Most of the time, I live my life like the squirrels on campus live theirs. 

I do what I have to get done, stick pretty much to myself and try to draw as little attention to myself as possible. 

But there are other things I have in common with the squirrels. I spend most of my life looking for food to eat, and everyone knows that beneath my go-with-the-flow attitude, I'm really up to no good.

Think about the last time you spent a nice afternoon outside the Union, eating a sandwich, engaging in a staring contest with that innocent-looking squirrel. He seemed as though he was just enjoying sharing the common space of the world with his human brother or sister. But really, you knew he was sizing you up, weighing his chances to steal that meatball sub right out of your greasy fingers.

In my own subtle way, I'm always looking for ways to stick it to the Man. If you're like me, less of an outright rabble-rouser and more of a sneak-extra-packets-of-Splenda-into-you-coat-pockets type of corporate Erin Brockovich, you're going to love this week's recipe. 

STICK-IT-TO-THE-MAN DUMPLINGS
Homemade anything sounds all hoity-toity, not to mention extremely expensive. But never fear! You too can make "homemade" deep-fried Chinese dumplings out of the things that are in your fridge (and from a lot of things you can buy on campus). Consider it a tiny middle finger to those haughty culinary know-it-alls.

You'll need:

Flour, water, meat, veggies, oil, seasonings and honey

Really. That's it.

Pour about a cup of flour (one cup yields enough to feed two comfortably) into a bowl and start to add water. In the end you should get a ball of dough that isn't hard or dry but isn't sticky either. Cover with a wet paper towel and let sit.

The filling is your canvas for creativity. I like to use leftover chicken or pork (you can get chopped up grilled chicken at Outtakes in Offenhauer that work just perfectly for this) diced and mixed with whatever veggies I can find. 

Put all your ingredients into a skillet, and sauté in butter and honey. If you like a little heat, now is the perfect time to add chili powder and pepper. Once cooked all the way through, put the filling onto a plate to cool.

In the same skillet, heat up about half an inch of oil. While the oil is heating, take tablespoon-sized pieces of dough, and flatten them into discs. You've got to make the dough as thin as possible, or you are going to have a thick and nasty failure on your hands. 

Onto the thin circle of dough goes a tablespoon of filling. Fold the dough so you have a half-moon shaped dumpling, and crimp the edges closed with a fork.

Carefully drop the dumpling in the oil. Keep a close eye on the cooking because it will be perfect and brown and delicious in no time. Drain onto a plate with a paper towel to wick up the extra oil.

This perfectly easy and tasty meal can be finished with any number of things that can be bought on campus -- Uncle Ben's rice, Ramen noodles or bagged salads make delicious choices.
The hardest part of my day is facing myself in the mirror and coming to terms with my freshman 15 (and my sophomore 20 and my junior 25). 

Considering the horrific things going on in our world, I guess this little dilemma doesn't rank too high on the things-that-are-actually-important list. But similar to the way Main Street gets a little hazy when you're looking at it Saturday night through your beer goggles, my bedroom mirror seems to become the fun house mirror from hell any time my self-esteem is low and my pity-party-tolerance is high.

At times such as these, most would probably suggest I suck it up, wipe the snot off from under my pathetically dripping nose and make a trip down to the ol' Rec Center. 

My vegan friend advocates less processed foods; my meat-eating friend has been known to offer me a bite of the half-eaten burger in his book bag. I've tried everything from adding more fiber to using less carbs, drinking more water to eating less sugar. One time I tried to eat only fruit and protein shakes (and an entire bag of colored marshmallows when my roommate wasn't looking).

At this point I bet you think I'm going to give you a recipe for a healthy, and probably meal-plan-friendly, easy-peasy meal. Instead, let me introduce you to my new favorite guilty pleasure: deep-fried avocados. 


Deep-fried avocados, recipe for satisfaction
1 cup of beer
2 cups of flour
A pinch of garlic powder
A pinch of salt
A pinch of pepper
Vegetable oil (enough to get about 1/4 inch up the side of a pan)
2 avocados


Start by pouring your oil into a pan and heating it over medium-high heat. Mix together the beer, flour, garlic powder, salt and pepper. This is the most important time to make sure the taste is right. Once you like the taste, judge the consistency of the batter. If it's too runny, add more flour. If it's too gloppy, add more beer. In the end, you should have a batter that is thick enough to grip the avocado without becoming too heavy on the slices. Let this stand while you peel the avocados and cut each into six wedges. 

