I think we need a bigger beach...

Peeling forehead?  Check.  Flip flops covered in sand that won't wash away?  Check.  More freckles than should be allowed on one face?  Check!  Sounds like someone went to the beach.  And that someone was me!  After over a year away from the waves, I finally got to go back to the sun, sand and surf. 


Months ago I got an email from my friend and "soul mate" (right, court?) Courtney about heading to her parents' place at the beach for a weekend.  I believe the words "you can't say no" appeared more than once.  Well, then, "yes" it is!  Not that my arm had to be twisted mind you.  So last Friday Courtney, her friend Stephanie (who is now my friend; Facebook says so) and I made our way to the place where the air is most humid. 

As soon as we got to Topsail (or some variation in the same two-mile radius--the name changed often and I couldn't keep up) on Friday and took our things inside, Stephanie brought out all her little friends.  Here she is to the right, friend in hand. 

I will spare everyone the details (this is a family blog, after all) but my old arch-nemesis Vodka showed up.  He charmed me with his hidden evils, cleverly disguised in a chocolate martini, and before I knew it I was making late night calls to everyone from Steven and my sister to Stephanie's husband.  Good ol' V and I have broken up.  Again.  For good this time.  I promise!! (PS--Thank you, Courtney, for making sure I didn't die.)

The next morning (when the sun was a bit too bright and my head was pounding in my ears) we hit the beach!  We spent time walking with our feet in the water and looking for various treasures that had washed up on the shore.  I need to tell you that I did this walking without a cover-up.  That's right, ladies and gentleman, I walked around in nothing but my bathing suit.  This is a major personal vicotory for me.  Clearly we did not document this in photos (i'm certainly not there yet!) but I promise it happened. 

After the beach we hit the pool where Courtney would enjoy the water.  She's got a thing about fish and seaweed and sharks and sand fiddlers and stingrays and anything that may attack, brush up against or swim next to her in the ocean.  The pool did have one danger that the ocean didn't.  Other. People's.  Kids.  We were brave and stuck it out for as long as we could.  But once "Marco Polo" headed to the deep end, it was done. 

Later that evening, while walking along the beach (in the opposite direction as before for some variety) we saw some pretty interesting things.  Things that confirmed Courtney's fears of the deep blue (or grayish green) sea.  First there was the sting ray.  On the shore.  Yeah, out of the water!  A fisherman had accidentally caught him while clearly trying to catch, well, fish. 

Here's how I think about wild animals.  If one hurts me while I'm in its habitat, well then, that's on me.  I know sting rays are in the ocean.  I take that chance when I go in the water.  And this sting ray did not choose to be on land.  So he's forgiven his trespass into people places.  Because clearly, we can go into their homes but under no circumstances should they intentionally come into ours.  (Yeah, yeah, not logical.  Umm...don't care.)

So the stingray didn't do anything wrong.  But this next guy?!  Just who the heck does he thing he is?!  Silly shark, land is for humans!!   Ok, this is where i draw the line.  Those things have lots of teeth.  Lots.  Of.  Teeth.  (PS--he was alive and someone picked him up and threw him back in the water.)

Granted I thought it was awesome to see a shark that close and not be in an aquarium.  I'm a bit of a shark nerd, ask my husband.  My favorite movie is Jaws (the first one.  Two was good, Three was ok and Four should have never been made!), I am an avid watcher of the Discovery Channel's Shark Week, I love to visit aquariums with shark displays and I drug my husband to the Museum of Natural Sciences to see the Megaladon exhibit.  When I was a child my parents took me to Sea World where I (accurately, mind you) named all the sharks in the tank.  Like I said, nerd.  But even this dork draws the line with sharks on land.  And yeah, he's small.  But it's just for now.  They get bigger.  Lots bigger.   

Including and despite the shark sighting, it was a wondeful weekend.  Just three girls (a stingray and a shark) hanging out.  Oh and what would a vacation (even small weekend ones) be without the obligatory self-portrait?  See below :)

Is that a cow in my yard?

When Steven and I first started looking for houses we had a few items on our wish list.  Well, make that a few thousand.  But there were only a few (really, this time) that were "have-to-have" type things.  Individually we wanted things that were a bit different.  For the man of the house it was a garage.  His baby had to have a home!  Click for a reminder.  I had two main have-to-have's; an actual laundry room and a front porch big enough for at least two rocking chairs.  Check.  Check.  And Check. 

