Roasted Carrots Scented With Cumin and Lime

The other night for Hanukkah dinner we made these yummy roasted carrots with cumin and lime. I also fried latkes again but I'm so over those I can't stand to even write about 'em.

After my friend Shannan ate her 57th carrot she claimed, "I can't stop eating these carrots and I don't even like carrots!"

That's how good they are!

Make these carrots immediately and email me in the morning.

Roasted Cumin-Lime Carrots

1 pound thin carrots with fresh green tops
2 tablespoon olive oil
Juice and fresh grated zest of 1 lime
1 teaspoon honey
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon each ground coriander and smoked paprika
2 green onions, thinly sliced
Small handful fresh mint leaves, chopped

Heat oven to 400 degrees.

Trim the tops off the carrots Toss them on a baking sheet with the olive oil, lime juice and zest, honey, salt and spices.

Roast about 20 minutes, depending on size, until the carrots are just tender and beginning to brown. Transfer to a plate and sprinkle with the green onions and mint before tossing together and serving. I served them room temperature as an appetizer with champagne, that tasted like cough syrup (which I don't advise), and cheese and crackers.

Serves one hungry friend or 4 normal folks.

Confidential to Flora: I'm practicing posting recipes for "my cookbook"!

There was a battle, we won, let's eat!

Tonight was the first night of Hanukkah. Hooray!

Can you guess what we made for dinner?

Clay and I actually fried the latkes in the backyard because I can't stand when the house stinks like oil.

Whenever someone asks me to tell the story of Hanukkah, Passover or any Jewish holiday Clay likes to take over and tell his version, which is

"There was a battle, we won, let's eat."

It's not like some guy rose from the dead, geeesh.

Mr. Davidson

A few weeks back I promised I'd write about Hawaii and never did. I don't have a lot to say except our trip was really fun and Goldie is a very good swimmer now. So is George, but that's old news.

One day we were all sitting in the hot tub and George went under water causing his hair to form a little mohawk. A boy sitting next to him laughed and said, "You look like Tony Hawk." To which George replied, "Who?"

Instead of telling George who Tony Hawk was, he laughed and said, "You don't know who Tony Hawk is?" To which George defensively replied, "Well do you know who Harley Davidson is?"

To which I laughed.

What Rhymes with Chihuly?

Somehow we got invited to Dale Chihuly’s gingerbread decorating house party at his boat house this weekend.

This over-the-top party featured an 88 ft. table (made from a single slab of old-growth fir) packed from end to end with gingerbread houses and decorating candy for all the kids. (Even the Jewish ones!)



The space was beautiful. Look at the ceiling. ( Try to ignore Clay's weird facial hair.)



The kids begged us to let them swim in his pool.



Even the fish in the aquarium have their own glass sculptures. I wonder if they get nervous swimming so close to something so breakable?



Hopefully Mr. Chihuly didn't notice how much candy our family consumed and we'll get invited back next year. Plus, we didn't break anything and that's gotta count for something, right?

We're Back!

A strange thing happened while we were away in Hawaii: It turned to Fall.

So, today we got busy cleaning up all the fallen leaves. Goldie was excited to help Clay with raking, but she got a late start because she wasn't sure how to accessorize for such an outing. She eventually settled on a pink over-the shoulder bag, two beaded necklaces, and ladybug wings. I think she made excellent choices.

Just wanted to let you know we're back and there will be more about our trip later.

Dumb People and Smart Phones

Clay had had the same flip phone for at least 7 years. It's small and the only thing you could do with it was make phone calls. No texting. No camera. Nothing. I think it even had a rotary dialer on it, but I might have imagined that part.

My phone is junky as well but it has a killer keyboard and I can text like an 8th grader. It's also turquoise.

For some reason Clay decided WE were going to join the 21st century and see what these smart phones were all about.

I'd like to go on record at this point and say I did NOT want a smart phone. My phone may not be "smart," in fact, I think it was probably held back a grade or two and probably earned an "incomplete" at community college, but I was loyal to it. It was always there for me.

So, we went to University Village and Clay got the fancy new iPhone 4S and I got a 3G, which was free. So, we both walked out holding our new smart phones. We felt so cosmopolitan.

Anyway, let's cut to the good part. Four hours after the purchase we're home and Clay's in the bathroom and I hear, "Noooooooo!"

I knew immediately what had happened and yelled "Get it out! Just grab it!"

To quote our dear friend Margot, my husband is "more decorative than functional." He dropped his brand new iPhone in the toilet, thus proving you can own a smart phone and still be a big dummy.