In general, the colder the avocado, the easier it will stay together during this whole process. Also, the cooler temps help the batter stick the best. You'll know your oil is ready to go when a splash of water dances on the surface.

Dredge each piece of avocado in the batter, shake off any excess and drop into the oil. These things cook up really fast, so keep a watchful eye on the level of brownness you've got going on. Flip each avocado once before fishing it out with a slotted spoon or a pair of tongs.
I'd suggest allowing each deep-fried gift from God to drain off a bit of that oil onto a piece of paper towel or recycled brown grocery bag. That way, you can tell your reflection in the mirror that it's not as bad for you as it seems.
What do Johnny Depp, Renee Zellweger and Dick Van Dyke have in common? Other than their dashing good looks and big, fat wallets, it seems these Hollywood actors are as different as John Wayne and Communism. Upon closer examination one begins to see a pattern. Along with likes of Natalie Portman, Meryl Streep and Reese Witherspoon, our unlikely trio is among the ranks of Yanks sporting British accents in major roles. 

Not all of us have the time (or the moolah) to hitch up our wagons and make a trip to the old country. So, when we start to pine for the things of Dukes and Danes, but don't have the plane ticket to make it happen, I suggest we do as the proverbial "Romans" do. We've got to fake it until we make it, my fellow Americans. And the first stop on our imaginary tour is, of course, the cuisine. Meal plan style.

Apples and Cheese
The easiest and most meal-plan friendly way to feel like you're sitting at a street café in France instead of your 10 by 8, snow-logged dorm room, is to break out a taste sensation often overlooked by mainstream American eaters. Any combo of cheese and apple is to die for, but my favorite bastardized recipe is Granny Smith and cheddar. Sure, real Europeans are making fun of you. But your stomach is saying thank you.

Tomato and Cream Cheese Crackers
Alright, I'll be honest. I have no real evidence that this recipe is related to Europe at all. I made it up two days ago when in a mood for sweet and salty. But, it's just weird enough that when you make it you can probably convince your friends that it came straight out of your great-great-Nonna's secret recipe box.

Cube up a fresh tomato or drain a can of tomato pieces and put them into an oven-safe pan. Season with a generous pinch of salt (garlic or onion salt is even better) and a healthy dash of pepper. Roast until fragrant, probably about 10 minutes at 400 degrees. While the tomatoes are in the oven, slather Ritz crackers with cream cheese. Top each cracker with a bite of cooked tomato, which can be eaten hot or cold.
The Super Bowl is an easy out for any self-respecting food columnist. The only thing more synonymous with the Super Bowl than--duh--football is the marathon of stuffing one's face with wings, dip and a plethora of deep fried classics.

So, naturally, my column right before the big show should play to the tune of "Top 10 Ways to Give Your Friends Heart Attacks," or maybe, "44 Foods Shaped Like Drew Brees' Hair." Right?

Wrong-o.

Instead of following the path most travelled, I'm going to savagely take advantage of this platform allotted me to talk some major Super Bowl smack. Don't fret, though. I'll make it food related. Somehow.

Peyton Manning is the Man(wich)
Break out your favorite meat-product and chow down this Sunday while watching Peyton Manning be generally awesome. Aside from his unprecedented four MVP awards, his glimmering Super Bowl ring from '07, and his roguish good looks, the middle Manning is just plain hilarious. Remember when #18 was on "Saturday Night Live?" If his passes to Garcon are nearly as accurate as his throws that beam small children in the back/head, then the Colts have this one in the bag.

Reggie (Bruce) Wayne's Got Wings
Since Val Kilmer in "Batman Forever," there's been nothing that flies smoother into a party than buffalo wings in a variety of sauces. Chow down and sit back while Mr. Wayne dazzles the Saints' defensive secondary with his blazing speed and wits. So, according to my equation, Reggie = Batman and The Saints = The Joker. You, me and Heath Ledger all know how that equation pans out.

Reggie Bush Bakes Beans
Don't forget to adorn your dining room table with a piping hot crock pot of America's favorite sweet baked beans. Sure, Bush is talented. He's dangerous. He's elusive. But he's as inconsistent on the field as he was in Kim Kardashian's bedroom. I mean, why else would that relationship not have worked out? If elementary recess has taught me anything about beans, it's that "the more you eat, the more you toot," so to finish off my stretched metaphor, Reggie Bush is smelly.

The Saints are the Under (Mini Hot) Dogs
One thing we can all agree to celebrate is that, finally, yours truly can root for the team that's not coming into the game last place, far fetched and Bo-Sox-esque. If nothing else, the Colts are winners, which makes eating those crowd-pleasing, smile-winning mini hot dogs even more satisfying. And to all of you who don't have a team in the game Sunday and who naturally root for the underdogs, cut me a break. You're talking to the girl who's been an Indiana Pacers fan since birth. And I know that more than a few of you Browns fans out there feel my pain every time Brady Quinn steps into his uniform.
Let's play a game. I'll say a word, and you say the first word that pops into your brain.

Cat. (Meow). 

Carrot. (Top). 

Nancy Pelosi. (Miss Havisham).

Now let's try one that's a little harder. What do you think of when I say the word, "bachelor?" I asked this question to my buddy in class and he immediately said, "party." The kid next to him, whom I've never talked to before mind you, offered, "pad," and then an awkward giggle. Other popular responses were, "'s degree," "ette," and "the." 

I, on the other hand, immediately think of my dad's famous Bachelor's Special when the topic of unmarried males is brought up--and now that I think of it, perhaps that was my father's plan all along... 

The Bachelor Special is basically what McDonalds ripped off from my dad and called their "McGriddle." The only difference is that The Bachelor Special is heaven on earth instead of regret in stomach. A word of warning to those who attempt this recipe: a key ingredient is my dad's magic touch. So unless you are Kirby and can swallow my dad to gain his Copy Abilities, this blog is more informational than useful.

THE BACHELOR'S SPECIAL
This hangover-curing recipe begins with the making of pancakes. Either box or homemade versions will work--the only qualification is that the pancakes must be delicious and fluffy. An easy way to ensure that your pancakes don't get tough is to only flip them one time. No pressure or anything. Butter up the pancakes to your unhealthy liking.

This next part requires a certain je ne sais quoi, so practice really makes perfect. Brown your favorite brand of sausage and cut up into bite-sized pieces. While they are cooking, crack some eggs into a bowl and mix heartily with a splash of milk, a pinch of salt and a dash of pepper. Once the sausage is cooked or heated through, add the egg mixture. The goal is to get an egg and sausage patty that is about the size of a pancake and this is a lot more appetizing than the fast food counterpart.

Stack all of the delicious layers and douse in syrup. The Bachelor's Special is best if eaten in conjunction with the biggest glass of orange juice you can muster.
he men who have impacted my life are as varied as the phases I went through in high school (the Capri pants and tall sock phase was by far the worst). My dad taught me not to take people's crap; my fiancé taught me that people really can be perverted all the time; Reggie Miller taught me to feign injuries to get what I want.

I learned to take on the man when Jimmy Stewart went to Washington, and I learned how to forgive and forget when Harry Potter named his son Severus. 

But the best lesson I ever learned was to laugh at myself (at least as much as I laugh at others). I owe this education to one giant, fiery-haired, spaghetti noodle of a man -- Mr. Conan O'Brien.

To honor the funny man turned corporate punching bag, I've compiled a menu of all of my favorite Conan-inspired things. Consider it a menu to be enjoyed at the funeral of late night.

In the Year 3000 Island Dressing: In the year 3000, this dressing will still look like the gagged-up combo of mayo, ketchup, Tobasco sauce and pickles that it is made of.

The Max Weinburg Special: Just try eating a chicken breast or Heinz's spotted dick without feeling awkward.

Triumph the Insult Corn Dog: Making inappropriate comments to women becomes much easier while chomping on an apropos prop.

Conando Supreme: Todo es mejor en español. Bailé con el pepino. ¿Vea?

Masturbating bear claws: Perfect for those times you just want to enjoy a little solo satisfaction.
"Pride and Prejudice" is basically synonymous with every 13-year-old girl's (and 20-year-old food columnist's) dramatized view of her high school world. 