Together our main thing was to be somewhere we could have some land.  We didn't need a ranch or anything but we didn't want to reach out of our window and touch our neighbor's house.  I'm all about liking the neighbors but i don't need to hear alarms or activities in other homes.  We wanted a house in Johnston County.  In other words, The Country.  And we got just that.    

There are a few ways to know for sure that you live in The Country.  One of the first tell-tale signs is the over abundance of farms.  On the way home, I pass multiple fields, all growing something that someone or something will be eating in the months to come.  Rows as far as you can see full of everything from corn to strawberries.  

Where there are farms, there is farm equipment.  All the roads that we drive on day to day have been there for decades.  And back when they were nothing more than dirt and rock and clouds of dust, tractors roamed free.  Well, in Johnston County, they still do.  When it's plowing time, picking time, planting time or any time in between, you're going to eventually find yourself stuck behind a tractor going just over the speed of snail.  On occasion, the nice man at the wheel might pull over as far as he can and wave you around.  But mostly you're stuck.  I guess they figure they were there first.  And they'll be there last at that rate. 

From our front porch i hear church bells, crickets and the wind in the trees.  We have deer that roam through our yard at night and a giant bunny that murders flowers.  There are fireflies by the hundreds (they're kinda magical, aren't they?) and 100 times as many stars.  And, on random afternoons, when looking out in to the back yard, you just might see this...

Yeah, that's a cow.  Not sure if you can really tell from the picture but that's what it is.  The tangle of trees and other shrubbery that you see marks our property line.  There's a little wire fence that keeps the cows on their side and us on ours.  It's so little you can't even see it there.  And that cow was staring Steven down while he took this picture.  It was really funny actually.  Well, funny until a cow takes you down.  I guess that's something else you could hear about in the country. 

Oh, Baby!

Steven and I are surrounded by babies. Everyone we know has had one, is about to have one, or is seriously considering making one. Just this past weekend, we welcomed another little bundle of joy into the world. Harrison Monroe Swann was born on Saturday, June 12th at 12:18 a.m. He’s a little thing, weighing in at just over five pounds. But he’s got a head full of hair and has two parents already completely wrapped around his adorable little finger. At the bottom are a few shots of Steven and me with Lil’ Man.

It’s funny how life shifts. There was a time when the talk was boyfriends. Who are you dating? Do your parents like him? You’ve been together a few months?! That’s crazy! And then it all changed to marriage. Do you think he’ll ask you? When’s the big day? A few months from now?! That’s crazy! And now it’s all about the babies, Baby. When are you due? In a few months?! That’s crazy!

Babies are definitely on the brain. Big ones, little ones, not quite here ones. Ones that have grown into “big boys” and “big girls.” Shy ones, loud ones, perfectly perfect in every way ones. (Sorry, I slipped into a little Dr. Suess there.) I think of all the changes, of all the shifts from one life topic to the next, this is the biggest. Going from being just you to just two to adding one more is a big deal. I love watching my mommy friends. It’s amazing to see them with their children and to have been lucky enough to have known most of them from the beginning. Katie, Luke, Collin, Addie, Harrison, soon-to-be London. There's Hillary and Cole and Gracie and Maggie.  I feel like these kids are my friends. Little miniature homies that I just know I will love, love, love forever.

Can you dig it?

Last weekend Steven and I joined his side of the family in VA at Smith Moutain Lake.  His parents rented the place for week (and some change) so we and steven's brother and our sister-in-law headed on down the road and across NC's northern border.  What we found when we got there was nothing short of, well, groovy. 

It was dark when we got there last Friday night.  Anthony, Steven's older brother, met us in the driveway and the first words out of his mouth were, "did you wear your bell bottoms?"  I beg your pardon?  Usually "hey" works just fine as a greeting.  "Oh, you'll see."    As we walked up to the house the first thing we noticed was a very large picture window.  The lights were on in the house so we could clearly see Steven's parents and Anthony's wife, Jessica (yes, both Cerame boys married Jessicas) sitting in the living room.  Oh the living room.  When we stepped through the front door, we stepped back in time.  A time warp, baby, to the days of afros and peace signs.  Rusty orange carpet and gold, gold everywhere.  1975, nice to see you! 

