Searching for a recipe, PT, and a celebratory supper

 

I can’t believe I really did this, but I scrolled through the entire page of the New York Times Cooking Community Facebook page looking for a specific recipe. The backstory: we debate every year what to do about Easter so that I get a celebratory meal with the family and they also get to Coppell to see Christian’s family. Brunch or dinner? If we do dinner and they want a roast or leg of lamb, I’m out of it because I can’t do those in my toaster oven. Brunch is okay, but hey, they have scrambled eggs and bacon every Sunday. Quiche? Maybe. I did find a biscuit recipe called Butter Swim Biscuits—who could resist?

Then I found a recipe I thought perfect—pork tenderloin cooked in a slow cooker and a sauce of soy/sesame. Supposedly makes rich gravy. That I could do while the Burtons go to Coppell and I get a Sunday nap. But when I looked for it, I couldn’t find the recipe, although I was sure I saved it. So I scrolled through that long page—took me a while and gave me several other ideas, but I tried to stay focused. No luck. Then I paged, recipe by recipe, through the appalling collection that I want to try one day—and there, near the bottom of the pile, was what I was looking for. Now to sell it to the family.

Perhaps you’ve heard that the NYTimes is “ditching” its Cooking Community Facebook page. That’s not quite the whole story, though there’s been a lot of flap and snark about it. The official word is that they want to replace NYTimes moderators with qualified volunteer moderators, with the goal of eventually turning the page over to the members. I can see the Times point—in one year, the page went from 8,000 subscribers to 77,000, and the Times found it was not driving subscriptions to the paper. So they were paying moderators and not getting a return.

Besides that, an unbelievable number of people were downright unpleasant—some wanted straight recipes, others enjoyed (as I do) the story behind the recipes. They sniped at each other. And there were lots of off-topic posts and, inevitably, some political posts which were absolutely out of place. Now people are busily accusing the Times of abandoning us and are fishing for new names for the page. Me? I just want everyone to play nicely. I really like the page, and I think those who cry “Foul!” are jumping to negative conclusions. This is an ongoing story—we’ll see what happens. No firm date has been set for the big shift, though many talk as though it is tomorrow.

Cooking aside for a minute, I met with the PT person today, and he turned out to be the one who had worked with me five years ago before I had hip surgery. We had a mini-reunion, though I did remind him he had thought I was lazy. He denied that and said he knew I was in pain. But he was the one who insisted I should have an x-ray, so he did a really good thing. Today we moved on to the present and agreed that walking unassisted is not my goal—but increasing my stamina is. Dan gave me an assignment and said we can work on such things as walking slowly and taking deep breaths as I walk. Did you know many people hold their breath, unconsciously, when they exercise?

Tonight Jordan’s girlfriends are taking her for a belated birthday dinner at the Japanese Palace (now that makes me jealous!), and I will have a solitary but splendid dinner. I had to go on another search, but I found the lone loin lamb (say that fast!) chop in the freezer and will cook it with anchovy butter—because I have anchovies left from last night’s salmon. Asparagus with Aunt Reva’s good sour cream sauce, and a bit of leftover vinegar potato salad Jordan made the other night. Sometimes a solitary meal can be a celebration.

I was going to post a lovely picture of my solitary, celebratory dinner--until I flipped most of the asparagus onto the floor. Sophie did a good clean-up job--she isn't crazy about asparagus but sure liked the sour cream topping. Christian happened along just in time to finish the clean-up and point out that I had also showered Soph with a spray of sour cream. Not the evening I envisioned.

Excuse me, I have to go walk the small, circular route in my cottage three times—about sixty feet—and practice breathing. Take care in the storms tonight. Right now I hear thunder in the distance every once in a while, but mostly there's that eerie, still silence that often precedes a storm. Take care.

In its own way, a glorious Easter

Easter happy hour on the patio

If you can get past to comparisons to “how it should be,” this was really a glorious Easter, at least here in North Texas. Rolling thunder woke me sometime in the early morning, and I got up to release Sophie from her crate because I knew she be frightened and want to be close to me. But by the time I got up for good, it was a glorious sunny day, the kind of day you think Easter should be.

My strongest memory of Easter in the Chicago of my childhood has to do with heavy winter coats. I would get a fancy Easter dress, often organdy or some sheer fabric, with petticoats beneath—and then the weather would force me to top it with my drab, old winter coat. No such problems here.

Another of my earliest memories is the anthem we learned in choir: One Early Easter Morning. This morning, when I turned on my computer, the first thing I saw was an email from my lifelong dear friend Barbara. Nothing except the first lines of that anthem. Brought happy tears of memory to my eyes.