Longing looks past his locker. A knowing glance in Geometry. And when he says he doesn't date bookworm losers, what he really means is that he is kind of guarded and living with a huge burden of honor and duty.

Good old Jane might as well have told us Santa exists all over again. We're already leaving milk and cookies out for when Mr. Darcy shimmies down our chimneys.

The only remedy I can see is to expose the dark underbelly of Jane's world--the world of dowries, arranged marriages and women having to constantly wear dresses. The dark, non-indoor-plumbing world as our depressing friend Charles Dickens might see it.

So, in honor of marriages of convenience and other dashed dreams, I've compiled my favorite hot dog wrap recipes. Just because Mr. Darcy won't wrap up his dog for you doesn't mean you can't enjoy this tasty symbolism, 19th century realism-style.
Dear Santa, 
I've got a problem. 

No, not the kind of problem that makes Mom and Dad so flustered they resort to spelling in front of you even though you're twenty years old. My problem is more Christmas related and a lot less awkward. 

I want to get presents for all of my friends this year and I want to make sure they know I care about them. The only small pittance I can afford is those free Bibles the Gideons passed out at the beginning of the school year. And I'm not sure what my humbly-wrapped New Testament will say exactly to my Jewish friend. 

Tell Mrs. Claus, "Hey." She really doesn't get enough credit for living with you at home 364 days a year. 

Lots of love, 
Taylor 

For Your Secret Crush 
Mint has been playing double agent for the Holiday Camp and the Love Team for ages, being both a mild aphrodisiac and jolly childhood memory all at the same time. I love the idea of a glass jar filled with hot cocoa mix, wrapped together with some marshmallows (sprinkled with mint extract for subtle sexiness) and a giant peppermint stick (which is much less subtle). Just try to keep your memory of opening that first bike and the memory of your first kiss separate, or we'll have another awkward "George Costanza and his corned beef during sex" incident. 

For Your Dude-Bro Amigo 
Brownies don't have to be filled with pot to be addictive. Make any standard box brownie. I like to cook them just a few minutes short of done to get the perfectly moist square. But instead of frosting in the plain old way, melt down a few Butterfinger bars in the microwave. Pour the peanut-buttery mixture all over the top of the warm brownies, crumpling another of the candy bars over the top for good measure. Once they cool, the brownies will be gooey on the inside and crunchy on the outside. 

For Your Oddball Buddy 
Popcorn is the perfect canvas on which you can paint all sorts of weird and disturbingly good flavors. And if Yves Klein can paint blue squares and call it art, then you can convince that artistic, Etsy-loving, thrift-shop-wearing friend that this culinary gift is a frickin' Van Gogh. Start with a standard popcorn in a big bowl. Over low to medium heat, warm butter and brown sugar to get your standard caramel corn taste. From here, you can get creative. I've had awesome caramel corn seasoned with some leftover bacon grease that is just delicious. You could even try a little bit of peanut butter and jelly melted into the butter and brown sugar to get that great elementary school flavor without the glue.
I'm fairly certain all my professors are in cahoots, much like Digger Phelps' tie and high lighter are in cahoots to match in color on College Basketball Gameday. Between final projects, speeches, papers and schmoozing, I'm finding myself on my last proverbial nerve (because as we all know, no one can literally be on his or her last nerve). 

Needless to say, students are about as ready to come back to school after Thanksgiving break as Uncle Henry's pants were willing to stay buttoned after he finished his dinner. While the fading smell of pumpkin pie is still intermingling with the memory of Mom's face when you showed her your new tattoo, you are now realizing that one of the best culinary moments of the year is sadly over. 

Not only do you have to get through one more week and exams, but also you're now loaded up with armfuls of crusty stuffing and mushy potatoes that your family couldn't let you leave home without. But before you try to get back into those yoga pants and reach for the Special K and plain oatmeal, live Thanksgiving just a little while longer, and put those leftovers to good use. 

STUFFED CAKES (NO FROSTING REQUIRED) 
The worst feeling in the world is when you open up day old stuffing and it's all mushy from the condensation inside of the Tupperware. My microwave seems to get a kick out of this and only makes the situation worse when it turns my shmushy stuffing into warm shmushy stuffing. Instead of nuking your leftovers, try pan-frying the stuffing. Pack it tight into little cakes, and the end result is buttery, crunchy-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside awesomeness. 

