Category Archives: Musings

PW Weekend: the Lodge

This past weekend I hung out in Oklahoma with The Pioneer Woman herself, 7 other lovely lady guests, and a whole hoot-dang of other people, including the basset hound Charlie.

Yes, I realize I just included him in the list of ‘people.’

I keep asking myself, did it really happen?

The over 700 pictures on my camera say: it did.

I still have a feeling of disbelief as I look at these.

I’m telling you up front, I need to process this in tidbits. We’re going to start small: with our arrival at the Lodge Friday night. Other tidbits will include Charlie, the cats, feeding the wild horses, chocolate and cookie decorating lessons, all the lovely ladies I met, and of course Ree herself. The red headed, sweet, funny, blogging machine. And I mean ‘machine’ in the kindest, most admiring way possible.

Let’s just take this step by step–it all started with a white limo at the Tulsa airport.

Serge was our driver.

As we wended our way along dusty country roads, I suddenly realized how big the sky actually is. Chicago likes to cover up her celestial nudity using things like skyscrapers, trees, and generally cityscapes. Oklahoma just lets it all hang out–she ain’t hidin’ nothin.’

See? I even picked up a fun new accent!

Anyway, we arrived at the Lodge as the sun was starting to set.

Two kitty cats greeted us. They smelled a little funny and needed a bath, but they were the cuddliest creatures you can imagine. If you made so much as eye contact, they started purring up a storm.

We arrived at the same time as friends Jennifer and Ann. Ann kept saying “I’m freaking out!” over and over again, her absolutely infectious laugh ringing out loud and clear.

Ree had left us a note on one of the counters welcoming us.

“I’m freaking out!” said Ann.

My Mom and I got the bedroom at the end of the hall. It was gwaahgeous.

Hello, Mr. California King. Helllooooo scrumptious gift bag from Chefs Catalog.

I think we may become close friends on this trip.

Each of the four fabulous bedrooms had its own bathroom. Somehow we ended up with the most deluxe of the four.

I quickly made a date with the bathtub. “You and me, Saturday night, with a glass of wine, OK?” I whispered.

It was a magnificent experience–more about that later.

The hand lotions were soooo nice and scenty.

Once we had settled in, we scampered back up the hallway towards the main living area.

As we guests hung around getting comfortable, getting to know each other, getting used to our surroundings, and photographing the sunset, I floated around in my happy place feeling a little like Goldilocks.

We explored the pantry.

Christy from Colorado climbed the ladder. Hi Christy! You were such fun to be around!

. . . and the laundry room.

I just had to show you because–guess what–Ree and I totally have the same trash can, like!

I think it’s a sign. It either means we’re bound to be BFF’s fohevah-evah–or maybe that we both shop at Target.

I choose the BFF’s interpretation. Just let me live in my fantasty world a little longer. Please?

The crowning jewel of the Lodge, though, is the kitchen.

The countertops of poured cement . . .

. . . the funky metal bar stools and fantastic ‘island’ perfect for the cooking demonstrations the next day . . .

. . . the huge stoves and ovens . . .

Even the paper towel holder had character!

Très Old West.

Monday I am going to be doing a little expose on Charlie the basset hound. His droopy eyes, his saggy persona, and his vicious temper compel me.

Happy weekend everyone!

Project ice cream space

Last night I processed some pictures. Pictures of a certain Lodge, a certain basset hound named Charlie, and a certain woman named Ree Drummond.  I’m thinking either Friday or Monday I will finally face the world with the PW Weekend series, part #1.

Why haven’t I snappity snapped out parts 1-70 already, you ask? Well, see, I have this guy that hangs around my apartment who likes to call himself my ‘husband’, and this man-creature has been requiring my attention for a couple evenings. I know–the nerve! But after all the busyness of the past couple weekends, we were waaaaay behind on our snuggling quota. And that may take priority over, um, blogging? Um, if that’s OK with you? So for today, a story of meat and ice cream and their ongoing battle in our home.

Are you upset that I’m making you wait? OK, fine.

Here’s a completely gratuitous picture of Ree. I snapped it last Friday night.

Happy?

OK, great. And now for something completely different.

I blogged a while ago about how full our freezer was, and conveyed my hopes of freeing up some space so that for the first time in over a year we could fit in some ice cream.

That hasn’t happened yet, but to spur ourselves on towards our goal, we have officially inaugurated the policy of using the food we have until the ice cream fits. I am no longer welcome to shop in the fish or meat section of our grocery store and refill the freezer gaps we create with new frozen delights. And I’ve only broken this rule about 3 times! I consider that a triumph. The only thing I’m truly dreading is having to cook that dang duck. Duck seems like the kind of dish that could go horribly wrong, doesn’t it?

Significant progress was made in Project Ice Cream Space a few Saturdays ago, when the late hour of 10pm found us immersed in a cooking tornado.

The second arm roast from my grandfather Big Jake, an unwieldly hunk of meat responsible for occupying a solid 15% of our freezer, had been defrosting all day. From experience, we knew this arm roast would not fit into one pot. So we did it again–we made two pot roasts out of the one arm roast.

Have you ever cooked late at night? It has a completely different feel to it. It adds a component of madness. And frenzy–a frenzy to get to the relaxing part of Saturday night. Knives, onion skins, and raw meat seemed to be everywhere.

I used the same recipe that I’ve shared before. It has blueberries, it has balsamic vinegar, and if you don’t try this amazing combination, the word ‘friend’ will hold no more meaning betwixt us. That’s right, it’s a pot roast ultimatum.

I just have to draw the line between ‘friends’ and ‘enemies’ somewhere, folks. I hold firm to my values of peace, love, truth, Balsamic Blueberry Pot Roast Delight, and justice.

Just kidding! Please keep being my friend. Thank you.

By the end of all the cookery we were ready to settle in and watch a movie. My dishwasher/sous chef was pretty beat.

I dutifully set my alarm for 6am the next day so that I could pop the roasts in the oven bright and early. . . and then scramble back into bed.

As a result of all this madness, soon our freezer will have room for some French Vanilla. Chocolate Caramel. Peanut Butter Chocolate. Mango Sorbet.

Since the theme of this post is obviously ‘excess,’ tomorrow I will be posting the result of another excessive venture: Mini Pumpkin Muffins. They are delicious. They are addictive. And the recipe made 72 of these little orange guys. That’s for a household of 2 people. I’ve been eating those guys for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and hoping that my metabolism can just pretend they never happened.

Dear Metabolism,

Please do some magical math and make the dozens of mini pumpkin muffins I ate become a smaller number. Please take any excess fat that may have been consumed and churn it into energy as quickly as possible. Do not allow the aforesaid fat to think it’s welcome to stay. It’s not! It must go! EVERYTHING MUST GO!

Anyway, I promise to do some leg lifts or something tomorrow when I have some more time, and we can make ammends with the laws of physics and biology at that point.

Thank you for your consideration,

Jenna

P.S. This is especially urgent since project ice cream space is about to allow more fat-laden foods into my home. Please get back to me with a response at your earliest convenience.

Recipe for mini pumpkin muffies will be up tomorrow! You may want to write advance letters to your own metabolism–or invite over 72 friends so that there is a ratio of only one muffin per person.