The crazy part is we dried it and submerged it in rice for three days and Monday morning it fired up and has been working perfectly ever since.

It just smells a little funky.

What The Hell Is Wrong With Me and Some Pie

My dear friend Debbie sent me an email a few weeks ago with a link to a pie baking contest being held in Seattle and said I should enter. She often sends me emails with recipes I should make for her. She's bold. One time she visited Camano Island with us and upon leaving thanked my parents for inviting her when George interrupted and said, "We didn't invite you, you invited yourself."

True story and exactly why I love Debbie. She's fun and I only have room in my life for friends who are fun.

By the way, my editor, Clay Martin, is off gallivanting around town with his buddy Brendan who is in town for the weekend. I mention this only because he'd be editing me and telling me the aforementioned information isn't needed.

Back to the contest. Debbie believes in me and I have nothing to lose. I guess I'll enter.

Thursday night, the week of the contest, I made a practice apple pie. Clay took a bite and said, "this isn't award-winning." He was right.

I made some adjustments. Saturday morning, tweaked pie in hand I drove myself to the City Arts Festival pie baking contest.

I thought I was going to throw up.

I sat by myself in the back row and a friendly lady, who runs city-wide baking contests, came over to chat with me. She asked me which pie was mine and I couldn't even tell her. It looked terrible and I was feeling sad. I wanted to bolt but couldn't because I had borrowed my friend Curtis' fancy pie plate and had to stay to collect it at the end.

I listened to celebrity judges poetically talk about pie and why it was important in their lives. A blogger named Gluten Free Girl told a very funny story about Jerry Seinfeld and one of her pies. (By the way, what's up with a gluten free judge? We all know what she needs, gluten and some counseling.)

Once again, I digress. Sorry Clay...

I watched the judges cut and sample the pies. I was almost sure I saw Cormac, the owner of Madison Park Conservatory, bite a slice of my pie and spit it in the garbage.

I sank lower into my chair, cursing Debbie and madly texting her from my seat.

Finally it's time for the awards. All pies will be judged on "appearance," "taste," "nostalgia factor," and "overall awesomeness."

The first prize goes to someone who made a lovely meringue. It's a gorgeous pie for certain.

I sink lower.

Cormac (and Tilson) take the stage and talk about nostalgic pies. Cormac gives my pie best runner up in the the nostalgic category.

I straighten up a bit.

The rest is blurry but someone else gets up and my pie wins another runner up award! I don't even know the category because I was so shocked. And confused.

Then the lovely and talented Sara Dickerman gets up and gives my kick-ass pie the final award for "overall awesomeness."

Is this a joke? Did my parents hire all these people?

I call Clay and I also call Leora because she said, "Call me when you win."

And what's with all these nice friends who believe in me?

Then I stepped in a photo booth and took a picture of myself. I'm holding my prize, which is a certificate to have coffee with the pie master of Seattle, Kate McDermott.



By the way, my pie was salted caramel apple and I guess it was pretty good. Good enough to win prizes.

Pinch me.

Something's Missing

Look who lost his first tooth!

Act Now! Don't Miss it!

Last weekend my mom "babysat" George and Goldie for one hour while I ran some errands.

As I drove out of her driveway I could practically hear George yelling, "She's gone, let's turn on the TV."

When I returned, ONE HOUR LATER, George said the following;

"Mommy, there is a really big sale happening this weekend. They are going to have all the things you like. They even have bedroom sets!"

He also informed me "There's a fair happening. It's called the Puyallup Fair. We have to go. They said 'don't miss it.' That's what they said Mommy, 'don't miss it'."

George and Goldie have never seen broadcast TV at home. We just aren't TV watchers. So, this was George's first exposure to the very helpful world of commercials.

The next day as I was doing laundry, he saw my box of Oxy Clean and said, "Oh, this stuff can get out any stain. Seriously ANY stain."

Days later he was still talking about the Puyallup fair and how he "can't miss it" and I'm getting increasingly annoyed. So I called my mom, who thought all of this was hilarious. I told her that her punishment for corrupting George was to take him to the Puyallup fair.

And she did.

And the first thing she and my dad did when they got there was to buy him a cotton candy as big as his upper torso.



Hooray for T.V.

Ninja Sweatshirts!

So sorry for the silence, we've been busy avoiding earthquakes and hurricanes, both of which we escaped by days.

Yes, we are safely back in Seattle where we have quietly been readjusting to life at home. And truth be told, it's bittersweet.

George started playing on a soccer team and I've realized I'm no soccer mom. Not only do I not drive a mini-van but I know nothing about the sport. I sent him on the first day in seersucker shorts and a white t-shirt where he "played" against bigger kids decked out in fancy polyester shorts, shiny cleats and shin guards. My poor little guy didn't even notice he had a crappy blow up soccer ball that looked more like a beach ball. I did, however, buy him "new" cleats. (They were $1.96 at a consignment store on Camano Island. Score!)

Truth be told, George doesn't care about soccer at all. Tonight he admitted to the coach he's only in it for the team sweat shirt because it has a hood with drawstrings that can make you look like a ninja.

For this $7.99 sweatshirt he's going to make us suffer. Three times a week we have to cart him to the play field. And they couldn't have picked worse hours: Dinner time and Sunday mornings, which could make me miss dinner and brunch engagements.

And we all know George got my athletically challenged genes.

In Clay's younger years, age 32 to be exact, he played a mean game of soccer. Dan Tyler claims that during Clay's first game a teammate pointed at Clay out on the field and asked "who's the chick with the muscles?" Dan eventually realized he was talking about Clay. Clay's hair was quite long at the time. I guess that's what caused the confusion. That and the high heels...

Me and My New Friends

It was a cool and rainy August day. The kind of day you get only on the East Coast where the cool is a balmy 87 and the rain is only for five minutes, yet it soaks you to the bone.

(Clay is trying to edit me as I type, but this is MY story. I need the dramatic beginning. Trust me.)

Anyway, the rain. It was raining. I took Goldie and Milo to a kids' museum and Clay took George to the Spy Museum.

At the kids' museum Goldie and Milo were busy manhandling baby turtles and lizards when one of the staff walked and said, "Whenever famous people come in here with their kids I get totally starstruck." My first reaction was, "Oh Honey, don't get nervous around me, I'm really just one of you when it comes down to it." Then I realized there must be another famous person at the museum and she was itching to tell me who. "Cate Blanchett is here with her sons."

Five minutes later Goldie is sitting next to Cate Blanchett's son and happily painting away. Well holy shit, I'm a little star struck as well. Goldie and her son are practically planning their wedding and Cate and I are new BFF's. Except she isn't looking at me or even acknowledging me, which is understandable because she obviously feels intimidated.

Half an hour later they left for their hotel and I began texting people, "Guess who Goldie just had a play date with?!"

Later in the evening I'm still telling Clay all the details of the museum and how Cate touched Goldie's hair. Meanwhile, Clay's eyes have glazed over. He suggests I walk over to our favorite pizza spot near "our house" and get him a handful of slices for dinner. Not because he wanted pizza, but because he wanted quiet.

It's pouring rain, again, but as his dutiful wife I walk to the pizza place, getting soaked with each step. (Doesn't the rain sound so dramatic?)

At the Pizza Place there's a line to get in. As I get closer I realize it's the damn TSA folks again. They've followed me here from Sea-Tac lookin' for more action. But this time they have hand-held metal detectors. Once again I get frisked and searched but am allowed in. All this strikes me as odd because they don't do this at lunch. They must get a rough dinner crowd.

Then it occurs to me, The President must be here! I immediately ask the TSA guy what's going on and realize this TSA guy is actually Secret Service. He says, in one breath, "We have a special guest dining here and it's not the president."

I'm certain it must be a senator I've never heard of.

Then the adorable girl ringing up my pizza confides Michelle Obama is upstairs. She's giddy with excitement. The girl, not Michelle. Michelle's upstairs and I can't see her.

Side note: Just yesterday we went to the American History Museum where Goldie and I saw the gown Michelle Obama wore to the Inauguration and I told Clay seeing her dress literally made me tear up.

I need to see Michelle.

I plunk myself down at a table next to the stairs with Clay's pork infested pizza and pretend to eat. I figured she'll need to come downstairs at some point.

And she did. First Malia came down. Then Sasha, who was practically running, and lastly Michelle. I was arms length from the first lady when we made eye contact and she smiled at me. And yes, she was smiling at ME, I was the only person, besides the TSA guys, in the room.

And then I started to feel sad for Clay. I knew he was going to hear about "my dinner with Michelle and the girls" for the next few weeks.

So I walked home in the rain. And I didn't even mind.

An Open Letter to My Husband

Dear Clay Martin,

I wanted to post the above picture of George and Goldie just because it's so darned cute. But you said posting pictures of cute kids with no accompanying narrative is just a cop out. Your exact words were "You might as well take some adorable cat pictures and post that instead. You'd probably get more hits."

