Minor misadventures and cooking redemption

 

 

After the eclipse, I would have told you that for most of the day there was a spot on the moon. Nothing serious, but nothing went quite right.

The major project for today was for Jordan and me to go to Christian’s office for covid booster shots, because this is the day once a month that a visiting nurse comes to give shots—a wonderful service his company provides its people, and he was going to let me take advantage. Going places in the morning is always a bit of, well, a reach for me. I much prefer to spend the morning at my computer. But I dutifully dressed in street clothes, even washed my hair so Christian would not be embarrassed by his mother-in-law.

We were early; the nurse was late. I sat in my transport chair in the hall and tried to keep up with emails. Finally, she arrived—a substitute because the usual nurse, her mother, couldn’t come today. It’s been six months since Jordan and I had our twin covid cases, and we were finally eligible for the booster. The nurse didn’t have Moderna, only Pfizer, but she assured us we could switch. I said our doctor said not to switch, and she immediately said to follow the doctor’s advice. So I asked for RSV, which I also need. She didn’t have it. Then she found two doses of Moderna. But she could not take me Humana Medicare. She talked to her mother, who said something to the effect that she loved Christian so much her daughter should go ahead and give me the shot. I do not understand any of this.

Upshot: I got my covid booster but haven’t gotten the RSV shot yet and will probably have to go to a pharmacy for that.

I was expecting a lunch guest tomorrow (she has since had to postpone until Thursday). Heather was a student intern in my office at TCU Press more moons ago than she would probably like to remember. She went on to editorial work at Harcourt, and then I lost track of her. Turned out she had been in San Antonio attending the Culinary Institute of America. We hooked up again, and when I was working on my cookbook, Gourmet on a Hot Plate, she was a huge help. But we had at that time great political differences. I suspect she is more forgiving about that than I am. At any rate, the relationship just sought of drifted into space, but recently she emailed that she had published a small children’s book and needed marketing advice. She admitted we probably still have our differences but maybe we could set them aside. So she’s to come for lunch.

I am seriously challenged by cooking for someone who trained with the CIA, but I found a sort of non-recipe I liked: marinate tomato slices in balsamic vinegar and then top with creamed spinach and grated cheese—run under the broiler until cheese melts and is bubbly. Perfect! So I ordered spinach from Central Market, but it didn’t come with my weekly order. I was sure I could get it before Wednesday, but today I thought, “Yikes!” Then Heather emailed to say she has to cover for someone at work tomorrow (she’s in charge of food service at an extended care facility) , so I presented her with my dilemma—did she want to bring the spinach or did she want my signature tuna salad? We have settled on the tuna, and she will be here Thursday.

Tonight was Mary’s regular happy hour night, and I was so pleased that I had gotten a jar of pickled herring for her—she loves it, and I pretty much do too. But when I was trying to cut off the cellophane collar on the jar, I noticed my fingers already smelled like the pickling liquid—red flag. And then the lid to the jar popped off sort of spontaneously. One unusable jar of pickled herring, and one big disappointment. I will call Central Market in the morning—may be too late for a refund, but at least they should know.

But after these mishaps and my kitchen fails of the weekend, I redeemed myself tonight. Central Market had sent me an unasked-for lb. of ground chicken. They hadn’t charged me for it, and I know they couldn’t take it back, so I had to do something with it. I’ve made chicken burgers in the past and not liked the texture. Lettuce wraps seemed the perfect solution. I got the copycat recipe online for PF Chang’s lettuce wraps, raided Christians supply of Asian seasonings, and made my first-ever lettuce wraps with real butter lettuce—a luxury. Served with sugar snap peas (I’m not sure it wasn’t a mixture of sugar snap peas and snow peas—hard to tell them apart and Central Market may have slipped a bit). It was, if I do say, delicious, and a recipe I’ll keep and reuse (may have to buy my own sesame oil and hoisin sauce, etc.—I did not use Siracha but substituted the ordinary Heinz chili sauce I had).

