All Bets Are Off!

We once again tried to remedy our broke status by jumping on the opportunity when Thing One and Twinkle Toes invited us to a casino. We got the request - no, DEMAND- for our presence when we were nerding it up (having a total blast) at Political Quizbowl 2010. (One of us has been continually referred to "and your friend," which we have concluded is a result of Twinkle Toes not remembering names...) Of course, we immediately bolted out of the bar to drive quite a distance to meet these two, leaving a seemingly nice, successful, eligible bachelor - who actually approached us - behind. Too easy, too easy. Makes too much sense. That would have been the right thing to do, but we're journalists now and make sketchy decisions in the pursuit of truth, justice, and the American Way (the American Way, of course, being fodder for a trashy reality TV show).

However, all was not lost: we were able to cobble together what little information we had about this kind young man, piecing his identity together through his place of employment and a popular social networking site, and sent him a message apologizing for our quick exit and suggesting a cocktail at a later date, despite him suspiciously drinking water out of a plastic cup at the bar. If this trend continues, this "relationship" is a no-go.

Where were we... Oh yes: another hot-spot off of I-35 in the middle of Iowa. When we arrived at our destination, our two gentleman callers needed assistance in retrieving their vehicles that were, by all accounts, a mere ten miles away. An hour later, we miraculously found the trucks and convinced one of them that driving was not such a great idea. Due to a few wrong turns and killing a small animal, the drive home took a while longer. One of us was able to atone for a lifetime of sins because she had no CDs and was forced to listen to the only radio station: a mix of Christian rock and sermons.

Approximately two hours after our initial arrival at the casino, we were ready for the fun to commence. When was this fun supposed to start exactly? Was it after the Dynamic Duo fed hundreds of dollars in the slot machines and won nothing? (Hmm...) After they repeatedly asked the desk clerk if she wanted stale popcorn they had bought at the gas station next door? (Bad idea?) Or was it after they marked their territory by peeing in the garbage cans in the hotel rooms? (Red flag!) Perhaps after one of them climbed naked into the bath tub in a hotel room that was not his? (Abort mission!) Maybe after the guys were asked to leave the casino because they appeared to be too intoxicated? (Danger! Danger!) All of this occurred in between drinking warm bottled beer (us) and spitting tobacco into empty bottles (them).

The following morning at breakfast, after trying to solve the oil leak in the Gulf, finding federal funds to alleviate the massive cuts in education, and putting a stop to the domestic terrorism that is plaguing Thailand, three of us choked down runny eggs, stale French toast, and egg rolls (oddly enough on the breakfast buffet) while Twinkle Toes specially ordered a tuna melt, which he then thought may have been a bad idea following a night of warm beer and chewing tobacco. After breakfast we were left standing in the lobby alone because Thing One announced, "I gotta poop" and jetted upstairs, and Twinkle Toes saluted, said, "See ya," and peeled out of the parking lot.

Ah-mazing.

After a long recovery period, we decided to get together to recollect the night's events: were our minds playing tricks on us? Did we make it all up? Was it all a dream? Surely all of that could not have happened! Alas, our stories matched; it was true. You can't make this stuff up! We soothed our troubled souls with a meal of comfort food: chicken marsala, brown-butter gnocchi, sauteed spinach, and, of course, garlic bread.

Wir Haben Velveeta Gern

We would like to first apologize to our Irish, Italian, English, and whatever other ethnic culinary traditions from which we hail for always defaulting to German food. It is easy, it is cheap, and we have "the pulse of German cooking" on speed dial.

Despite paying for an annual gym membership, we just recently started going regularly. (By "just recently started," we obviously mean "today.") Prior to our workout, we made an action plan and identified exactly what we would need for dinner tonight. Although, we left this at home and had to improvise. We did, however, know the basic ingredients and thus set off to our local grocery store to purchase said items. After opting for a cart over a basket due to sheer laziness, we piled a few pieces of produce in, only to realize that our favorite urban grocery store did not carry white asparagus. So, instead of doing the easy thing and selecting another side dish, we unpacked our cargo and set off to Option B. While we typically make it a policy not to travel outside of the Des Moines city limits*, our relentless pursuit for white asparagus caused us to cross the border - to West Des Moines. (Unlike Arizona, we look to the West for imminent threats to our social well-being.)

Because we worked out this evening, we decided to go for German Grandma's comfort food. This included a lot of eggs, flour, milk, and butter. Apparently half a block of Velveeta wasn't enough. (While we're on the topic, we have three questions for you, Velveeta: why is the large box cheaper than the small; why, oh why, are you not refrigerated; and when did you make an appearance as a staple in German cooking?) It is a good thing that one of our dads is a cardiologist: it looks like we'll be paying him a visit shortly.

Findings of the evening: white asparagus is not worth the gas money to travel outside of our radius. Next time, real asparagus, you win. Velveeta, you are way more delicious than we gave you credit for - our apologies.