Well, you know what? There just happens to be a very attractive cat living with us right now during our house swap. So, I'm going to take your advice and post both pictures. Cute kids AND cute cats. Hah! I'll double my traffic. You know what's really a cop out? Your attitude is a cop out.

This is Kittyman. Adorable!



You loving wife,
Robin

And by the way: Rubbing the perfume samples from your Vanity Fair on the underarms of your shirt is NOT a substitute for bathing.

The Day I Went Out to Get Pancakes With My Dad

By George Martin, Age 6 and 1/4

Once upon a time when I woke up my dad told me we got to go and have pancakes and look for things. Here are some things we saw.

These are super hero puppets at the flea sale. We didn't see any fleas so I don't know why it's called a flea sale.





I ate all my pancakes and can even prove it since there is a picture of it.




This is a picture of a wizard that I like to pretend is Harry Potter. He's on my cup from the pancake restaurant.




This is a dead cicada that I kicked over that way it was on the right side. I then captured it with the camera.
I can prove it since there is a picture of it.



This is a picture with a car and a leaf fell off the plant and landed on the tire. Isn't that funny?



And that's the day with my dad. Except the day isn't over, it's just what we did this morning.

To learn more about George, see his blog at www.supergeorgemartin.blogspot.com

Della Where?

We're back in D.C. after taking a "vacation within a vacation," as George called it. We visited our good friends Errol and Ruth Ann in Wilmington, Delaware.

OK. I know what you're thinking: "You didn't go to Delaware. It doesn't really exist."

Before this trip I had never been to Delaware. I had never met anyone who had ever been to Delaware. I knew one person, Leora, who claimed to be from "Delaware" but she has a funny accent and can't say 'tomato' correctly. She is not a credible source. I had never seen a news item about Delaware. I don't think I had even ever seen a picture from Delaware. I was convinced it was an elaborate tax scam leftover from the 70s.

Well, I'm here to let you know it's all for real. Delaware exists and it's as cute as a bug. We visited a faerie garden and an ice cream farm and waded in a river and walked barefoot in a deserted field next to a pond, where from out of the woods emerged a woman riding a horse-drawn carriage. She galloped past and disappeared around a bend in the rolling hills, but not before Clay was able to capture photographic evidence:









And here's more photographic evidence of this magic land they call Delaware, where the birds nests are REALLY big (and the birds really cute).



Delaware does exist. And it's magical.

Aspirin-Flavored Cupcakes

On Sunday we went to a cute, but not super delicious, cupcake place called Sprinkles. Amongst the red velvet, salted caramel, mint chocolate, and other yummy flavors I noticed one was Walgreen's flavored. What!? I was very curious. What would a Walgreen's flavored cupcake taste like? Aspirin?



Then, after we had sat down to enjoy our four non-Walgreen's flavored choices, I heard someone order a Washington Nationals cupcake. D'oh!

For the other non-sports fans out there, the Washington Nationals are DC's baseball team.

Does Walgreens know they ripped off their logo? I smell a lawsuit.

House Swap, Take Two!

And... Action!

All is good here in the nation's capitol. Here's a brief summary.

At Sea-Tac airport George set off the metal detector and was subsequently asked to empty his pockets. He then pulled out 11 small stones, a fist-sized rock and a cell phone battery he had found at the park that morning. The TSA official sent his "treasures" through x-ray and determined they were all safe and gave them back. But before he could stuff them back in his pockets for the 5-hour flight, Clay intervened and told the official that he's pretty sure aviation safety standards forbid flying with cell phone batteries or rocks of any size and they should stay in Seattle.

George didn't complain. He just wanted to make sure they held them for the next three weeks so he could pick them up on his way back to town. They assured him he could.

I, on the other hand, had my fancy new non-toxic kid sun screen and a bottle of $75,000 face wash confiscated. George, apparently, can bring boulders and batteries on the plane, but I can't bring soap and sun screen. As you can imagine, I couldn't part with my beauty essentials so I checked my bag, which cost $25.

Then I was "randomly selected" for a full-body pat down by the TSA lady. And when I say "full body," I mean "full body." Clay claimed it was the hottest girl-on-girl action he's seen outside the Internet.

Gulp...

After all that, my bag didn't even make it to D.C. I had to spend our first full day in dirty clothes. (I actually kind of liked it. It made getting ready in the morning very simple.)

Our first two meals here BOTH involved American cheese. I've never felt so patriotic.

And this has been the hottest July on record in D.C.

We spent the evening of my birthday, which is today, swimming in a fancy pool with a view of the Washington Monument. (See above, it's to the left of Clay's ear.) We also ate cupcakes. Twice.

