15 MINUTES OF FAME CAMPBELL'S TOMATO SOUP SPICE CAKE

David Rancatore was the most famous person I knew in fifth grade......he was featured in a K-mart ad as a model wearing Under-roos and I remember carefully cutting out the ad and folding it in one of my many zippered pockets in my fake Fonzie leather jacket and secretly carrying it around with me on the playground in hopes of getting his autograph.....he was dark eyed with curly hair and was creamy and dreamy and already walked the walk and talked the talk and strutted the swing-set section with confidence and charm.....whereas I would search for unsuspecting viewers to watch my unwavering and hard-core imitation of melting butter - (best portrayed while using the flag-pole for extra support) - my convincing transformation from CHILLED STICK OF BUTTER into POOL of MELTED BUTTER on gum-wadded concrete was only out-shone by my 80 Moritz Road POGO-STICK routine while bouncing to the Hill Street Blues Theme humming in my head.

In middle school friends would swap school pictures and sign each others' autograph books and yearbooks - already setting up an Andy Warhol expectation of 15 minutes of fame.....and soon the bar for FAME ITSELF got higher - meeting Chuck-E-Cheese - dancing with one of the Bobby Vinton Polka dancers at his concert - Drummer David Robinson from THE CARS calling my parent's basement to wish my friend Kim Brough a Happy Birthday - Patty and I running into Sammy Davis Junior in a dark alley in London - Bill Murray IMPLORING me to order the TOAST at a diner in PA - shaking Bill Clinton's hand - enjoying hot tea and a salad with BLOWFLY - sitting next to Aaron Neville at an airport (having no idea who he was) and telling him I thought it was JUST GREAT that he and his brothers were in a band - truly ENCOURAGING HIM to keep up the good work and work hard and telling him stories of playing clarinet in marching band and that if he KEPT AT IT - why, maybe they'd get a gig!.....I have shared a cigarette with Sam Shepard while discussing Whitman - I have received an APOLOGY CARD from Santa Claus and I carry four of Wally-the-Beer-Man's autographed baseball cards in my checkbook. I have been touched and lucky to share these things with those who have FAME.

After college - I worked for an art dealer named Richard who TRULY looked like an Andy Warhol in brown corduroy and smelled like sugar-donuts and whiskey and once had 3 brain tumors and couldn't drive OR keep his head up and would stand - waiting for the bus - with his two arms "tented" above, encasing his head - to keep his head from flopping down. He was eccentric and exciting and charming and a crook. The gallery ALWAYS was a-buzz with FAMOUS folk - from Horst to the Rolling Stones - and one day he sent me on a SPECIAL SECRET MISSION to deliver a painting wrapped in brown paper to a FIRE ESCAPE and I was to holler out loud some code words like "the spit flies upside down" or "the hot-dog vendor is sad" and then take the second piece - a REAL WARHOL - (one of the Marilyns) - to a frame shop and charge it to some account...(I OBVIOUSLY was the poster child for the IGNORANCE IS BLISS campaign) and finally this thread of ill-fated thrills ended the day he asked me to clean out the MISTER COFFEE POT FILLED WITH HIS PEE.

Those were MY FIRST 15 MINUTES of my life when I FINALLY SAID "NO".

HIS FAME hit with the jail time he served - though I doubt his special sector of FAME teemed with the world of massages and fancy water and people who shine your zippers and send you expensive champagne and gift bags and body-guards.

To the family Yahtzee champion - the moonlight bowling record-holder -to the mysterious APE-ON-SKATES person - to the Polish Pierogy Church Ladies.....to the toll-booth attendant who took no shit and to the person who invented the Glitter Pen......how I wish I had YOUR trading cards - how I look back and imagine your signature in my autograph book and indeed finally realize that FAME is fine - yet FORTUNE may be better.

Enjoy your coffee - but beware the pot it's brewed in.......

