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.

Today I feel like that guy who stood still instead of stepping backwards with the rest of the line when someone asked the line for a volunteer. And what is it that I was volunteered for? All day with my head slammed up in a clamp. Translation -- I'm sick. 

 No, it's not the swine, everyone. So settle down. Granted, it would be awesomely ironic if The BG News food columnist contracted the swine flu. 

 Anyway, one of the worst things about being sick at school is that the blurry view from your futon normally only holds yesterday's half-eaten Five Dollar Holla, fruit gummies and a stack of Oreo cookies with the cream licked off of them. Not exactly the food momma makes that cures everything. In honor of my runny nose, I've compiled two of my favorite get-better-quicker remedies, all of which can be found on campus or bought with a meal plan.

Lemon, honey and love 
If 1990s Nickelodeon's "All That" were a get-well recipe, it would no doubt be this tasty combination of warm lemon and honey. Start out with a mug of water filled about 4/5 of the way to the top. Heat it in the microwave as hot as you can handle and then add a few squirts of lemon juice to taste. Finally, stir in a few teaspoons of honey to take a bit of the sour edge off. Don't be surprised if when you take a sip you immediately look around for your grandmother. It's just a mild side effect of this back-home goody. 

Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup (plus an egg-cellent surprise) 
One of the best things about having sandwich shops on campus is that you can have them make you grilled cheese. Little known fact: grilled cheese at the University is just a vegetarian panini. And if you bat your eyes (or look pathetic enough sniffling into your tissue), I bet you could a few extra slices of gooeyness free of charge. Tomato soup can be found all over campus. The best stuff is in the Union and always at Outakes. When you get back to your room, cook an egg in the microwave and, once salted and peppered, add to the top of your grilled cheese. Enjoy while watching reruns of "The Golden Girls" to see the full healing effect. 

Jeni's Mom's Secret Recipe 
Whenever I'm sick, I always seem to crave weird foods. Odd combinations of Gatorades, sodas and bubbly waters are normally how I satisfy my wacked-out taste buds. Today, my friend Jeni told me about her mom's weirdest, yet most soul-soothing, recipe that fits right into this category. Heat a cup of milk in the microwave until it's just a little hotter than your preference. Melt a pat of butter (about a tablespoon) into the milk and serve with a dash of pepper.