*Along with our grocery shopping, we also confine our dating distance to the city limits. Sorry, Altoona: 14 miles of city traffic is just too far. If you're in West Des Moines, you might as well be in China.

How Do You Spell "Hor d'Oeuvres"

Our first catering gig went off without a hitch, other than the food being done an hour-and-a-half too late (we wouldn't want to break our tradition) and the two single girls of the bunch missing the season finales to "Say Yes to the Dress" and "Four Weddings" (shows that, interestingly, air when lonely single girls are home alone on Friday nights). However, we were able to catch marathons of VH1's newest hit show, "Undateable" all weekend. Although the show was aimed for men, we thought we might get tips on where we go wrong (or, things we do right):

• We do not own Hawaiian shirts - even for Hawaiian Shirt Day at work. However, we have fake flower leis and Mardi Gras beads galore.
• We throw out all items of clothing prior to unfortunate yellow sweat stains (and by "throw out" we mean "donate to Goodwill and let them throw out").
• We have been known to drop the occasional "BOOYAH!" but only to show potentials that we watch ESPN.
• We may or may not own nunchucks.
• We wouldn't mind honing our skills at Guitar Hero - but only to ace "Don't Stop Believin'" on expert. We definitely do not aspire to be in Rock Band.
• We do not own jean shorts, and we laugh at anyone who does. Also, we strictly adhere to the "one-piece-of-denim-at-a-time" rule.
• Since we are so passive-aggressive, we readily employ the rule "Do not ask out via text message" and, in fact, avoid "asking out" period.
• One of us may need to ditch her Ed Hardy gear to avoid being picked up by The Situation. (This may have been advised nine months ago, but hey, we live in Iowa and missed that memo.)
• Neither one of us drives a windowless van.
• We are not wimpy drinkers and are very okay with boxed wine - especially if it costs $2. And, we do know better than to order wine at a sporting event and instead opt for $6 tall-boys of Bud Lite.
• We do not wear bluetooth equipment but had a lot of fun with the headsets while working at Old Navy.
• The "no tank tops" rule does not apply to us because we're girls, and they make our boobs look big.
• We can't decode vanity plates despite two advanced degrees in English.
• Oh yeah: and we can cook - and host kick-ass parties to boot!

Both of us took the day off of work to prepare for the most recent party. Given the fact that we were intensely hungover, it is nothing short of a miracle that we accomplished what we did. Granted, our prep time took three hours longer than anticipated, likely due to a puke-stop in the Target bathroom and intense calculations as to just how much money was left in the bank account prior to spending a small fortune to feed eight people. We broke the labor down like this: one in charge of the three D's (decorations, desserts, and drinks), and one in charge of the rest of the food.

Unfortunately, we did not take a picture of the Jungle Juice contained in a small trash can or the playlist that included every cheesy graduation song ever written. If you would like, we could petition Guitar Hero to pick up Vitamin C's "Graduation: Friends Forever" or Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten." We are sure that after listening to those on repeat for five hours we have them memorized.

The homemade truffles were started in a drunken stupor the night before. After all, wine does go with chocolate. It is shocking that they turned out as well as they did, especially after forgetting them in the refrigerator until an hour before the guests showed up.

Clearly the most difficult dish of the night: hand-dipped chocolate-covered strawberries.

The third (and least successful because it did not involve chocolate) dessert of the evening: fruit salsa and homemade cinnamon-sugar chips. Those would have turned out better if we had an oven that didn't burn half of everything we put in it.

The ever-popular asparagus roll-ups made a reappearance - and obviously quickly disappeared, as this tray was full 30 seconds before the picture was taken.

We heard the barbecued shrimp was good but were too slow on the uptake to try any. Also, we should have soaked the skewers, as we almost burned the apartment complex to the ground. Good thing we disabled the smoke detectors prior to cooking.

We're not sure the Swiss chard and bacon dip should have turned out with such a vibrantly pink hue, but whatever we did wrong made it absolutely delicious. Thanks, Martha.

Perhaps the most popular dish of the evening, the parsnip-chorizo-Manchego "sandwiches" were made completely blindly: who has ever tried a parsnip?

Clearly, these were horrible, and everyone hated them. We topped endives with mandarin oranges, chevre, candied walnuts, and a balsamic glaze - and promptly devoured all of them.

This was a two-part hor d'oeuvre: antipasto skewers with a pesto dipping sauce.

Last but not least, we have a homemade guacamole with non-homemade tortilla chips. Apparently everything we served accompanied some sort of chip or skewer. (This also includes our centerpieces: photos attached to skewers stuck in sand - see to the upper-left of guacamole for proof.)

Due to three dinner parties within seven days, we have decided to take a break and just cook for ourselves. For at least a week. Or until someone asks.

