When Addiction=Awesome, or Tim Tam Slams

Warning: acting on this post may significantly affect your waistline.

Sunday night we invited some friends over for dinner. The day had been cold, so I looked forward to sharing a new soup recipe with them. Little did I know that our offering would never compare with theirs. In return for our gumbo, they promised to share with us their winter's day secret: Tim Tam slams.

Tim Tams are a famous cookie in Australia, only recently made widely available in the United States. I can only compare it with what an Oreo might be in America – an integral part of culture. And Tim Tam slams are akin to dunking an Oreo in milk, only much better.

So good, in fact, that I haven't been able to stop thinking of them since our slam party. On Monday, I fantasized about the melting chocolate and tender cookie falling apart in my mouth. I told everyone at work about them. All day I reminded myself to run by Target to pick up cookies and hot cocoa mix and felt an uncharacteristically strong anxiousness for the end of the day. We devoured the two packages I bought, leaving only two of the original sixteen cookies behind. Today I told myself I wouldn't give in. But after teaching my mom to slam, I had to have more. Dave and I, in classic addict fashion, made a quick run to the store to get our fix. And it was delightful.

This is only part of the resulting carnage:

I thought about keeping the knowledge to myself. After all, every one gets a bit of a buzz off knowing something others don't. But every once in a while, something amazing comes along and it seems almost criminal not to share the joy. So, prepare to have your life changed. (Modeling this evening's technique will be Mr. Hot Thang.)

Buy Tim Tams (sold by Pepperidge Farm) in either original or caramel variety. Or both.

Bite off opposite corners of the Tim Tam, making sure you have air flow through the cookie (test by holding one corner to your mouth and breathing in):

Dip the Tim Tam in hot chocolate (hot, not warm; shallow mug works best) and use the cookie as a straw:

As soon as you taste hot chocolate coming through, quickly put the cookie in your mouth, lest it fall apart in your hands:

Savor the melty goodness of the Tim Tam. Give yourself over to it. Travel to the heavenly place only attainable through the slam:

Look at the cookie package and wonder how there can only be two cookies left. As Mr. Hot Thang says, "Why can't there be more Tim Tams? It makes me sad."

Resolve to come up with a new exercise regimen so you can enjoy multiple slams a day.

*Considering the habits conveyed in this and the previous post, it seems there are only two speeds in the Ensign-Lewis household: "all" and "nothing."

A Little Slice of Heaven

Provo just got a little more bearable.

The events that brought this about have precipitated some reflection of my life: I remember being six years old, standing by the tether-ball poles next to the metal fence that separated the big kid's playground at my grade school from the kindergarten playground.I glared through the chain links. The summer after my kindergarten year, the playground had been expanded and updated – the new playground included a new jungle gym and a racetrack painted on the asphalt. My first-grade brain reeled at the injustice of it all. Oh, the humanity! Right after I'd left!

Later, in high school, I endured the remodeling that would be complete the year after I left. (One time they blocked off the 100-hall because of the asbestos being released from the remodeling. Charming.) The dirt track would become all-weather. Classrooms would be updated from their 70s wood-panel look.

This and other just-missed benefits filled my youth. It seemed my life was doomed to be one full of opportunities missed.

But not this time, folks. Not this time.

In-N-Out has made it to our little college town. Oh, the hours of joy it has already given to one particularly happy boy:

(That's a giddy school-boy smile, folks. A rare phenomenon.)

We went the day it opened (Thursday) as well as the day after. It's like a sanctuary; it feels more like home than Utah. Being inside, one can almost smell the sweet California air.

These are some pictures from our happy Thursday visit. I couldn't resist.

The crazy drive-through wait (this was only about half; the line wove through the entire parking lot).

The line I waited in (the door was right to my left when I took this).

Ah, isn't it a beautiful thing?

Our cashier, Jessica

Be still my heart (and not with a heart attack).

Sooo good!

No doubt we'll be spending many-a-joyous meal here. 

Here's to the times when life surprises you with a big, fat hug.

P.S. This post has been ready to go, minus pictures, since Sunday, but our stupid internet hasn't been working properly. That's why it's so very late.

Sure Glad She Was Born

She hasn't changed one bit.

I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday.

Bon Appetit!

(Make sure you read the title with a highish, warbly tone, in the tradition of Julia Child.)

Friday was our ward Halloween party, meaning, as Dave and I are in charge of ward activities, it was a busy but fun evening. I decided to dress as Julia Child:

My costume decision grew mostly out of a desire to yell, "Bon Appetit!" at the beginning of the activity, which also included a chili cook-off. (I confess to saying it, along with "I'm Julia Child!," rather more than I should have. I think some of our committee members wanted to slap me by the end of the evening.)