So how was your post-eclipse day? A spot on the moon or all in order?

Some plans go awry

 

This started out to be a great cooking weekend, but somehow it went amuck. Okay, not somehow—I know what happened.

Last night Jordan and I welcomed Renee, a minister at our church and a good friend. We planned a girls’ evening, and I came up with an experimental light supper—I had the idea, and Jordan carried it out beautifully. She mixed flaked tuna with tabouleh, topped it with lemon, avocado, and good Greek yogurt. Then she put a dab of hummus on the side of each bowl. Delicious, looked gorgeous in the bowl, and so filling! Anyway it was the cooking success I hoped for. Tonight not so much.

Jacob came home from two weeks at Sky Ranch camp tonight. That is, Jordan and Christian drove to Van in East Texas to pick him up. He had been on a bus from Colorado all night. The plan was to have a welcome-home celebratory dinner, and Jordan chose carnitas for the entrée, because that’s something he likes. First mistake.

I make carnitas the way a man who once worked in my office taught me—simmer cubes of pork butt until the liquid disappears and the meat gets crusty. That makes a simple boiled pork dinner, but if you season the water, you get carnitas. I add onion, garlic, orange peel, bay leaves oregano, cloves, a cinnamon stick—I guess that’s all. I’ve made it a lot before, and usually it turns out great, but tonight the liquid would not cook down no matter what we did. I figure I made two mistakes: too much liquid and not long enough cooking. Easy enough to correct next time, and there will be a next time because I ordered 2.5 lbs. of beef in cubes and got 4.35 lbs. So I have leftovers in the freezer. And to add to my discontent, the one-inch cubes I requested were big hunks of meat, so I spent a lot of time cutting them into one-inch cubes. Next time I will be firm in my request. Another lesson learned: my knives need sharpening, even my big, good chef’s knife.

And then Christian suddenly had to go to Plano for a memorial service for a high school friend. So that dinner for four planned for seven o’clock? Three of us sat down at almost eight-thirty, and I have to say our tempers were a bit testy from hunger. We do have good leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

Jacob responded easily to questions about his camp experience—he loved it. No swimming, which astounded me. Why go to camp if you don’t swim? They did play soccer, football, baseball, etc. They also had Bible study—Ephesians, but he was a little shaky on the content when asked. That’s okay because I’m a bit shaky too. We both know that Ephesians is letters Paul wrote while in prison.

But for me the big disappointment came when he talked about group singing, which he apparently enjoyed. I asked if they sang “Kumbala,” or “Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore,” and he looked at me blankly and said, “I don’t know what those are.” They sang country songs, like “Country Roads” and others I’d never heard of. So I guess we’re even. But it makes me sad to think that those songs, which I always thought generations sang, are fading from memory. Jordan challenged me to sing “Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore,” but I may just have to find a rendition online for her. And I bet Jacob has no idea who Joan Baez is. Travesty.

So tomorrow night, one more experiment: I read about baking potatoes the British way. Two hours in a 400^o degree oven. Instead of poking them all over with a fork, you cut a deep cross in the top. The long cooking time makes the skins really crisp. Then you take them out, cut the cross deeper, and return to the oven for ten minutes. This is supposed to make the potato meat fluffy. We’re having steak tomorrow night, so I’ll report on how the potatoes do.

My day was work—I wrote 800 words, which is really good for a nonfiction project—and I napped and made carnitas. And that sums up the day. I did finish a new mystery which I thoroughly enjoyed: Murder in G Major by Alexia Gordon. An African-American classical musician is stranded in a small Irish village and challenged with transforming the rowdy musicians of the local boys’ school into an award-winning orchestra. But along the way she shares a cottage with an absolutely charming ghost and uncovers a lot of old murders—and some new ones. Will hers be next? Good story. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

One never knows what tomorrow will bring. Sweet dreams, everyone.