Jordan, Jacob, and I “went” to eleven o’clock church online, while Christian attended inside the house. The music was glorious—brass, timpani, wind—and a vocal quartet that were superb. The message, inspiring and nicely linking the resurrection to the difficult period we now find ourselves in. I am so grateful to my church as the staff continues to explore ways to keep us together and create meaningful worship in the midst of physical distancing.

Jordan dressed for church. Unfortunately, neither Jacob nor I did. And I didn’t realize that we were all having brunch together. Just as I finished my tuna and cottage cheese, there they came, bearing bacon and eggs and potatoes. We had a grand time, mostly talking with Jacob about colleges because he’s suddenly decided, after years of devotion, he may not want to go to Baylor.

A nap for me, while the Burtons went to do a birthday drive-by for a good friend. I am amused that these have become common across the nation. The first I heard of—for the 14^th birthday of a friend’s daughter—seemed original to me, but I soon learned it is a “thing.” Just as I woke from my nap, thunder was rumbling again but it did little more than make Sophie nervous.

Our Easter table

with Jordan's cake

Easter dinner

After that the focus was on dinner which, as always, was late. I made scalloped potatoes—I have always had trouble getting them right, but I nailed it this time. I used to try for Colin, because he loved them, but they were always mushy. Christian cooked a brisket, following directions I remembered from my Jewish mother-in-law—it was delicious, though he wasn’t happy with the gravy. Jordan made deviled eggs, cucumber salad, and a cake. And set an elegant table on my coffee table. It was al delicious, and we lingered over Jordan’s cake—a memory from her childhood: yellow cake with chocolate frosting.

So different from other Easter tables with lots of family and friends, but we are together and healthy and beyond grateful. I come away from this holiest of days with the sure knowledge that we will get through this.

Tonight, the wind is blowing, and the temperature has dropped dramatically. I’ve heard predictions as low as the thirties in the night. Crazy weather.

One early Easter morning

Easter breakfast

When I was in children’s or youth choice back home in Chicago, we sang an Easter song that began, “One early Easter morning, I wakened with the birds/And all around me lay silence/Too deep for earthly words.” That’s about what happened this morning. After a restless night—I don’t sleep well when I know I have to get up—the alarm went off at 5:30. I turned on the TV waiting for weather reports and was rewarded with paid programming. But finally a weatherman came on, said it was 58 degrees and a cold front with rain was expected about ten. Super! Substituted the warm sweater and shawl I’d laid out for a lighter cotton sweater and a vest. It was comfortable and calm when we set out, though a series of mishaps made us almost late—I couldn’t get into friend Linda’s car because it’s high and has no running boards; once in I couldn’t find the handicapped sticker—I was sitting in it.

By the time we arrived at the church garden for the sunrise service, most chairs were taken. A lady and her son graciously moved over so we could sit. We were barely in our seats when the front hit—wild winds that blew the lilies about in a wild dance and made the microphones sound like thunder. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees, maybe more. But the ministers persevered, and the congregation stayed put. I was reminded of the winter Sunday when the heat in the sanctuary went out and the then-minister said, “Instead of God’s chosen, you are God’s frozen.”

Nonetheless, even when you’re miserably cold, there’s something magical about watching the world go from dark to light while the sermon is about going from the sorrow of Good Friday to the joy and hope of Easter morning. It was a lovely service.

Jacob with his Easter haul. The Bunny at our house was unimaginative and
brought mostly money. Jacob was delighted and looked forward to another haul at
his other grandparents' later in the day. I told him I thought he had maybe missed
the meaning of Easter.

We hurried home, lit a fire, and, joined by Jordan and family, started breakfast. Other guests arrived about eight, and we sat sipping mimosas and bloody Marys, finally ate about 8:30—a cheese strata (need to rework the recipe), sausages, fruit salad, and some hot cross buns because I can’t resist them on Easter. All of a sudden, nearing 10:30, everyone left but Linda—and she and I faced the kitchen. I cannot say enough about what a help she was—my back hurt enough (after a weekend of cooking) that I had to stop and sit, but she worked away and the kitchen was soon to the point that I said, “I’ll take care of that…and that…later.” She left about 11:15 for her 30-miles drive home, and I slept for two hours.

I was late—but not too much so—for dinner with nearby friends at two. All my favorite foods—lamb chops, twice-baked potatoes, asparagus, avocado salad, blueberries and raspberries for dessert. And a thoroughly pleasant and relaxed meal with just four of us.

But Easter, with all its promise of hope and renewal, did me in. Came home and went back to bed. I have since finished the kitchen, done my yoga, fixed the alarm system I messed up as I tried to leave at two, and generally restored the house to whatever order it will be in for the next few months until garage sale is over and repairs are done. No dinner. Not even hungry. But now ready for sleep again.

If you celebrate Easter, I wish you all the joy of the Risen Christ. If you don’t celebrate, I wish you the joy and promise of the arrival of Spring with its many celebrations.