15 MINUTES OF FAME - CAMPBELL'S TOMATO SOUP SPICE CAKE
(taken from the Great American Brand Name Recipes Cookbook)

1 tablespoon sugar
1 box (18 oz) spice cake mix
1 can Campbell's Tomato soup
2 eggs
2 tablespoons water
1 cup sour cream
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Grease bundt cake pan and sprinkle pan with sugar
Mix cake mix, soup, eggs and water until well-mixed
Pour into pan -
Microwave (??????) uncovered at 50 percent power 9 minutes - rotating pan once during cooking
Increase power to HIGH. Microwave, uncovered, 5 minutes - let stand for 15 minutes - invert onto serving plate - let cool.
In small bowl - stir cream, brown sugar and vanilla until sugar dissolves - spoon over cooled cake.

NOTE!!!!!!!!!POTENTIAL WARNING!!!!!!!!


I have A.) - never made this before
B.) - microwaved a cake before (again - ?????)

THUS - apologies if it comes out weird - please let me know how it turns out and I will post a follow-up on my experiment with it as well.

ELVIS BALLS

oh state fair - how I love you!

I went to sleep last night with the sounds of sizzle and the grime of grease in my hair. I woke up at 5:30 this morning - went outside and while farmers were milking and babies were being born - I did my comparably pathetic duty and plugged in the fry-daddy.....it was time.

I mashed the bananas and creamed the peanut butter mentally adding up all the time and money I have spent on these cooking contests and if there is indeed a name for my addiction.

Tackling the elements of a drooling dog and a roommate sleeping in the backyard in a camper - I silently fried - trying not to wake the neighbors to yet another round of early morning oily aroma.

I am not a morning person. I do not like the early morning fry-daddy-ing. I prefer fish fries at dusk with total awareness and light to boot. I do not like forcing my friends to try my experiments. I do not like skulking around my own backyard like a shameful thief - stealing the morning air from my unsuspecting neighbors and feeling like the dirty one night stand contest junkie I have become. I am frying alone - and I fear it might be one of those danger signs of a true problem.

I am ashamed to admit that sometimes at work I think about the new tongs I need to help me in my fry-daddying/put-it-on-a-stick contest affair. I think about absorbent paper towels and types of crumbs to coat with and varieties of sticks I can stick with. I lost the cover to my 1970's fry-daddy and I now I search the thrift stores for the equivalent of a margarine tub cover to make my fry-daddy complete. Why I don't just buy a tub of SOMETHING - ANYTHING with the proper top size - I don't know....I think it keeps the dream alive.

SOOOOOOOO - My friends Chris, Tim and I went to the fair - dropped off the goods and sat at the Salem Lutheran Church Building and had Swedish coffee with egg where I was confused by the sign that read POSITIVELY NO PARROTS. There were blue and white checkered curtains and that summer camp dining hall atmosphere. Bliss. I just felt so - well - in the right place at the right time and then I KNEW I was when I started observing the latest trends in embroidered clothing motifs. I saw 3 - that is THREE separate ladies in THREE separate clothing items that had EMBROIDERED FLIP FLOPS on them. I saw a visor, a shirt and PANTS. FLIP FLOP PANTS. I need to type it again to make sure I actually typed that - FLIP FLOP PANTS. Where does one get them? I am guessing from the Wal-Mart's WHITE STAG line of clothing. (side note - WHO COMES UP WITH THESE CLOTHING LINES??? Seriously - they also carry FADED GLORY and underwear called NO BOUNDARIES)

I was so enthralled with the swedish coffee and the company at the old-fashioned dining hall that we actually missed the grand proclamation of the winners at the stage by the education building. We walk up and there are pictures being taken and the crowd is walking away and I guess I just assumed I did not place. Oh well - I did not place this year for SPAM or the Hidden Vally Ranch contest so I was not surprised until my friend Chris runs up and yells - YOU WON - YOU WON! And there - on the stage - was my entry with a big daddy blue ribbon on it!!!!!!!!

Take that morning deep-frying!

Here is my recipe - it is in honor of my dad - who owned an Elvis cafe in Davenport, Iowa years ago. He was a big fan of Elvis and his food and I like to think that these two Kings are now hanging out somewhere - getting foot rubs and eating anything they want without consequence....