MORNING-AFTER OMELETS 
Sauté your favorite breakfast veggies and meats in a large, buttered skillet pan until they are fully cooked and have taken on some color. Some of my never-fails are green peppers, mushrooms, ham and onions. In a bowl, whisk together eight eggs and three cups of leftover mashed potatoes. Once your fixins' are cooked the way you like them, pour the egg and potato soup over the top. Cook until right before the egg is completely done and top with as much cheese as you can manage. A quick trip under the broiler melts all the cheese and finishes the egg. Serve like you would a pie. Eat with as much fervor, also. 

IT'S CHICKEN SALAD, ONLY WITH TURKEY 
Shred up cold leftover turkey with your fingers until the pieces are bite sized and rustic looking. Next, cut up a fresh, juicy apple (I like pie apples for this) and put all the shreds and apple pieces into a bowl. Top with some mayo, but not so much that the mixture becomes like pudding with lumps. You want the mayo to bind the turkey and apple, not dominate them. Salt and pepper until your heart's content, adding nuts or vinegar for an extra splash of flavor.
Feeding yourself off campus for the first time is a lot like eating a Warhead (which, ironically, is a lot like going through the stages of grieving). 

First, there's denial. 
You hold that Warhead in your hand, chuckle at the silly cartoon man on the front and let the image of you, straight-faced and unaffected, dance in your mind as you pop the candy into your mouth. You say, "I'm bigger than this Warhead. I can handle this." Right, chief. 

Second comes anger. 
Your saliva glands burst in protest as the sour taste coats every part of your mouth. Some shout or throw things at this point. My brother has been known to give noogies in response to the Warhead's vicious lash. 

Third is bargaining. 
I also like to call this stage "begging." Surrounded by a gaggle of laughing friends, you beg for relief from this self-inflicted pain. You wonder, "Why didn't I just go with the Snickers?" Your friends are happy you didn't. 

The following stage is depression.
This is the stage where your tongue is just too tired to fight back and your brain is unable to come up with any probable reason why your hands would have put this horrid candy in your mouth in the first place. 

But, just as you slide into the final stage of acceptance, the Warhead rewards you with a sweet wave that washes over your yearning taste buds. Being separated from the safety of your always-there, fully prepared dorm food can be a tricky situation -- no matter how much you're looking forward to moving from Harshman to Scott Hamilton. One way to go through the off-campus grieving cycle faster is to be armed with a culinary backup plan. It's a lot harder to miss the odd snoring of a roommate who's five feet from you when you have a full stomach.

Total time: 25 min
Makes: 4-6 servings
Ingredients:
1 lb small shell pasta
2 tbsp olive oil
3 large cloves of garlic (minced if you want)
1/2 small onion
28 oz crushed Italian tomatoes
1/2 cup fresh basil leaves (torn in small pieces)
1 cup basil pesto sauce
1 cup ricotta cheese
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano


1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt the water. Add small shell pasta and cook for about nine or 10 minutes. The pasta will be a little chewy. The pasta will soak up more juice and keep on cooking after we drain it, so we need it to be a little under cooked. 

2. Preheat a deep, big skillet or a medium saucepot over medium heat. Oil up the pot and add the onion and garlic. 

3. Cook, stirring a lot, for about five minutes or until the onions are mushy and look yellowish-clear. Add the tomatoes and stir. When the tomatoes come to a bubble, reduce the heat under the sauce to low. Stir in basil pieces to make them wilty. Season the sauce with salt and pepper, to your taste. 

4. Preheat your broiler to high. 

5. Drain your pasta shells and add them to a casserole dish with pesto sauce, the ricotta cheese and a handful of grated Parmigiano. 

6. Pour the hot tomato and basil sauce over the pasta. Pour as much as you like. 

7. Sprinkle mozzarella cheese over the pasta. You can add a final sprinkle of Parmigiano to the mozzarella as well. 

8. Place the casserole under the broiler in the middle of the oven until the cheese melts and bubbles on top. It will be all ready to go in three to five minutes.

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