Cabbage is in the air

June is here, which means one thing in Indiana. Cabbage. And here I sit, in my caftan, after a full day of eating cabbage stew in the mid-afternoon sun and 90 degree heat. I only wish you were hear with me, dear reader, as I gulp down this bottle of beer and do all these sit-ups I have planned.

You know, cabbage may have broken up several of my marriages (due to gas), but it has also seen me through my long-standing and chronic lower intestinal eccentricities and three of my hysterectomies.

But here's a fun fact. Do you know what else cabbage is good for? Engorged breasts!

Now, I have no children of my own -- as I am barren -- but my sister's children are like my own in that they never call, blame me for their inability to maintain loving relationships and pretend they don't know me when I take them to the mall.

Here's a "recipe" for soothing engorged breasts, for all you new mothers out there.

Ingredients: One head of fresh, Indiana cabbage.
Place cabbage leaves over your breasts, underneath your bra and leave them there till the cows come home. Also, you will smell like boiled cabbage for several days afterward.

Chunks of love

Have you heard of this machine called the crockpot? I haven't! Nevertheless, my obese friend "A" has given me a new recipe: Crockpot Chicken Cordon Bleu Rolls. Picture it: a bunch of chicken breasts, wrapped in swiss cheese and prosciutto. (I don't know what that is, so I plan to wrap mine in some of the fresher balonies.)

A note for the heftier ladies out there: "A" suggests using a whole can of cream of mushroom soup, instead of the half-can the recipe originally called for. (As I say, "A" is obese and struggles to find happiness. More than thrice I have found her down at the county fairgrounds, seeking the happiness only a toothless carny and an apple fritter can give a woman of her size...)

A's Crockpot Chicken Cordon Bleu Rolls
6 chicken breasts (pounded by chubby hands to 1/4-inch think.
6 slices prosciutto
6 thin slices Swiss cheese
salt, pepper
Can of cream of mushroom soup
1/4 cup milk
1/4 cup white wine.

Place one slice prosciutto and one slice cheese on each chicken breast. Roll and secure with a toothpick. (Note: Do not use a bobby pin.) Season each with salt and pepper ("A" also suggests adding Thyme, but I think she's just trying to sound thin.)Put the whole lot in the crockpot. Whisk together soup, milk and wine and pour over the chicken rolls. Cover, cook on low 4-6 hours or high 3-4 hours.

From a reader...

Dear Hostess,
I am writing in hopes of some personal advice. Over the years, I have had my share of loves and losses. Recently while visiting our local mall (in search of some comfy new feather pillows), I saw the man of my dreams. He is a 4'2" mall walker sporting a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck, camo pants, a mesh trucker hat (hey, cool!) while 'jamming' to something on his headphones (talk radio, I expect). As he breezed past me in front of my favorite scrap-booking store, I was affronted by the overwhelming scent of his Aqua Velva. I was immediately smitten. How can I get his attention?
Sincerely,
Head over heels

Dear Heels,
It's not everyday you find the mall-walking midget of your dreams. (Unless you're my dear friend Elsie, who, as we've discovered has "self esteem issues" in addition to her yeast problem.) So, congratulations. However, may I suggest caution? You see, men who "walk the mall" are known womanizers! Believe me, I've fallen for a few of this lot. (Although I admit, I've had trouble keeping up with them. One of my legs is four inches longer than the other, hence my corrective shoe.)
However, even if he is one of those "mall hounds," I suggest going for it, as you sound desperate! And the best way to a man's heart, as they say, is through either his nose or his stomach. I prefer to go the stomach route. In other words, invite him over, fill him full of booze -- and wear cotton to avoid a rash! For seductive times, I prefer a hot glass of glogg.

Glogg
1 750-milliliter bottle dry red wine
1/2 cup raisins
1/2 cup gin, vodka or both
1/4 cup sugar
Peel from one orange
8 inch cinnamon stick, broken
6 whole cloves
2 cardamom pods, opened
1/4 cup almonds

Stir the wine, raisins, booze and sugar together. Put all the spices in a cheesecloth bag and tie with a twisty. (I use the cheesecloth from my second husband's toupee, but that's for sentimental reasons.) Add the cheesecloth to the water and heat until simmering. Simmer for a while, about 10 minutes, but for God's sake don't boil it. Stir in the almonds just before serving it.

