The Caf's Mexican Rice with Chicken Fingers!

So I finally found time to blog again. And of course, the first thing I'm going to blog about is food. I felt like eating something tomato-ey and herb-y but still rice-y. So Mexican Rice it was :P

I haven't cooked in ages so I was ecstatic when I found out how simple it was to make. Just some ingredients almost everyone of any culture has in their pantry/fridge and you can throw together some yummy orange rice. It turned out well, considering I've cooked a proper dinner about once in my lifetime. xD

THE RECIPE

What you'll need:

1. 1 tbsp olive oil (great for your skin, fantastic for your arteries!)
2. 1 cup medium or long-grain rice
3. 1 cup chicken liquid stock (or a cup of water, a teaspoon of salt and half a tablespoon of powdered chicken stock)
4. 1/2 an onion, finely chopped
5. 1 clove garlic, minced
6. 1/2 bell pepper (any colour; optional)
7. 1/2 a medium-sized tomato, diced (optional--I know many of you dislike tomatoes and bell peppers!)
8. 1 and 1/2 tablespoons of tomato sauce or tomato paste (you can add more or less according to your preference)
9. A pinch (around 1/4 tsp) oregano (dried or chopped)
10. A pinch of parsley (dried or chopped)

3 breaded chicken strips--I cheated on this one, haha.

What to do:

1. In a skillet (or wok xD), brown the garlic and onions in olive oil. Add the rice and brown that, stirring constantly, for about four minutes or until the onion is soft. This process adds a nutty, rustic flavour to the rice. Set aside.
2. 
   
3. In a saucepan (or wok! :D), bring the chicken stock to a simmer. (Or heat up water and then add salt+powdered stock.) Add the tomato paste/sauce, tomato, bell pepper, oregano, parsley, and a dash of salt. (A dash=roughly a teaspoon. Don't add more salt if you want to eat less sodium!) Bring back up to a simmer and add the browned rice/onion/garlic mixture. Cover and let the rice cook for 15 to 25 minutes.
4. 
   
5. You may want to open it up and stir the rice occasionally (every three minutes) to make sure it doesn't burn. Personally, I like my rice a little dry and a little crispy but I'm sure there are many people who dislike a few hard grains of overcooked rice.
6. 
   
7. As the rice is cooking, place the chicken fingers/strips in the oven or toaster oven at a toasty 425 degrees Farenheit. (Oh shush, I know I'm Canadian but I see Imperial measurements EVERYWHEREEE.) Let them bake for 15 to 20 minutes, depending on how dry you like them and your oven's power. Flip after ten minutes.
8. 
   
9. When complete, plate the chicken on the rice and serve! :D

Now, back to my journal-ing.

I finally finished my speech for English! And jeez, Grade 12 this year is a pain. But at least Ms. Mo marks easier than Mr. Hulme! xD

I've decided to do a eulogy. You'll find out how I've decided to do it at my presentation. Hmm.. math test tomorrow... Ugh. I guess now I'll finish eating and go study.

The Menagerie

A reflection on things that require restraint.

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There's this menagerie in my backyard. I never asked for it but it came with everything else I inherited. It seemed cool at first—and it definitely got me lots of attention—until I realized how hard it was to control my animals.

First, there was Misery, the whale. And wail did she ever. It was mostly incoherent blubbering but from what I could gather, life was a series of tragic misfortunes conspiring to make her miserable. I don’t think she has ever smiled. It was one whale song after another: the Premium Whale Feed tasted like expired shrimp meat, the Luxury Standard Marine Enclosure was way too small and should have been graded “Hobo Standard”, all my friends were “idiotic morons”, what had she ever done to be sentenced to this pathetic place, the food sucks, her "goldfish tank" sucks, life sucks.

There are some who enjoy listening to whale songs. Most people were okay with Misery the first month or so. They gave her lots of attention, even asking for encores and such. Misery was entertaining. When the excitement died down though, she took a turn for the worse. She wailed through the night, blubbered through the mornings, and moaned all day. Soon, even the whale-lovers began moving away.

Along with Misery came Ire. Ire was a mangy old dog with an iron will: as long as he could see you, he would never stop trying to bite your head off. Once, a troupe of neighbourhood kids came by and giggled at the way Ire lapped up water. Two minutes into their teasing, he lost it, barking until every bird in the neighbourhood started flying south early. I think he even managed to nip a little girl’s finger.

Ire was near impossible to control. Even after I locked him in a cage, he’d bark at every friend and neighbour who came to visit. Everything was a challenge, a competition, a threat. He had no mercy for harmless public servicemen, either. Nowadays, no one visits anymore.

When the flow of people first started to thin, I found some comfort in Mirth and Mockery—one monkey with two faces. On her better days, her laughs were infectious and she could light up a room with smiles. On her worse days, she would hang off railings and chandeliers, shatter vases with throw pillows, and tear the house asunder in a torrent of Johnny-Depp-driven glee. It was all too funny for her. My visitors found Mirth a delight until she began mocking their words, garbling contexts and twisting meanings.