We Surrendered the V Cards

Because it is Monday, we need to recap our weekend. At first, we thought there was nothing to discuss, as it was relatively low-key. However, upon clearer recollection (i.e. visiting a certain website), we discovered there are some items of interest. First, after our bash of a dinner party on Friday night, both of us retired to our separate homes for bed - we were far too tired for any further excitement. However, Thing Two thought differently and called one of us at approximately 3:52 a.m. Apparently he (or his alleged girlfriend) was not pleased with the non-answer and felt the need to retry on Saturday night; please stay-tuned to the ongoing drama of this soap opera.

Second, while enjoying a fine ale (whatever was cheapest on tap) at our favorite establishment (whatever is closest to our homes), we enjoyed a game of Shuffle-Puck with two fine gentlemen, henceforth known as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dee's friend. (As far as we know, this is the last time you will hear about Tweedle Dee's friend.) A good time was had by all, but Tweedle Dee and friend did not ask for our numbers, undoubtedly because we kicked their butts. Note to self: to get a guy, let him win.

Third, at the same establishment, our favorite bartender (Tweedle Dum), who had the night off and was absolutely wasted, asked one of us for her phone number so that they could watch a World Cup game together this summer. Please note: the World Cup does not start for over a month, and one of us realized that is plenty of time to brush up on her international Futbol. (Hello Internet!) Upon realization that Tweedle Dum did not know our names without our credit cards in front of him, our entry in his phone read, "Hot Soccer Chick." (We may have utilized some creative license with that name...) Will he call? Doubtful. However, we do know where he works. And lives: with Tweedle Dee down the hall from one of us.

Aside from pulling out the Santa plates, we have run out of new options for our tablescape. We decided to jazz up tonight's entry with a beautiful iris that we picked out of our friend's backyard. (If we can pick the flower by pulling muscles while stretching over the fence that divides property line, it is legitimately ours...we mean, hers.)

To take a break from eating leftovers - thankfully the eggplant parmesan was delicious since we've been eating it for three days now - we made a beef stew; in addition, we felt we needed to eat as much meat as possible given our foray into the world of vegetarianism. Please note that the stew was an acceptable meal to cook in May only because it was 50 degrees at most and raining the entire day. We poured the stew over a bed of organic white rice and accompanied it with a side of roasted cherry tomatoes and asparagus...and iris.

(Take that, Sandra: we made this tablescape for FREE.)

Donner, Party of 9

Dinner Party #2 (the day after Dinner Party #1) started off less-than-ideal for several reasons:

1. We were absolutely exhausted due to a lack of REM (thanks, hangover-sleep).
2. We asked all of the couple friends we invited to bring a single friend; we had a dinner party with three couples and our sister.
3. We, for the second time in a row, attempted a completely new meal.
4. Half the eggplant we bought was rotten. This was discovered after researching how "brown" a normal eggplant should be. (Remember: overachievers. We Google everything.)
5. Eggplant takes three times as long to prepare as the recipe suggests - and five times longer than anything else in the entire world.
6. Ladyfingers are twice as difficult to work with as eggplant, making tiramisu a colossal waste of time.
7. Anchovies are gross.
8. We ran out of alcohol. Far too early.

Despite the "cons" of the dinner party, a fabulous time was had by all because, to quote Jill, Jill Zarin, we "run with a fabulous group of people." (The quotation must be read with an obnoxious Long Island accent. And by "obnoxious," we really mean "regional" and apologize to all of our Long Island followers.)

Because one of our nearest and dearest is a vegetarian (we promise not to hold this against her), we were not quite sure what to do. All our recipes involve some sort of meat, usually in large quantities, and the "v" is a dirty word. However, we searched high and low to steal a recipe from one of our favorite restaurants. Thus, "Broke 'n Single" eggplant parmesan over hot naked fettuccine, along with a side of homemade Caesar salad, was born. (We would like to ignore the disastrous tiramisu we spent too much time and money preparing and instead focus on the leftover Key Lime pie we actually ended up serving...)

Totals for the evening:

Bottles of wine: 10

Guests for the evening: 9

Cons: 8

Time spent making tiramisu: 2 hours

Time spent throwing tiramisu away: 2 minutes

Long Island followers: 0

Thursday Night "Dish"

We would like to start off by apologizing to our loyal readers - all five of them (three, of course, being our mothers and evil step-mommy dearest). Since being recognized by the local newspaper, we have stepped up our game by hosting multiple dinner parties. While this has not helped our single status and has had a detrimental effect on our broke status (and our livers), we are now the most popular friends ever!

Because we are such overachievers, we decided our first dinner guest should be none other than a locally renowned chef, one who actually attended culinary school. Like, for real (unlike us who were informed that the Food Network does not count as formal training, that one cannot be an apprentice in one's parents' kitchens, and that stealing recipes does not constitute chef-dom).

