shit to go out, I am appreciative for my warm fuzzy hat, gloves, scarf, socks and down jacket. I love my winter muck boots and leg warmers.
No, I haven’t gone off my nut, even though I’ve gotten pretty close, I’m slowing down, and looking around, and living in the moment.
Last year, at this time I would have said what a bunch of bullshit like many of you are.
However, when faced with the notion you may be lucky enough to be here for another winter or two, shit changes. Big time.
Last year’s health crisis took its toll on my mind and body; and now it’s showing.
All that stress and anxiety has caused my hair to shed, I hate to use those words “fall out” like crazy.
I’ve lost 50% of my hair all over not in clumps thank God. I am lucky I started with a thick head of hair.
My hair still looks good but it’s thin. Let me tell you it’s been scary as hell with every handful or brush full that comes out.
It has made me cry for weeks on end creating even more stress. My strong thick hair is a part of who I am.
I don’t want to jinx myself but I think it’s finally slowing down. My doctor said it would grow back and I’ll have my thick hair back in no time. 🙏🤞🏼
I had a small bout of psoriasis show up again but I’m showing it who’s boss.
It rears its ugly head when I am very stressed. It started when I was 9 years old, I had a nervous breakdown of the skin.
That was the year we moved away from family and friends, I went to a new school, and my mother turned on me and started treating me like Cinderella.
Right now it’s pretty much under control. I dealt with it for the first two years of the pandemic. I know what to do.
I’ve been exhausted after months and months of stress which I am giving into while I am “wintering.”
Sometimes you just need a grilled cheese sandwich, a kiss on the head, and be told everything will be fine.
Everything will be fine. I haven’t been able to share this until today. I had no idea I would write about it until the words formed easily.
As always, thanks for reading and following me on this rollercoaster of life. ❤️
By now, most of my readers know I am from New Jersey. I grew up in Elizabeth for the first nine years of my life; then we moved to Iselin. It felt far away, far away from the Italian section of Elizabeth.
It wasn’t until I moved to Vermont that I realized that people outside of downstate NY & NJ didn’t understand the Italian American lingo. You didn’t have to be Italian to know the lingo; people just did.
It felt so weird to me when I had to pronounce Italian food “properly” if I wanted people to understand what the fuck I was saying.
I still tawk the way I tawk at home, but I have learned to speak broadcast news when need be. Here is what I’m talking about:
Written by Peter Genovese from NJ Advance Media
Rule Number One for Speaking Jersey Italian: Drop the vowel at the end of each word. Most of the time, anyway. This is like that “i before e except after c” rule you learned in fifth grade. It holds true except when it doesn’t. So, “cavadeel” instead of cavatelli, cappacol or gabbagool instead of cappacola, “manicot” or “manigott” instead of manicotti.
Pasta fagiole is “pasta fazool,” right? Not so fast. Several chefs pronounced every last syllable – “fa-gee-o-li.” Others pronounced every letter in “cavatelli,” not the widely accepted “cavadeel.”
Rule Number Two for Speaking Jersey Italian: Get the “easy” words right, then proceed to the tougher ones. “Gnocchi” looks uncomplicated, but to speak it like a true Italian, you must roll the “gno” – “gnawww-ki.” It is certainly not “knock-ki.” Same with “ravioli.” Give the “ioli” a little operatic flourish, prolonging the three syllables a bit, but not so much that people start thinking you learned Italian by reading cans of Chef Boyardee.
Rule Number Three for Speaking Jersey Italian:Impress your Italian friends with the proper pronounciation of words they thought they had been pronouncing right all along. One good example: bruschetta. It’s “broos-ketta-a,” says Filippo Russo, the chef/owner of da Filippo in Somerville. “That’s all over Italy.”
Rule Number Four for Speaking Jersey Italian: It’s “sauce.” Unless the chef insists it’s “gravy.” Which is correct?
Here is how I understand the difference between the two. Marinara sauce contains no meats. The sauce is made and cooked quickly, in under an hour, and is bright red.
I call “gravy” Sunday sauce. It’s a 50/50 split, as people call it. Sunday sauce is always eaten on, you guessed it, on a Sunday as a family Sunday dinner.
Sunday Sauce is usually made on a Friday or Saturday since the prep time is lengthy and the sauce cooks on a slow simmer all day. This type of sauce always tastes better when prepared a day or two ahead.
“Gravy” is used because it contains several kinds of meats such as braciole, pork ribs or neck, sausage, and meatballs.
The meats are browned before adding them to the sauce, giving it a rich, brownish-red color. Meats are used when making any gravy; see how it makes sense now.
Yesterday, I made butternut squash manicotti with a creamy parmesan sauce with shallots and thyme. I served it with chicken Milanese. The two dishes were delicious and worth the time and effort.
While I was working in the kitchen yesterday, Marty asked me if a bomb had gone off in the kitchen. I have to admit the kitchen was bad even though I usually clean as I go, but that didn’t happen yesterday. When I have to pivot while I am cooking, things get wild.
Here is why I had to pivot. After attempting to make butternut squash ravioli, which failed miserably, I decided to make manicotti. Here’s what happened.
I rolled out my pasta dough. It was perfect, and it wasn’t sticking to the workbench. I used a small scoop when portioning out the squash filling on the dough.
I was holding my breath as I placed the other piece of pasta dough over the top. I carefully began to press the top to the bottom around the filling, and the dough started to break, and the squash was squishing through the top. Mother fucker! Ugh!!
After swearing, I took the top off, wiped the filling from the dough, and put it back in the bowl. The dough was very wet, so I needed to add more flour and knead it until it was smooth. This is gluten-free mind out so things were iffy at this point.
This was the point I had to decide what to do. Do I make lasagna like last time, or do I make manicotti? After I rolled out some rectangles, I blanched, filled, and rolled them.
The next step I didn’t plan on, but the manicotti needed a bechamel sauce. I’m a great sauce maker, so this extra step was no biggie.
I still had one last messy thing I had to do, pound out chicken breasts, bread them, and fry them. I popped them into a warm oven while the manicotti baked.
Then I tackled the inevitable clean-up, which was not that bad.
Here is the kitchen all cleaned up with the manicotti waiting to be popped into the oven. This cooking project was way more work and effort than I had planned.
I’ve yet to successfully make gluten-free ravioli after trying many times. It took me seven years to perfect our spatzle, so this is no different. I’ll figure it out. Someday.