Oops I done did it again

That's right, folks. I've been left at the altar again! Picture me, in my cream pantsuit, covered in baby's breath -- I'd been watching my sister's grandchild. Being barren, I've never been able to have one of my own, although I'm a great collector of Marie Osmond's dolls! -- and wondering "where the boys are."
You see, it turned out my recent whirlwind romance was just that. Wind. Consequently, I've been on a many months-long bender since. (Don't worry girls, there is a silver lining. I've been able to catch several episodes of a great little show called "Ghost Whisperer," about a dead stripper who solves crimes!)
Nevertheless, I'm back ... and ready to "dish" the recipes from the "honeymooners" cookbook I no longer have any need for!
Here's a recipe for lime or orange parfait. I originally planned this treat for my honeymoon dinner. Alas, instead of a groom and parfait, I ended up dancing alone to "Muskrat Love" in front of several coworkers and a few friends. (I have no children, as I have mentioned.)
Lime or orange parfait.
Place alternate layers of lime or orange ice or sherbet and vanilla ice cream in chilled parfait glasses or sherbet cups. Top with salty tears.

A good egg

As a rule, I don't eat hard-boiled eggs. My third husband (in prison) can attest to this. Eggs bloat me and leave me tossing and turning all night, sending anyone who shares my bed running for the couch.

Therefore, I never include eggs in my salad nicoise. Why? Because two bites of an egg and the natural gas will send me half way to the moon by midnight!

This is why I am rarely invited to parties.

In my salad nicoise, I include tuna (which just so happens to also have been my nickname at teachers' college), olives, red peppers, green beans, scallions and a homemade dressing that will knock your socks off.

I offered this dressing to Miss Massengill once -- this was before my house tragically burned to the ground -- and, although she was offended by its tartness, she managed to grace me with a toothless grin. (Miss Massengill spent a small amount of time at a Mexican prison during the '80s. I won't go into it. But she lost all of her teeth -- and her heart -- while she was there.)

Salad Nicoise dressing
1/8 tsp of salt and pepper.
1/4 tsp prepared mustard.
splortch of lemon juice.
splortch of olive oil.
Whisk and pour over salad.

Another year wiser

My dear friend Janice celebrated her birthday this weekend with a lavish dinner at her place. Janice, a single woman of a certain age, would never tell you what a wonderful cook she is. (The menu included creme brulle with fresh raspberries.) What she will tell you are the details of her latest sexploits (most of which happened during the middle 70s.)

Janice -- as if you haven't already heard -- was once spotted canoodling with a famous midget at The Rainbow Room. (Hint: He looks great in a white suit.)

Now, here's the grim bit. Prior to the party, Janice broke the heart of her off-an-on boyfriend, who has the unfortunately name "Jan" and is chronically unemployed. As this was their third breakup in three months, I suppose it was inevitable that he show his true colors and go a tad berserk. You see, shortly after she ended their relationship, he tried stealing the groceries right out of her refrigerator!

Jan, have a little dignity. Please.

So, what record album do you bring to a birthday party where the hostess keeps frowning at the extra cutlet and knocking back the booze? This!



Hilarious! You can just tell by the cover what a cut-up this one's gonna be. (And if you can't tell by the wacky expression on his face, the vest is a sure give away!

My first husband

The one that got away. That's how I think of my first husband, Roger. But how could I not pine? Just look at that smile!

Roger was what I like to call "barbecue friendly." And before he faked his own death and moved to Tampa, he was a whiz with the barbecue tongs. Frequently, he'd scour the fridge for veggies, roast them on the grill, add them to a piece of flat bread and -- a dash of tomato sauce later -- he had a perfectly acceptable alfresco pizza dinner, suitable even for our Protestant friends!

When I think of Roger, I think of one thing: skid marks. The man loved to drive fast. And that often caused laundry issues at our house. To this day, I can't pass a bottle of bleach without thinking of him.

Roger, if you're out there, please write... I-I miss you.