ELVIS BALLS

INGREDIENTS

2 rolls (10 biscuits each) Pillsbury Buttermilk Biscuit Refrigerated Rolls

2 cups Corn Flake Crumbs

2 eggs (beaten)

2 ½ ripe bananas

1 cup creamy peanut butter

1 cup powdered sugar

1 bottle Wesson Canola Oil

DIRECTIONS

-Mash the bananas into a thick paste – stir in the peanut butter until evenly mixed.

-Take a Biscuit and flatten in out a bit – fill with almost one tablespoon of banana and peanut butter mixture.

- Flatten out another Biscuit and place on top – crimping both biscuits together

- cover with egg (beaten) and then roll in Corn Flake Crumbs

- gently put “ball” into hot oil!

-sprinkle with powdered sugar

(makes 10 “Elvis Balls”)

THANK YOU TO ALL MY FRIENDS WHO TASTED AND HELPED AND GAVE ME THEIR OPINIONS!!!!! MAY YOU STILL BE ABLE TO ENJOY FRIED STICK FOOD!New Folder (2)

ROASTED BRAVE I AM SPIDERS

Roasted Tarantulas

I sadly admit to loving the reality TV show SURVIVOR - it is fun to watch and imagine how one (aka - ME)- would hold up in such crazy yet perhaps scripted conditions - and so you watch and imagine and yell at the television the CORRECT way to do whatever - build a fire, get along with pompous folk, remember trivia about the enviroment you are living in - bait a hook, skin an eel. NEVER did I imagine I would actually be involved in a "survivor-esque" dare - and yet - there I was past Tuesday - dressed in a Siamese Marie Antionette costume - eating things for a show on the Travel channel - to be aired in October - ranging from ants and grasshoppers to cow's blood and raw lamb kidney to roasted tarantula. I am still recovering. My tongue STILL feels like it is hosting a brigade of fire ants building some outer space structure on my tongue - combined with the element of maybe one thousand wasps stinging the inside of my cheeks. I am indeed better - but any food or drink brings on the wrath of roasted spider. I have researched - I will be fine - yet the only thing I was informed I could NOT eat was the Thai peppers used for decor on the saucer of ants and worms. We could not legally consume in case we blistered out mouths. HMMMMMMMM - first of all - the spicier the better - second of all - I have some inner instinct that spicy stuff HEALS and third of all - where was the legal note about POISON SPIDERS????? I SOOOOOOOOO am not complaining - it was a FANTASTIC, gut-wrenching, daring, once in a lifetime experience and I am super proud for being so bold and digging in - but yet - oh yet - my tongue still hurts - my mouth still burns - and I am hoping the 2008 Chicken Tandorri Experience of new-founded hesitation will pass - I love that dish and yet all I could taste was luke warm guinea pig. (SIGH) I cannot help but think of my life - I am 41 - single (divorced - the ex soon to be all over in the entertainment news - another story - another time - I respect his privacy and soon to be fame and fortune) - menopausal (which means CRAPPY McCRAP weight gain though I work out and eat super spinach salads EVERY DAY) - I have yet to figure out my career - or LIFE - for that matter - and yet - I carry on - consuming spiders and clipping coupons and cheering for the day when I will no longer be sweeping out bugs..........

ROASTED TARANTULA

get a spider - brush on olive oil.
sprinkle sea salt over it
roast at 350 degrees for 35-40 minutes.

Eat in two bites - it TRULY tastes a bit like crab......for real. I have the broken tongue to prove it!

MAN BEER STEW

I declare myself the new founder and creator of the Bad Boy Brigade. My luck with boys is not the best and perhaps it started when Scott Baio didn't return my affadavits of LUV - followed by a very serious incident at the Marshfield County Fair when I FINALLY got to ride the SKYDIVER with John Desmond who was dreamy and sweet and could only talk on the phone for 5 minutes and his mom made sure to clock it with a stove timer and he was too shy to speak and so he would either - tap ONCE on the receiver for YES - TWICE for NO - and only would utter these words - WOOF/MEOW/ MOO/ribbit/ribbit and I TRULY thought for months we were in a real live relationship and it became official the day I asked him to the County Fair on a FRIDAY night and he tapped once for YES and so there we were - him not talking and me raving on and on and unable to find the STOP button on my mouth and then we got into the SKYDIVER which was a scary THRILL ride where you would get into a metal CAGE and the cage would twirl upside down - similar to a Ferris wheel - but far more evil - and I wanted to hold his hand from the fear of it all but as we were going upside down and rightside up the smell of his GREEN BRAND MENNEN SPPEDSTICK deodorant made my stomach churl more than the ride and then I HAD to hold his hand because the dense fog of the deodorant stench combined with the motion of it all created an inner motion and there I was grabbing his hand as I PUKED all over his Marshfield Junior Varsity Soccer Shorts and the worst of it all was the vomit was then twirling around with us and landing on our laps and afterwards there were no more phone calls of animal noises and taps.

My first kiss was during a game of spin the bottle. A FORCED kiss - not one of WANT.

I never went on ONE date in high school.

I had some good guys- absolutely- and I might hold a top ranking in the lists of women who are still friends with their exes. They are great friends - great guys......and yet a club remains of cheaters and liars and thieves and bad deodorant choices.

I have always believed that MEN like BEEF and they like BEER - and it is no surprise that the letter F and the letter R are 13 letters apart.

And it is ALSO no surprise that TODAY I found this recipe that someone must have cut from a case of Schimdt Beer.

If you can't beat them - join them

FAY'S GOT BOOBIES - CHICKEN BREASTS

My name is Faith Ann Farrell. When I was a little girl I used to say my whole name REALLY FAST - so it sounded like one, singular NEW name -FAFANNFARRELL- and saying it SUPER SPEEDY 3 times in a row without stopping was my own personalized version of the tongue twister and even though I was in 6th grade and proud of my new tricky yet truthful name - my family just decided - I guess - to rename me with a shorter and easier and sadly BLANDER version - FAY and so FAY I was and this was when we lived in Marshfield, Massachusetts and even though we nearly(but not quite) lived walking distance from Humarock Beach where all the cool kids hung out during summer vacation and would meet by the corner store with their flip flops and lip gloss and everyone would be eating Lick-a-Stix or Push-Ups - I, FAY, would find myself making art projects for the Marshfield County Fair and it would be hot and breezy and you could still smell the salt from the ocean and I would be sitting at the picnic table on the deck gimping away keychains and carving soap sculptures and making candles that looked like ice cream sundaes and then the HEAT WAVE hit and the candles and soap started to melt and my mom announced that NO MORE should we suffer for we would be going to a POOL PARTY at Joanne Grant's House and she was pretty fancy and in Couple's Card Club and they had a pool and a grill and lots of fruit and chips and lots of people there and I went and had this orange and turquoise bathing suit on and I remember looking at the hair on my legs and wondering when I would be old enough to shave because there were a few girls there who went to my school and THEY had smooth legs and long, thin bodies and here I was - with my Leather Tuskadaro SHAG haircut and my unshaven legs and my chunky size and then I got really shy all of a sudden though my brother seemed to have NO problem talking folks up and making them laugh and so I thought the best solution was for me to disappear into the crisp, blue clean chloride of the pool and lose myself to swimming and perhaps some underwater spying and so I took off my towel and went to the diving board to avoid my popular brother in the shallow end and then I climbed the ladder to the top and even though I don't know how to dive I thought I could just jump in quietly and begin my disappearing act and as I stood on the tip of the diving board and was about to jump I hear my brother YELL - "MA - MA!!!!! FAY'S GOT BOOBIES!!!!" and the whole party stops and even the grill stops sizzling and everyone is looking at me - FAY -now with BOOBIES - UP AND CENTER on the diving board and I didn't know what to do except pray for lightning to strike and take me away and instead of just DIVING in to disappear as my initial plans dictated, I STOOD THERE and FROZE and sweated and then the HORROR of it all took over and I began to SCREAM and SCREAM and try to climb down that ladder as fast as I could which was not fast because I am clumsy and awkward and now I had BOOBIES to contend with and so I grabbed my towel and ran to the car and my mom brought us home and even though that wasn't the first of the pool parties we were invited to it was certainly the last - and then summer went by and even though I STILL wasn't allowed to shave my legs- I HAD to shop for bras and my body was going one way though my mind was going another and even though I won FIRST PLACE and a blue ribbon for my woven gimp keychain shaped into the letter F - the fun was gone because I knew that I was no longer a FAY.....but now a FAITH.