After much debate over the menu, we decided to do what one shouldn't do when entertaining a guest: prepare a meal that we had never before attempted. (Please see above: overachievers.) This debate continued well throughout the day via email and text across the city, until we finally decided the menu two hours before the dinner was to commence. The final decision was coconut-crusted snapper with a mango salsa and Caribbean black beans over white rice, followed by a homemade Key Lime pie for dessert.

The lesson we took away from all of this was not one from the kitchen: make sure to invite people from the restaurant industry to dinner parties on Friday nights, as 6:00 comes awfully early after seven bottles of wine (good wine, not the kind from the bargain bin).

While we may not be his next sous chefs, we will wear our sunglasses inside and expect the best seat in the house.

Stone Cold Cooking

After rereading through our old posts earlier today, we realized we could create the storyboard for the introduction to our very own "Intervention." While we do want a TV deal, we were hoping more for "Ellen" or "Real (Single) Housewives of Des Moines." So, we opted to cook tonight sans wine...or beer...or vodka...or cooking sherry...to give our livers and our pocketbooks a break.

So, for tonight's blog, we'll just focus on the food. This shouldn't take long.

Scanning through the refrigerator at several days' worth of leftovers, we needed a reason to throw those out and free up some Tupperware space: enter, picadillo. Tonight's recipe is actually a Burned original (if you consider the melding of two separate recipes "original," that is). Therefore, we would like to share it with you:

*Ingredients:

• A hunk of ground beef
• Almost a whole onion
• Chopped bell pepper
• A few scoops of garlic out of the jar
• Hunt's diced tomatoes
• A jar of olives (not sure if it matters what kind - we used the cheapest green ones we could find)
• Freakishly big capers
• A handful of golden raisins
• The right amount of white vinegar
• A little of each: cumin, ground cloves, bay leaves, salt, pepper, cinnamon
• The biggest bag of yellow rice you can find (it boils down and really doesn't make that much)
• Garnish with roasted almonds (if you already have them) and fresh parsley (but only if you can find it for 99 cents)

*Directions: throw ingredients into a big pot and cook until it's done. The rice, of course, gets its own; for that, follow the directions on the bag.

If you don't think this blog is funny, well, neither is our sobriety.

You Have to Confront the Duck!*

Before we discuss our amazing meal tonight, we must first describe the Thursday night adventure of our Broke 'n Single lives. After all, it's far more interesting than the cooking.

The night started with two gentlemen requesting our presence at a fine drinking establishment. As we were pulling into the parking lot, we received a message that our two prospectives had retired for the evening. However, since we had already put on make-up, we decided to enter the bar, risking life and limb for warm beer in a plastic cup. Upon entering the tavern, we immediately saw our two callers seemingly "calling on" two other girls...ladies...women...geriatrics. Because we left our switchblades in our other purses, we decided not to confront the situation at hand and instead located ourselves in the corner booth where we could spy without being seen. (Avoidance is our preferred defense mechanism, and our middle names are "passive" and "aggressive.")

It turns out we were only 50% correct in our assumption that we had been, in a word, ditched: one of the lads came to our table with a believable (enough) story as to why they had blatantly ignored us. So, we ordered several more beers and joined their ever-growing group of unruly friends who clearly had volume-control issues, as one of us left the bar partially deaf in one ear. It turns out, though, that the other 50% of our assumption was correct: Thing Two left the bar on his motorcycle with the two "more mature" women; we can only assume this was to ensure they took their blood pressure medication.

While one of us was engrossed in conversation with Thing One**, the other was left to fend for herself among a pack of married men and a lone single wolf who was currently unemployed and living with his parents***. In addition to warding off the verbal assaults thrown at her, she also had to block vodka-Red Bulls that were being haphazardly slid toward her across the table and then quickly taken away before she had a chance to anesthetize herself to the situation.

It doesn't take two Masters degrees to figure out whether to stay or go. You figure out what our decision was.

After the Thursday night debauchery, the next couple of days were relatively tame, as we took the time to reflect on our decision-making skills. The weekend culminated in tackling some classic Midwest recipes****. We also tried our hands at baking, and, as evidenced by our picture, the strawberry-rhubarb pie will henceforth be known as "strawberry-rhubarb swamp." Apparently we are not pastry chefs; in fact, we are not even chefs: we cook others' recipes and try to make them better and if not better, at least funnier.

*Please read in Julia Child's voice.

**She was actually trying to convince the prospective that starting an all-out bar brawl was not the solution to someone claiming he was bigger than him.

***While we exercise creative license in some - okay, most - instances, this was not one of them.

****All classic Midwest recipes call for "Cream of (insert name of food here) Soup," and our Runza casserole did not disappoint. Other common ingredients include Ranch, butter, beef/pork in some format, cheese, and anything out of a can.