Let me say that there was nothign wrong with this house.  The size and layout were perfect for the vacationers that we were and its dock was close to the house and great for sitting and swimming off of.   There were enough bathrooms and bedrooms and places to sit at dinner.  It was all just a bit (HA!) dated.  And it was a constant source of giggles for the two days we were together.  Need a visual?  Check out the picture to the right.  That's the totally far out light fixture in the bathroom.  And I know you can't really tell but those pictures above the mirror?  They're cross-stitched.  Just like most of the other decorations in the house. 

Steven and I stayed in a room with mustard yellow carpet and the beams on the living room ceiling were made of styrofoam.  They were perfectly accented by the large (and i mean large) golden lamp and the fish tank with no fish.  Yeah, its little pump was on.  Nope, not one fish to be found.  Maybe they got out and went down to take a peak at the wallpaper in the basement bathroom.  From a distance it looked like toille.  Up close, naked ladies with strategically placed hair, apples and shrubbery.  Clearly, that room is for adults only.  Bow-chicka-wow-wow! 

We had a great time in VA--even it it was VA circa 1970-something.  We spent lots of time down by the water, soaking up the rays (or having my mutant white skin reject it ferociously) and thinking of all the ways we were redecorate.  It was a great time and we'd love to go back.  Can you dig? 

The Big Clean

I’m not a nasty person. I’m really not. I like the house clean—not just neat but clean. I like my things in order. Before I leave work in the afternoon I straighten the stuff on my desk so that I don’t freak out the next day. Things have places and I like for them to be there whenever possible. (All my Mommy friends are laughing at this right now. I know, I know, talk to you in a few years when the kids arrive. I gotcha.) I’m a bit of a “Neat Freak” one might say. I get—slightly—bent out of shape when things get really messy. I—might—throw mini tantrums when dishes pile up or clothes don’t make it to the hamper. I—could—have a panic attack if that pair of shoes/glass/empty bottle/blanket/pillow/magazine/etc. stays there one more minute!! It’s part of who I am.


So please someone tell me why it is that my car looks like it belongs to Pig Pen’s long lost sister?! And it’s not only how it looks. The other morning I got into the car and was accosted by a foulness that I don’t remember smelling before. Panic. That smell! It’s in my car! It’s in the carpet! It’s in the seats! Ew—is it getting on me?! Breathe through my mouth, breathe through my mouth!  Ew, it's in my mouth!  Breathe through my nose, breathe through my nose... 

Action had to be taken. Quickly. I talked to Steven and asked if we could clean my carpets in the car. Sure. Oh good! I can’t deal with this smell. You know what we really need to do… Uh oh, what? Take the carpet completely out and power wash it. I beg your pardon? Yeah nothing gets to be too simple in the Land of Cerame. Rent a steam cleaner (or borrow one)? Nope. Take out the seats and rip the carpet out completely? Abso-freakin-lutely! I was hesitant. I was nervous. I said, “no way, Jose.”

Never before have I questioned a suggestion that Steven has made about a car. Never. Well you know what they say about first times all that. This was not happening. What if it got distorted and didn’t fit in there right when we were done?! Jess, this car is almost 10 years old. There is no way that carpet is going to lose its shape. There’s no simpler way to do this? Of course there is. But this is the best way. Of course it is. And it’s cheaper. Sold.

So Steven took the carpet out.  To the right is a picture of what we saw when he did.   Do I have to tell you again that I'm not nasty?  The stains were awful.  The worst part is that I have no idea where they came from!  I don't remember spilling Coke (or some variation) in the back seat and on the floor.  I don't sit in the backseat!  This is not my fault!  How long had that been there?  Blech. 

After we removed everything we sprayed it down with cleaner (Maybe i got a little over-zealous and sprayed so much that the power of the power washer was unable to completely rid the matts of all the suds. But just maybe.)  and then hung them by the clips at the car wash.  See below. 

Steven gagged a little at the smell that came off the carpet.  The water that ran from it was a murky brown.  Again, not nasty, People!   Well, I'm not but that crap was.  Oh gross, I just noticed that his feet more than likely came in contact with that water!  Eh, after hockey skates, the funk could not have bothered him much. 

We let the carpet dry in the sun and then i doused it with enough Febreeze to choke a small child.  (note: no children or animals were in danger during the cleaning of this vehicle.)  Steven put everything back together (my hero) and now it looks the best it has since I got it!  It's not perfect--a few faint stains remain--but it's a world of improvement.  Now if there was only something we could do about it's seeminly permanent gray tint.  Wash it, you say?  Whatever...    