FAY'S GOT BOOBIES - CHICKEN BREASTS

(dictated from my mom - Gloria!!!! Go MOM!)

Go buy a pack of regular chicken breasts - about 4-6 in a packet. DO NOT buy the boneless kind! Salt and Pepper them- and braise them a bit in butter to let out the flavor. Put them in a buttered pan UPSIDE DOWN and take about a cup of stuffing (your choice - already made) into each breast - cover with tin-foil and bake in the oven at 325 degrees for about an hour - (this depends on how big the breasts are - but if you look in a cookbook or go online it should tell you the time per pound)

Monster at the End of the Book Basic Pastry for Pies

Today I missed my grandma. I miss my grandma ALL days - but today her GRANDMA SMELL wafted through my mind as I tried to shake that MONSTER AT THE END OF THE BOOK monster far away from me. The Monster at the End of the Book was my favorite book as a little girl and starred the lovable, furry old Grover and Grandma Seering would read it with such fierce glee and terror I found myself between a world of intense suspense and loyal love.

I share a secret with my Grandma. Still - even though she's gone. Whe knows that I have a ritual when I go to her house. She knows that when I go to the bathroom, I slide shut the sliding door and open the closet to find this - the BAND AID BOX. It's an old gallon milk carton cut in half - still shiny with it's forty year old wax. My grandma hadn't changed this box for over 20 years - I love that she took the time to label the masking tape on it - and the loop-de-loop of her letters remain the same.

My fascination with the BAND AID BOX, perhaps - is strange considering all of the beautiful photos and antiques and stories hanging in her house - I am obsessed with this cut-up cardboard box. I cherish the old logo and the clunky printing. I take deep whiffs of the the Grandma smell which lives inside along with yellowed cotton balls, rolls of medical tape and a tin of old matches - and of course - there are the band-aids.

Grandma was MY band-aid - she could kiss away the scrapes and bake away the bruises. THere was nothing her handpicked blueberry pie couldn't fix. She was her own kind of medicine man - bringing sunshine to plants and cheering them on throughout the years. In her garden STILL blooms the 60 year old peony plant that sister Agnes gave her. She mothered a family of Easter Cacti - the oldest one over 38 years old - and I do my best to carry them on....Her plants raise their punky, healthy leaves to salute her.

Grandma could fix a heavy heart with her gift of words - an animated story-teller, she grabbed on to the details of a moment and would weave them together to fix a sad spirit. Every card she sent was personalized with a thought, observation, homemade prayer or poem. Doodled in the margins of her phone book - you can find her thoughts scrawled in her loopy, perfect penmanship.

My grandma could cure boredom as well - "let's play BINGO - let's play UNO - let's play JACKS - tell me a story and I will tell you one - Oh my stars, let's stop for fresh bread". We would wash dishes with the game of the biggest SQUEAK of a clean plate.

In college, Grandma healed my home-sickness with care packages of cheese, molasses cookies and Tabu perfume. My roommates would gawk as I untied the string from the brown papered package and revealed the cookies and cheese. You can send cheese through the mail???? OF COURSE you can - it's Wisconsin.

We all know that band-aids can sting it you rip them off too quickly and even though you know its coming, I closed my eyes and STILL -an unspeakable OUCH.

