Cooking and gardening, from scratch

 

Christian's gardening on the front porch

In many households across the nation you’ll see a big ham on the Christmas table. Not in my house. I can’t even get the family to eat a ham slice. I ordered one from Central Market, expecting a small slice I could turn into ham salad for lunch, Instead I got a large piece—one lb., pre-cooked, for just over five dollars. A bargain! I remembered my mom cooking ham slice with pineapple and brown sugar, and I knew I didn’t want to do that. But what to do? I looked online and finally came up for a recipe with a Madeira sauce. Right away I ran into trouble: Jordan declared unequivocally she does not like him (I’ve known her for forty-eight years—what did I not know this?); Christian declared he would try it, but he didn’t want the mushrooms in the sauce; I didn’t even ask Jacob because now that he’s a senior, with golf, work, and his buddies, he rarely eats dinner with us. So I decided I’d cook it, without mushrooms, on a night Jordan was out, and Christian and I would eat alone.

We tried several times—and each time, Christian had a business meeting (read that as happy hour) come up. Fortunately I hadn’t defrosted the ham, but I was getting tired of having it taking up space in my freezer. And now that it’s December, I’m trying to be just a bit frugal and use what’s in the freezer rather than buying more. So tonight, Jean and I had ham with madeira sauce and mushrooms. It wasn’t very good, after all that. The flavor of the mushrooms was great, but the sauce was runny and by the time it sat in the sauce during the cooking time, the pre-cooked ham was overcooked. The flavor was great but not much else. I threw the recipe in the trash, but after some thought I retrieved it because I think I could do it right.

I’d sauté the mushrooms and then make the sauce around them—madeira, chicken broth, shallot—and thicken it with a cornstarch mixture. And I’d cut down on the amount of broth. Only then would I add the pre-cooked ham (the recipe probably was meant for an uncooked slice if there is such a thing). Not sure I’ll ever try that, but I might. Meantime I only used half the ham steak, so the other half will go into ham salad for my lunches.

Tonight I also served butter roasted sweet potatoes—another failure. You peel the potatoes and cut into rounds. If you’ve ever tried to peel a raw sweet potato, you know the difficulty. And while the rounds were good, it’s a lot easier to just bake a sweet potato and serve it with lots of butter. These got a bit dry, but that’s probably because my odd cooking arrangement means I have to cook, let sit while I cook something else, and then re-heat. We also had sauteed spinach—so good, but one bunch of spinach gives two people tiny servings each—and a salad with homemade croutons and buttermilk dressing. It was the best part of the dinner, and Jean, having turned down a second helping, stood at the sink to finish what was left in the salad bowl. The meal was, at best, a mixed success.

Now it’s on to Christmas. No more experimental cooking as we get ready for the big meal. Except tomorrow, I’m going to use those skinless, boneless chicken thighs in the freezer that have also been challenging me for a chicken/wild rice soup. The rest of the week it’s peanut butter.

If I am a dedicated if not always successful cook, I am definitely not a gardener. Now, with a mobility challenge, I couldn’t get down in the dirt if I wanted to, but the truth is I never wanted to. My dad gardened to relax—weekends, on hands and knees, wearing the oldest, scruffiest clothes he could find. Mom was always afraid one of his students would come by and catch him in the garden. But it was the place where he was most happy. Christian, too, is a gardener--a pot gardener mostly, who fills the front porch with a lavish display in the summer But he also runs a plant nursery and can revive plants, like orchids that die in my care or a kalanchoe. I have always sort of envied those who find joy working in the garden.

So I saw a blanket-type thing with holes that you spread over dirt in a large planter and—voila! Plants. It seems the blanket is weed and insect resistant, and the holes have the seeds which germinate without your help. You never have to do anything but watch your plants grow. I may be old-fashioned, but I think for many that would rob gardening of much of its benefit. I know my dad would disapprove, and I think so would my botanist friend Susan Tweit who strongly believes in a visceral connection to Mother Earth.

Those instant gardens are like convenience foods—they take away something elemental about the process, and in so doing they rob us of the satisfaction that older generations felt. I may not garden, but I will darn sure keep scratch cooking.