Not such a "Big Girl"

Steven and I had to go to Target today to pick something up and before our outing was completed we ended up at Kohl's.  (I really do have a wonderful husband.)  We perused the shoes and purses (nothing to write home about) and made our way around to what I call "The Big Girl Section."  We walked through the maze that is the larger clothes.  Sizes accompanied by X's.  Styles that don't ever look quite, well, stylish (Why is that?  Big girls want cute stuff too!  And we aren't all over the age of 60, though judging by the clothes, you'd never know it.)  I wanted to see if they had some plaid shorts.  I'm a bit of a sucker for the plaid short.  And Steven is too.  So i figured, "This is Kohl's.  I should be able to find something for a decent price." 

We found a pair that was pretty cute and pretty normally priced.  What is this!?  I need the good ol' Kohl's sale.  And $35 for a pair of shorts is not a sale.  So we passed them by.  No need to even try them on.  We kept walking.  


Now the unfair thing about the "Big Girl Section" is the fact that is right beside, actually attached to, the "Regular Girl Section."  There's no real divider and before you know what you've done, you've moseyed over to shirts that won't button and pants that won't zip. But damn, they're cute.  You find yourself saying, "That's just what I was looking for!"  Then you look at the sizes and realize that single digits are blaring back at you.  Laughing at you.  Saying, "Please, girl!  You'd need me and my friend size 6 to make this work."  So you put whatever it is down, hoping no one saw you, the "Big Girl" pick up something so clearly out of your league, and your shopping trip is done.  


Well, not today.  We found the plaid shorts I wanted.  Not too short--because really, I don't have the thighs for that.  On sale--marked down from $30 to $15.  I started thumbing through the numbers.  I was sure the one I needed wouldn't be there.  And, well, it wasn't.  But Steven suggested I try the largest size they had available on the rack.  It's a size smaller than I normally wear and it did not have a "W" beside it.  (For you "Regular Girls" the "W" stands for Woman and means that the size on the tag is even a bit bigger than it says.  The cut is supposed to be more flattering for the "Big Girls."  In some cases this is true.  In others, well, not.)  I was hesitant but Steven and I figured that this would give me a new goal to work towards.  I had no expectations that they would fit.  


Into the dressing room I went.  Side note:  Why do dressing rooms smell?  This one smelled like nasty feet.  No one was in there.  So the foot smell was so strong that it had carried over from some past occupant.  OK, moving on--that's making my stomach turn a bit.  I put on the shorts.  Let me say that again.  I. PUT. ON. THE. SHORTS.  They fit!!!!  I walked out of the dressing room and showed Steven.  He was grinning from ear to ear.  


Now I'm not saying that I am, or will be in the immediate future, a frequenter of the "Regular Girl Section."  But my 30 pound loss (yep, last weigh-in proved it!) helped me get my plaid shorts--REGULAR ones.  Talk about great motivation.  Now there's this "Regular Girl" skirt I've been eyeing....  

Taming the Beast

There are few things in this world that my husband loves as much as he loves me.  His mom.  Hockey.  And the truck to the right.  This, my firends, is a 1985 Chevrolet truck.  I know you might not recognize it as a truck because it is missing a key truck compenent (the bed) but it is one.  A big one.  In fact, if it weren't for the steps on the sides (hard to see in this picture bit it's there) I wouldn't be ale to climb into it.  Well, not without using my Spidey senses.  Which I don't have so I guess that's a moot point.  Anyway, it's a beast.  Big and intimidating.  At least for me.  

I am girl that never learned to drive a manual.  I love that I don't have to try and remember where that stick goes or when you have to put it there.  I like the freedom of a car the does the work for me.  That was all before I met Steven. Now I want to learn to drive something that takes a little more effort—even if I never intend to actually put forth that effort every day. I don’t want to drive a stick in my day-to-day life. But it would be nice to know how, just in case. Plus Steven thinks it’s awesome and I love to be awesome to Steven. Not hard for me, I know, considering my already high level of awesome. But a little extra never hurt anyone.