Mockery behaved the worst the day a lawyer friend of mine visited. His father had recently been diagnosed with cancer and he was torn at the news. Mirth tried to cheer him up but when it proved fruitless, Mockery stepped in and laughed every time he choked on his words.

I didn’t hear from that friend again for a while.

When things continued to worsen, Paranoia surfaced. Paranoia was an entire meerkat herd but only one meerkat ever appeared in the open at once. No entity, living or otherwise, went unchecked and everything was considered a threat to their very existence. Whether it was a child, a fly, or a leaf, the reaction never changed. One meerkat would emerge and inspect the surroundings and then they'd all scurry further out of sight.

At first, I thought Paranoia would remain hidden away from public eyes, as long as there were safe places to hide. Later, I learned nothing was considered safe—everything was fatal. And all things fatal needed considerable examination. I found Paranoia hiding in nooks and crannies everywhere. Some huddled in closets, others shied in drawers, still others crouched behind sofas, in teacups, and under area rugs. If the other animals had not driven my visitors away, finding Paranoia spying on them from behind the shower curtain surely did.

As neighbours disappeared and friends made other plans, Pride redoubled her efforts. She was like Mirth and Misery in that respect: less attention meant more potential for attention. The fewer eyes turned to her, the brighter her Gucci-patterned cage and Tiffany-blue eyes shone. The fewer ears turned to her, the lustier she sang. She had a voice like an untrained parrot but that didn’t matter because she hailed from a faraway, exotic land. Those that once cooed over her beautiful feathers avoided visiting again for fear of her absurdly loud croaking. Any neighbours still left joined the others. No one wanted to be kept up by Pride’s midnight trumpeting.

By now, as you might have guessed, I’ve lost some friends, most of my neighbours, and all of my visitors. It’s demanding, desperate work. Won’t they ever give up? Some days, their enclosures weaken and I almost can’t be bothered to keep them under lock and key. It’s tempting, really. What if I just let them all go? I’d never have to deal with them again. They’d be someone else’s responsibility. I could stop caring and let them do whatever they want. I could let loose.

And then I check myself. I can’t let loose. Because this is my menagerie and they are my animals—no one else’s. When I have no visitors, they are my company. When I have no will, they are my strength. When I have nothing else, I will have my menagerie.

I am their keeper as they are my muse.

Bailey's Blog: Everything's Okay... Everything's Going to Be Okay... REALLY?! [Repost]

Hey all--lazy weekend, so it's going to be another repost. This one's from a friend I met at the ESU program at Queen's University one summer day in 2010. Those of you from Ms. Mo's Grade 10 Gifted class will remember that fantastic week....

But enough about us.

This article's rather thought-provoking and the point-blank prose speaks aloud what I believe many people think once they've gotten to know a few close friends.

Everyone has a story. And everyone has a cover.

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Bailey's Blog: Everything's Okay... Everything's Going to Be Okay... REALLY?!

Everyone is perfect. Everyone has the perfect life. Everything is okay. Everything is going to be okay. Everyone is happy. Everyone has one big happy family. No one is left alone. No one cries. No one is heart broken. Everything... Is... Okay...

That's what they want us to believe. That's what we want to believe. It's easier. The world is perfect. We can just relax. Ignore everything. Because, everything is okay.

But is it?

I was walking through the hallways at my high school today when it hit me; that's what it looks like. Everyone has this face, this mask, that any outsider percieves as they're okay. But, sometimes, you have to wonder what's going on behind that mask. Whose heart broken? Whose depressed? Who had a fight with their parents this morning? Who doesn't have parents? Are they really okay?

Maybe it's none of anyone else's business. But I realized you can't judge a person by what they look like.

I grew up in a world where everything was perfect. Families stuck together. We never fought. Everyone had a Mom and a Dad. No one was struggling. No one was sick. There wasn't a single worry about money. Everyone was happy. Everything was okay... and always would be. But I guess, not everyone is so fortunate. It was kind of a eye-opener when I started high school.

I met a girl. She lost her mother three years ago. I met a guy. He lost his father three years ago. I met a girl; her father's hanging on for his life. Someone just broke up with someone they still loved. Before walking out the door this morning, a girl had a fight with her mother. One girl lost her sister... Less than a year ago. A bunch of people lost a friend.

But they still smile. Or at least, pretend to. No one knows the difference.

It amazes me how strong they can be, to put on this mask when they come to school and give off the impression that everything is fine.

That's until you meet them, talk to them and maybe if they're comfortable with you, they'll tell you... that's when you realize you can't possibly judge someone from a first impression or glance.

Is everything okay?

I don't think so.

I wish it were though.