My grandma was more than a grandma - she was a mother, a wife, a friend, and aunt, a cousin, a daughter, a neighbor, a sister a volunteer, a gardener and a cook. She collected panda bears and loved to watch birds. She made the world beautiful with her love for flowers and bright and bold colors. She was sassy and spunky and generous and real. She could gut a fish and make home-made 7-UP. She had flawless skin and beautiful hair. She loved to laugh out loud and win at cards.

As I look at my clunky, homemade treasure chest of Grandma's mystic healings - I realize that the secret I thought I shared with her turned out to not be a secret at all.

SHE is my monster at the end of the book.


Monster at the End of the Book Basic Pastry for Pies

2 cups sifted flour
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 cups shortening
5-7 tablespoons COLD water.

Sift flour - salt together. cut in shortening with pastry blender till all mixture looks like cornmeal or small peas. Sprinkle 1 TBSP water over part of mixture - gently toss with fork. PUsh to side of bowl - repeat till all mixture is moistened - then from into a ball - for double crust - divide ball.

Frosty Come Back Pop-Rock Cocktail

When I was a little girl we had a dog named Frosty who was large and white and fluffy and sweet and one time woke up my mom in the middle of the night and dragged her into my bedroom where I was hot with sweat and laying in puke even though the room was eerily ICE cold and there were no windows open and OF COURSE we ALL LOVED Frosty for he was the Farrell version of Lassie by saving me from the chill and the fever and watching over us as my dad traveled the country due to work and then one day my dad comes back from his work travels and tells us that for Christmas we are going to Disneyland where I was tall enough to ride Space Mountain and buy POP ROCKS - the candy of the future- and we all rode the Flying Dumbos and even the Twirling Tea Cups where - in a midst of swirl and twirl I hear screaming from my brother and so I try to crane my neck up to look at the CAUSE and I see my mom laughing hysterically and her hair flying out loud in the twirl of it all - and then I see blood coming from her mouth - but it is FLYING BLOOD and now I am scared like my brother and my dad is on the sidelines snapping away pictures to remember our now not FUN but HORROR and the teacups stop and my mom is still laughing because she doesn't know she is bleeding and she looks at the FEAR on our faces and the blood on her hands and HUSHES us up because it is no big deal - she just bit her tongue and LET'S NOT RUIN THE FUN and hurt your father's feelings.....and there we were in the land of CROCODILES and FUTURE CANDY and TRA-LA-LA ladies like Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty who bothered me with their prissy pomp when my dad announces that we were getting one final gift - the gift of music and salt-water sea fish!!!! We were going to Sea World on CHRISTMAS DAY to see Johnny Cash and June Carter LIVE - singing about jail and love and boys named Sue while having a killer whale named Shamu as their back-up dancer/splasher -and my dad took pictures of Johnny and June and also my brother who was pirate-like with a REAL parrot on his shoulder and one of me feeding some goats though the goats actually FED ON ME as they actually tried to EAT the Holly Hobby T-shirt I was wearing - and then our VACATION FUN TIME was over and so we flew back to Ohio and going home meant coming home to loyal FROSTY and that meant the holiday wasn't yet quite over - but when we got to the place to pick him up our family ride stopped spinning and my dad returned after a very long time - and when he came to the car there was no dog and only my dad taking off his glasses and wiping what looked like tears though he NEVER cried and I remember thinking how odd it was to see now BOTH my mom and dad have things leak from their faces on vacation - and there was just silence and even as a kid you KNEW without KNOWING and so I went straight to my room where the air was once again CHILLY and sadly now empty and I opened my pop-rocks - my CANDY of the FUTURE - and like blackmail money for the Tooth Fairy - poured some on the end of my night table in hopes that the FUTURE could somehow be changed and lure back Frosty into the chill of my room and make me warm once again.

FROSTY COME BACK POP-ROCK COCKTAIL
(thanks to Pop-Rock Web Page)

Ingredients:

1 oz Absolut Kurant
1/2 oz Chambord raspberry liqueur
Fill with Tonic water
Drop Sour Berry Pop Rocks on top