My costume necessitated curly hair, so I wore sponge curlers to bed for the first time since I was 12:

. . . which resulted in Shirley-Temple-like ringlets:

(notice the red morning eyes – sponge curlers aren't conducive to sleep)

But it all sorted out by evening time. I did, however, have to go to work with oddly curly hair, which drew some comments. At least it was the day before Halloween, so most of my coworkers figured it was part of a costume.

At the party, our good friends Danniey and Tyler (who won the cook-off and the coveted golden ladle) dressed as wild things and dressed their adorable baby as Max (he, rightfully, won the baby costume contest):

After the Friday's festivities, Dave and I were downright pooped. Luckily we had a festive but low-key Halloween engagement planned with Danniey and Tyler: Iron Chef PUMPKIN. This meant I got to play some more with Calvin:

. . . spend time with fun friends:

(Sous Chef Carson with Tyler and Danniey)

. . . and eat some amazing dishes made with pumpkin:

(Clockwise: pumpkin with penne pasta and cream sauce, kabocha soup, bread with smoked gouda and pumpkin butter, and pumpkin roll)

It was perfect. None of us were sick of pumpkin afterward because all the dishes were unique and subtle. Afterward, we agreed that our Iron Cheffing must become a regular thing. (I'm pulling for mushrooms next time, but Provo's lack of gourmet variety may prohibit it.)

As for this Halloween weekend, it may very well go down as the best ever.

Phone Problems

I hate talking on the phone to strangers, which causes quite a problem when I have to set up an interview for an article. I sit there, putting off the call and staring at the phone. (The phone is so strong; so cold.) "I'll call at 2:00," I say. "That way they won't be at lunch; 'two' is also a nice round number." 

When 2:00 comes, I stare at the phone some more. "It's too late," I think. "They won't think I'm serious about this. I'll call tomorrow morning." I give the phone a furtive glance. It challenges me in the way it boldly, unwaveringly sits on my desk.

Usually this goes on for a few days. When I finally have an interview set, I'm nervous until the thing is actually over. And almost every time, I finish it very happy to have learned some new things and made a new friend. (Ha!, phone. You're not the boss of me.)

Talking on the phone is even worse when I have to be confrontational.

Which brings me to my current dilemma: I recently made a flight reservation. I deliberately chose the 7:50 flight over the 4:45 flight since I work regular hours and live an hour from the airport. Then, two days ago, I received notification that my itinerary has changed. I am now flying out at 4:45. How is it that airlines are allowed to do this? I paid for the time the flight left. Do they not understand how incredibly inconvenient (and unfair) changing my flight is? It's terrible business, and yet they (much like insurance companies) have the power to jerk me around.

So I want to complain. I would rather e-mail the complaint (because, as I've shown, I hate talking to strangers), but there is only a phone number for my particular complaint. Complaining now puts me at an inconvenience, and, really, will it do anything? I'll probably talk to someone half a world away who will log my complaint and move on with his or her night. (Sigh.) The number is pulled up in a Web window on my desktop, waiting patiently for me to use it. I won't close out of it until either (1) the deed is done, or (2) I lose my nerve.

But time is of the essence. I'm a big believer that once a certain time frame passes, bringing up a problem becomes absurd. Any suggestions?

Surprises and Pork Tenderloins

Today I came home to find a package waiting for me. Neither Dave nor I had ordered anything. There was no occasion for the package. Yet there it was. A package addressed to me!

Inside I found something a good fairy decided that I, as one who loves fall, needed to have.

Surprises are like the icing on the cake of life. (Not meaning they're extra; meaning they're the best part.)

I also made a pork tenderloin for dinner:

Yum. It had a great, sweet (but slightly spicy) crust on it. But, long after the estimated cooking time had passed, I had to keep sticking it back in the oven because I was afraid it was undercooked (undercooked meat is just one of the things I'm paranoid about; whenever we eat chicken, pork, or ground beef, you'll frequently find me turning to Dave for assurance that it looks cooked). I used an instant-read thermometer like the recipe called for, but it was still pink. 

Is this something tenderloin does? Any tips on cooking such meats thoroughly?

Five Years

Mr. Ensign-Lewis and me posing for a quick pic before leaving (look below to see why my roommates were so keen on documenting it).

Today marks five years since Dave and I went on our first date. (Just moments ago I said, "Thank you for asking me out." Dave said, mischievously, "Thank you for finally going out with me." I modified my statement and said, "Thank you for finally following up with asking me out." Those who know the story will get a chuckle out of that.) 

He was a class act on that first date, and he has been ever since.

He wasn't even phased when he came home to find one of these on his mirror (the other was on mine):

We were young Mormon girls. What do you expect?

(Today is also the anniversary of one of my best friend's births. Happy Birthday, Becca!)