Posted by: aauntiem | March 18, 2010

Hungry Hungry Hay Stacks

As someone that frequently tames the wild (I acknowledge and refuse to unpack all of that), has a certain animal whisperer-ness, and has the physique of an all conference college athlete (why, are you laughing now? It is rude and it isn’t even what you think. So, Nah)….

Bethy, my sister, is notorious in my family for coming down with


See, the thing with Beth is that she spends most of her days like this

and this

which causes a lot of this

and even before that she spent her days doing this

This active lifestyle caused her to eat all the time (she used to bet my dad she couldn’t eat everything on her plate plus the whole steak at a restaurant and every,every time she would win. My dad never learned. But, really who thinks a skinny kid like her is gonna eat a whole ribeye?). When she didn’t eat and eat quick she would come down with Hungry.

This caused dinner in my house growing up to be a time of cream of mushroom soup based recipes (my mom’s secret ingredient in everything) and laughter.

Picture this:

My mother would come home from work and after sitting down for a few minutes, usually with a can of soda, she would begin making dinner. My sister, guaranteed to be in yoga-style baggy pants and a giant t-shirt with her hair in a ponytail on top of her head, would come and sit cross-legged on one of the kitchen table stools. She always sits like that. If I call up an image of my sister, despite the horse taming or sophisticated woman she has become, I only ever see her there at the kitchen table, almost certainly itching at her nose because of Fat-Man’s hair (she is allergic to cats).

Then, like I do now when everyone is home and not hurrying to do something, I would sit across from her, probably dressed up with make-up on (quiet, Jay). Mom would be cooking something magical and saucy, hence the cream soup, and my sister would entertain us.

When my sister gets hungry she loses all control. The science of it all seems to go like this: she must re-route all possible brain power to either a.) distract her from the hunger or b.) keep her focused enough not to eat the bar stool or c.) keep all focus on not killing everyone in the room, hulk style. Science aside, it resulted in the best Bethy stories anyone has got.

One night, my sister and I sitting just as described at the kitchen table and my mother cooking, the phone rang. My mother reached across from the kitchen stove to pick up the cordless. It was a parent. As a teacher, my mother gets parents phone calls all-the-time.

Now, I have no idea what my mother discussed or why this particular call was so bothersome. All I remember is what happens after the call.

My mother had remarked that it was annoying that she would get calls at home from parents that would interrupt dinner and something to the effect of “I wish they didn’t have her home number.” It is all a little fuzzy, as I am not inclined to remember Picasso’s cell number much less ten year old ho-hum weekday dinner table conversations.

Then, my sister got this I-am-so-smart-sparkle in her eye and remarked that she had a great idea. Full of excitement and secret spy maneuvers she left the room.

In a little while later my sister reappeared. She came back holding something behind her back. Presenting it like a project that won the science fair, my sister unveiled the phone book and her genius plan: she had cut our name from the phone book so that my mother’s student’s parents would no longer be able to call.

By that time, my father was home from work and had made his way into the kitchen. My mother and I were almost in tears. My father, confused, asked for a recap. Now, everyone was laughing.

My sister looked confused, betrayed, hurt. This was her great plan. This was her moment to save the day. It was pure genius and everyone thought it was laughable?!

Through laughter, we explained to my sister that it wouldn’t help to cut our number out of our phone book because it would still be available to everyone else.

“Oh,” realization finally coming to her. Not missing a beat, she asked, “When is dinner?”

This story is a typical representation of the dinner table at my house. My sister made us laugh for an entire decade. She would just get silly and nonsensical around 5:00 pm and until she ate. It was as regular as a grandfather clock.

Guess that is what happens with

I was thinking about her yesterday after I had a little hunger tantrum that left Picasso spinning in my wake, pin-a-tail-on-the-donkey style.

I exercised a total of 2 hours yesterday between all my activity and was blinded by hunger by the time dinner rolled around. Unlike my adorable sister’s story, when I get hungry I get cranky and moody and want to eat everything in sight. I managed to down a banana, a tangerine, kale snatched from the roasting pan, and a handful of nuts before dinner even came.

After the food finally hit my stomach and I was satisfied for the first time all day I couldn’t stop thinking about her as I watched TV.

She packed up the car Valentine’s Day weekend and drove a state over to start her life with a Georgia Boy.

She had just graduated from college and was free from all obligations for the first time in her life.

Even though I didn’t really see her that often anymore, my family usually tried to have dinner or breakfast together at least one day on most weekends and she made it to about half. To this day she still gets funny before she eats; although, after she stopped playing ball it isn’t quite as noticeable because she doesn’t have to eat like Michael Phelps.

I just miss her. It is weird because even though we weren’t attached at the hip I can feel that she is not here.

So, in honor of my oh-so-funny horse whispering sister and family dinner table stories, I thought I would share this long time recipe for hay stacks. You can make it in a supper jiffy, so make some today and head off hungry, unless you have a sister that you would prefer to see that way.

Hay Stacks                serves 50

2 weight watchers points a piece

Bag of Tollhouse Butterscotch Morsels
3/4 cup(s) creamy peanut butter
10 oz package of chow mien noodles or two 5 oz cans

Peanuts (optional, I never use them, and it will change the points value)

LINE trays with wax paper.

In a large microwavable mixing bowl, dump in your entire bag of butterscotch. Microwave, uncovered, for about one minute. Stir, stir, stir, baby.

The butterscotch will still have some of its original morsely shape, this is normal. If necessary, microwave for an additional 10- to 15-seconds, stirring just until morsels are melted.

Stir in peanut butter until well blended (lick the spoon. Or, if you are would die at the points value of that BLT, just put it down and walk away calmly).
Add chow mien noodles. Stir until all the noodles are coated.

Drop haystacks onto wax paper, it should make 50. Let stacks harden until ready to serve.

These come out to be salty, sweet, melt in your mouth goodness. There is really nothing better. And, this recipe is my mom’s original—it hasn’t be lightened up or anything.  So, really there isn’t anything better. You can make them with chocolate chips or white chocolate but I am a purist.  Oh, and just an FYI, my sister is allergic to hay (go figure).

Here is the recipe.

Happy Weigh In (oh that’s just me) Happy Almost Friday,

Auntie M



  1. I have subscribed to this blog and look forward to future installments that may or may not determine my aggregate income as a possible owner of one hill now unfortunately occupied by bovine inhabitants.

  2. I need to make these. Like right now. I can consume almost anything with peanut butter in it in seconds. I could eat an entire jar of peanut butter in hours if I let myself.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: