Bourbon and Spice, and Everything Nice...

And just what are little girls made of, you ask? Why, "sugar and spice, and everything nice," of

course.  This response, told to me often by my grandmother, was meant to stand in stark contrast to the inevitably more disgusting, and conceivably far more disturbing, "snips and snails, and puppy dog tails" that made up little boys.  I'm certain in its original form this was meant to reinforce the gentle and nurturing nature of women versus the more masculine and rugged disposition of the socially acceptable male.  However, it's 2014, and with Michigan on the cusp of actually, sort of, (let's hope so), joining the modern world and allowing same sex couples to marry, I think we can safely dispose of the separate spheres once and for all, and let the cult of domesticity go down with the likes of the Manson Family and Branch Davidians--in a fiery failure brought on by its own inability to portent widely acceptable standards (you know, minus that whole murder thing.)

So, this begs the question, what are girls made of today? Or rather, what are modern women made of?  Martha Stewart, domestic goddess that she is, who could de-bone a chicken and throw a perfect cocktail party with the best of 1950s womanhood, has illustrated that modern woman can both "bring home the bacon...and fry it in the pan" (I mean, Martha would probably be frying up some kind of fancy, imported bacon, made from pigs who had their own personal masseuses and nutritionists during their stint on the rolling hills of the Schweinecke region of Germany or something, but she would still be able to fry the hell out of it.)

Modern woman is, and should be, made of whatever she pleases.  Be it sugar and spice, and everything nice, from her bouffant hair to her patent leather heels, cocktail in hand for her husband when he arrives home from work...to leather and Harleys...or business tweed. 

Admittedly, I have been struggling with my own self definition lately as a modern woman, hence

the logic behind this post.  Recently, I went on a vacation road trip to Florida for Spring Break (mostly to escape the lingering Polar Vortex), and due to other business obligations, my husband was unable to go along with me.  Me, being me, went anyway, alone.  Personally, I saw nothing wrong with this...I had gone on plenty of solo research trips before...I had the time...and I had some spare cash set aside--so why not?

Needless to say, numerous different people have expressed a kind of "shock" at my solo vacation.  Really? I'd like to think that my husband and I are each individuals...and while married, still possess our own separateness as well--we have separate activities, separate careers, and things we do together.  He made it clear he'd take some crazy risks in life--I made it clear I'd never be a barefoot and pregnant, stay-at-home, Suzy Homemaker.  The deal was done.

Unfortunately, circumstances change and things don't always happen the way we wish they would.  Part of my solo trip was also a chance to take the cliched luxury of "finding myself" or perhaps figuring out just what I was made of.  And what did I find?  Sorrow. Anxiety.  Anger.  Disappointment. 

What would I have found a year ago? Something entirely different, I'm imagining, but a lot can go down in a year, and a lot has gone down in the last year for me.   Not that life is bad, in fact, it's actually pretty awesome by most people's standards--but it's not the same life I thought I'd have at this point--not the same life I planned to have at this point...and that causes me great amounts of stress.  I've always been a planner, an organizer, someone who has things done weeks ahead of when they need to be, and ambitious to a fault--and when things don't fall into place, it freaks me out.

So why the rant?  Well, after figuring out what I'm currently made up of, I've found myself relegated to the more sugar and spice type lifestyle that I personally, never liked and never wanted.  I was always more of a snips and snails kind of girl--give me blue jeans over a skirt any day.  Now I find myself at home most days because I only profess to the masses part time, banished to the kitchen to make dinner for my husband every night.  The real problem?  I was feeling forced into the Suzy Homemaker role.  I actually like being at home...and even like to cook...and I really don't mind cleaning--but it's the very idea that I have to do it because it's my role that tortures me.

You see, even I lost sight of modernity for a moment.  Despite being an historian, and having an appreciation for the past and all its social constructs, I was fighting hard to avoid being pigeon-holed into what I viewed as that uber-tradionale role for women.  In reality, people, myself included, should do what they have to do, to make life work.  Case in point? The television show Modern Family (one of the few I can stand to watch--so check it out if you've never seen an episode!)  Modern can clearly mean a lot of different things!

For the last few weeks since my trip, I've been trying to accept this concept.  Yes, I cook dinner--not because I have to, but because I want to (I mean, I'd rather eat something healthy and homemade, and really, even if hubby wasn't coming home, wouldn't I still make myself dinner?)  So, I've taken up new food adventures in the kitchen--new recipes, new techniques, etc.  I'm kickin' up the Flavor Town highlights a notch, y'all.  It's a good thing.  Tonight's adventure was my own riff on barbeque sauce, and I've included my recipe below...

Likewise, I was perhaps feeling resentful that my career has suffered for my husband's. But you

know, I love teaching and always have (despite temporary bouts of student insanity and lots of moments when you wonder just what planet they've beamed in from).  Yes, it would be nice to be getting paid what I'm worth (cue world's smallest violin--all teachers, everywhere can definitely understand the pay gap--trust me, it doesn't end at the ivy-covered gates of the university either).  And yes, to have a full-time position where I'd have better resources for going about my own research and writing would be great, but I also get to avoid the nasty departmental politics and obligatory meetings that go along with those jobs and so often force teaching to become a secondary interest for professors (There are no podiums in the classroom! There are no white board markers in the rooms--god forbid I have to carry my own!).  And, something that has become much more significant in recent months, my lack of full-time career has allowed me to stay close to family when it mattered most.

So, overall, modern woman--and modern man too--can be made up of anything and still "work" in today's society.  It's not all sugar and snails anymore...

Bourbon & Spice Peach BBQ Sauce

Inspired by my trip down south, the goal of this sauce was to amp up my usual homemade barbeque chicken pizza.

Ingredients:

1T canola oil
1 small onion diced
1 14.5 oz can no sugar added sliced peaches, drained (liquid reserved)
1/4 C peach liquid

1/4 C Buffalo Trace bourbon
4 T light brown sugar
2 T apple cider vinegar
1 pinch cayenne pepper (or to taste)
2 pinches salt

Directions:
 

Heat canola oil in 5qt sauce pot over medium-high heat.  Add onions and saute until translucent, about 8 minutes.

Add drained peaches, peach liquid, bourbon, sugar, and apple cider vinegar.  Cover pan with lid and cook on medium for ten minutes until peaches are thoroughly softened.  Use a stick blender to blend peach mixture smooth (or transfer to a blender).

Continue to cook, uncovered, on medium-low until reduced by half, stirring occasionally.  Season with salt and cayenne.  Makes 1 cup of sauce.

Calories 629 total...~40/1 Tablespoon serving

Try it on barbeque chicken pizza with caramelized onions, bacon, and smoked mozzarella!