So the Green Beast (or Booger, depending on the moment) is our only vehicle that requires the driver to shift gears. So, in turn, it’s the only way I have to learn. Steven used to have a Mustang that would meet this requirement but he got rid of it. Shouldn’t have done that. (right, honey? hehe) Anyway, last Saturday we needed to get the truck back into the garage. Steven saw this as the perfect opportunity for me to begin my lessons. Yes, this makes perfect sense. I am going to drive a huge truck that I don’t know how to drive TOWARDS my house. Does this sound like a bad idea to anyone else? Thought so.


But in I hopped. Wait—there was no hopping—it was more like a climb and hoist type operation. But I got in nonetheless. I took my place behind the wheel (which was a little sticky and way dirty) I went to push the clutch all the way in. Nope. Steven suggested I move the seat up. There we go; I can reach the pedals now. However, the steering wheel is now firmly pressed against my tummy. Nice. It will still turn so I’ll deal.


Lesson starts and I’m trying to listen really closely so that I can make sure that I don’t do anything extremely terrible like run into a tree, but my leg is now beginning to shake from holding the clutch down. It’s cramping from the full extension that is required (damn my short legs!) and that’s all my mind will let me process. So I blurt out, “let’s get going before my leg falls off!” Hope I didn’t miss anything important.


My first task was Reverse. Great, I don’t like Reverse in normal cars. But I managed it. Quite well I think. And then it was time to go forward. Towards the tree, in hopes of going towards the house. Again, bad idea? Anyway, I did fine. I was in Low. I don’t know what that means but it’s not First Gear. I stalled out in that so for right now, Low is my friend. I managed to inch the truck towards the garage and only freaked out once (well maybe a few times) at the close proximity of anything I could severely damage. Steven and I switched so he could pull it into the garage. I wasn’t near that brave. But when I stepped out I felt like I had done something major. I felt accomplished. My hands felt sticky.


And I have to saw that Steven is a great teacher. He wasn’t pushy or easily agitated. I was nervous to drive with him because he does this stuff so well. But all that ended the second we started. The truck is back in the garage. The garage is in one piece. And I really did have fun. I might even want to do it again. In an open field. With nothing to hit. For miles.

Blister in the sun...

Some things are just not fair.  Not at all.  Not even a little bit.  Take for instance my mother's ability to tan with the ease of someone born and raised much further South than the continental United States.  She lays on her deck, book in hand and turns the nicest shade of tan you've ever seen.  My dad?  He can hang out outside for a bit, doing yard work or whatever kind of work, and the same thing happens.  Nice and tan.  It's like my parents were put in some human toaster and came out perfect. 


Me?  HA!  There is something wrong with my skin.  It's rejects the sun with a ferocity that just makes no sense.  The tan gene skipped me completely.  I have this lovely (insert sarcasm here) reddish undertone to my skin that only becomes more and more prominent the longer i stay out in the rays.  Now don't get me wrong, my arms and shoulders will brown a bit, turning not so much red but all the more freckled.  But my cheeks always glow a hot pink and my nose would give Rudolph reason to think of retirement.  And my legs?  Well let's just say that translucent takes on a whole new meaning when they get involved.


To add insult to injury I married a man with Italian blood and the ability to tan by merely thinking about it.  Steven's arms and legs get tan as soon as the sun starts shining in early spring and don't ever really fade.  He's like a plant.  If there's sun, he thrives.  My only real saving grace is the fact that he's not a guy to go shirtless so he's got a killer farmer's tan.  His back and belly are as white as me.  That seems to level the playing field a bit.  Though only a little.  


But today I decided to fight.  I want to be tan.  I'm tired of wearing my light khaki shorts and blending in with the fabric.  I'm sick of looking a bit sick.  And let's face it; chubby looks better tan.   You know it's true.  So i took my book, my water and my beach chair and I hit the deck.  It took all of 40 seconds for the sweat to begin to pour.  In my mind I'm chanting " I can do this, I can do this" over and over.  A mantra if you will to make it through the heat.  I was doing ok.  I was going to make it.  Then I looked down.  


I stared through the sunlight bouncing off my legs to what was now visible.  Blotches.  Large and red.  And they were all over.  My knees look like I'd kneeled in red paint and my thighs have the appearance of skin after it's been slapped over and over.  I've got a feeling that this is just not going to be my day.  There was an odd tingle all over every place the sun had kissed (or bitten--whatever you want to call it) and I wasn't quite sure if that was pain or just discomfort.  Isn't there supposed to be a little burn of sorts?  No?  Well, damn. 