So far, so good.

Makin' Whoopie Pies

Last Tuesday was the second annual Oddfellows Whoopie Pie bake-off, which I won for Best Classic Whoopie Pie last year.

And the winner for the Best Home Baker Traditional Whoopie Pie 2011 is:

The Reigning Champion, ME!

And the best part about all of this is that next year I get to be a judge. 'Cus to tell the truth, between the Mexican chocolate, sea salt and caramel, espresso flavor, and other varieties of whoopie pies I experimented with in the week leading up to the competition, I'm SICK of making whoopie (pies). DONE!

Although, you have to admit these winning pies do look awfully tasty:



And my sea salt caramels, which didn't win, are easy on the eyes as well.



In other news, Milo said the following to me in the car today: "You go away. You're mean and you're crazy."

Who told him? Seriously. Who did it?

Happy Birthday America!

You don't look a day over 240.

Notes from the Weekend

Saddest thing heard this week:
"Mommy I don't feel well." (Milo in his crib at 4 a.m.)

Worst thing I heard from a complete stranger:
"Is this your child?" (In our front room from a lady who found milo wandering on his own on the sidewalk in front of our house.)

Dumbest thing I did:
Rubbed self tanner all over my face. (Clay called me Snooki all weekend.)

Most embarrassing thing I heard from a stranger:
"You must be really hungry." (From a lady at a dinner party who was trying to talk to me as I stuffed bread and cheese in my mouth.)

Cutest photo from the weekend:

Favorite Pictures From The Weekend

And the best part is all pictures were taken by Goldie.

Goldie looking up at Clay pushing her in the stroller:




Her adorable brothers:







Self Portrait:




And what one sees when they are 3' tall.

Look What I Found in Milo's Pants!

I just walked in the front door from dropping George off at school and Clay says to me, and I quote:

"I just found a tire gauge and two pieces of candy in Milo's pants."

And sure enough, stuffed down the back of his pants was a tire gauge and two pieces of candy (still in their wrappers). Good instincts, Milo. It's always good to be prepared. Just in case...

What We've Been Eating

Not that you asked...

Three layer chocolate cake for Nancy's 40th birthday. (Okay really 44 but who's keeping track?)



Homemade crackers, which Milo and Goldie LOVED sprinkling with salt, herbs and Parmesan cheese.









Rhubarb fresh from a friend's garden and quickly turned into this.



Chocolate bundt cake served in our sun room and shared with anyone who walked by.

What's One to Do With a 25 lb Bag of Flour?

How about celebrate three birthdays.

Every year the kids get to pick a theme for their birthday cake and I do my best to deliver.

This is what I started with:



And here's what I turned it into.

Goldie (turning 4) wanted a princess cake:



George (turning 6) wanted a rainbow cake:



And Milo (turning 2) wanted a Roomba cake:



Happy Birthday, Martin children!

Grandma Jan, You Owe Me.

Look what Clay wanted to buy you for Mother's Day.

Not sure what he ended up with, perhaps a turkey roasting pan.

Jesus vs. The Maccabees

Yesterday George was mad because everything was closed for Easter.

The last straw was when even the pottery painting studio was closed. He blurted out, "How come it's a holiday just 'cause some guy rose from the dead?"

And Clay piped in with his subtle jab at Hanukkah and said "Yeah, it's not like a candle burned for eight days or anything. Just some guy rising from the dead."

Sheesh.

The Ring

Months before I turned 40 I hung an ad for a ring I liked on our bulletin board to help Clay in case he wanted to buy any birthday gifts in July. Specifically the end of July. After all, his wife and the mother of his THREE children was turning 40!

Forty. Four Oh!

On the morning of my birthday, my fortieth birthday, that is. I opened my gift, which was the loveliest turkey roasting pan ever. (Thanks Nancy for helping Clay out. I'll get you back someday.)

Fast forward to yesterday when I rediscovered the ad for the lovely ring and asked George to leave it on daddy's desk with a little note on the top.



After all, Mother's Day and our anniversary are on the same day this year.

Imagine my horror when I saw the response on my desk this afternoon.


In case you can't read the fine print, it says, and I quote:

"Are you f***ing Nutz, Mommy?!"

It also has a little info about "my ring," which says it retails for a mere $2,000 to $17,000.

Harrumph.

Banksy and Goldie

Last week we were fortunate to receive some beautiful and unexpected art from three up-and-coming artists.



I actually like the drawings. I just wasn't a big fan of them being rendered on the walls of George's closet.



Does this qualify for Seattle's free graffiti removal program? Better get that number in my speed dial.