So I got up and came inside.  Within about ten minutes I looked back to normal.  Well, except for the dryness, slight itching and tiny little spots.  Is this just not meant to be for me?  Am i destined to be the girl with pearly white legs?  The girl who will always have to use SPF this-is-strong-enough-for babies?  Maybe I'll go back out for a minute. Just a little bit.  Give it another try.  Or maybe I'll just sit on the couch and read while the Golden Girls plays in the background.  Yeah, that sounds more like it. 


  

This Little Piggie...

My husband turned the big 2-4 last week. Yeah, he’s young. Just call me Demi! Well, not really. Our ages aren’t that far apart and I do not look like that in a bikini. But he is younger. By a couple—er, three—well, actually four—fine, and a half (damn those halves) years. When I met him he was 19 and the furthest thing from my mind was getting involved with him. Ok, that’s a lie. But I wouldn’t admit it. Anyway, moving on.

This past Saturday we did what any good Southerner would do to celebrate their birth. We threw a pig on the cooker and had our friends come out for more food than any of us could possibly eat. Everyone was so wonderful. They brought potato salad and mac and cheese and dips and chips and deviled eggs and drinks and cookies and cake. Every person that pulled up brought one more thing that I hadn’t had in what felt like an eternity. And I ate. And ate. And ate.

I ate until I felt almost nauseous. I let the feeling subside and I ate again. Every time I walked by a cookie, I ate one. I ate barbecue loaded in sauce. I drank a cup of sweet tea—with CAFFEINE! And I ate one of the best pieces of cake I have had since my wedding. (Thanks, Courtney and Connie!) And let me tell you, I feel like crap. Pure, nasty crap.

I gained weight last week. Yeah, you heard me. GAINED! Didn’t lose. Not one half a pound. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Last week was heinous in terms of diets. There was only one night I didn’t manage to eat something on my “off limits” list. I goofed big time. So this week, I’ve started back at square one. Steven’s throwing out all the leftover treats and I’m beginning again. Back to basics. Yesterday was tough, but I’m back on track. Took a little (ok, big) detour but I got it all figured out now. Wish me luck…again.

In terms of the party, it was wonderful. Steven and I know that we have wonderful friends and family. And they just keep proving us right over and over. Things have been a little rough lately and there is something about having your favorite people around you that makes the world seem right again. And it was right. And it was wonderful. we love our friends like family and appreciate the friendship that our family offers. We are lucky. We are so blessed. Can’t wait for next year!

Shedding the Big Girl clothes...

It finally happened. I almost didn’t believe it, but it actually happened. I have officially gotten too small for one of my bigger “big girl” shirts! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have had to retire something that I bought after the “inflation.” When I had finally gained enough weight that it was imperative that I buy a few items so that I would not have to subject the world to my nakedness (you’re welcome), I began the weekly Old Navy hunt. Upon one of my many visits to their website (they only sell Big Girl clothes online. Do I hear “Discrimination Lawsuit?”), I happened upon the cutest black shirt. Stylish. Flattering. Huge. Ok, not huge. But bigger. Bigger than I have bought before. But it worked and I really liked it. It was my go-to shirt.


The other day I couldn’t figure out what to wear. When you run into that type of dilemma, what do you do? You pull out the go-to. I grabbed the shirt from its usual place and went to put it on. It looked weird. What was this look? I hadn’t seen it in so long. It was too flowy. Not at all stylish. It actually looked HUGE. It was too big! Praise the Lord, I have a shirt that’s too big!! I took off that bad boy and threw it in a drawer in the spare bedroom where it will sit until it is time to take it to Goodwill. I have never been so happy to get rid of a favorite shirt!

Oh and get this! My shorts that were too tight last year. I can wear ‘em. And the bigger shorts that I bought to be big enough? I can take those off without unbuttoning them! My wardrobe is shifting quite dramatically. At least I had the good sense to keep my smaller stuff. Wishful thinking finally paid off!

Recipe Update:

After the whole breakfast casserole debacle we were both a little gun-shy on trying a new recipe and ready to redeem the cookbook. Enter the Buffalo Chicken Chili. In a word, YUM! I will post the recipe for you in my next post. It’s made with stuff that you wouldn’t normally think of so keep an open mind. And if you add the suggested amount of hot sauce, it really does taste like Buffalo Wings. Just try not to dip it in ranch. :)