Getting my kitchen mojo back

 

Crab cakes from Eatzi's

When Mary V. is coming for supper, she always emails to ask what she can bring, and I reply nothing, that I will cook for her. Over the years this back-and-forth has developed into a ritual. I like to feed Mary because she enjoys many of the things my family doesn’t—think smoked salmon and sardines.

 Last week, when I was still getting over my unexplained sinking spell, Mary was coming for supper, and I planned to make an asparagus/goat cheese/tarragon tart, something I’d never tried before. Truth is, I was more than a bit daunted by the prospect of fixing it. So when Mary emailed to suggest she bring something either from Charleston’s or Eatzi’s, I pulled up menus and began to think about what might sound good. And when she pushed the idea of crab cakes from Eatzi’s, I folded. She arrived with three crab cakes and eight stalks of asparagus. Jordan made us a big salad with her special blue cheese dressing, and we feasted. And I thought it was good not to cook. I did draw the line at letting Mary do the dishes—there weren’t many anyway.

But later I began to worry. “What,” I asked Jordan, “if I’m losing my ability to cook?” I think in my mind was a worry that I would no longer find joy in one of my main activities. Jordan tried to reassure me. Meantime, life went on with no real opportunity to cook—the pending celebration of Sandra Burton’s life cancelled all regular schedules, and everyone ate on the fly. And from my fridge, that fresh asparagus, goat cheese, and crème fraiche mocked me, along with a few fresh sprigs of tarragon.

So last night the kids said they would be home by seven, and I committed to fixing dinner. The asparagus tart was not as challenging as I expected, though it did not come out picture-perfect, a consequence of fitting the dough to the pan that will fit in my toaster oven. (Packages of puff pastry warn against using in a toaster oven, but I have no choice—it comes out fine though it might be “puffier” in a standard oven.)

Asparagus tart
not too shabby for a first try

I accompanied the tart with roast chicken breast and carrots, mostly because I had both the chicken and the carrots. I love roast carrots though I made the case for balance—a green vegetable and an orange one. There’s not a way to pound boneless, skin-on chicken breasts so I thought the meat was dry but the carrots delicious. Christian loved the meat, avoided the carrots, fearing they would be soggy. I told him they weren’t. That divergence of taste is pretty common around here. And the dry chicken made a good chicken salad for lunch today.

No more cooking for a few days. The kids came home from the Burton’s house in Coppell with all kinds of leftovers from the reception, plus we had some from the Friday night gathering. So it’s leftovers for us for a few nights. But now I know I’m back in the kitchen, I have a list of meals. Marinated chicken drumettes in lemon sauce, anyone?

Saturday night supper

Is this a forecast for 2019?

This has been the kind of day that only North Texas can deliver—cold, wet, gloomy, not quite freezing, not cold enough for lovely snow. I grew up in Chicago and lived four years in northeast Missouri—the icebox corner of the state—but that kind of clean cold and dirty snow doesn’t compare with the bone-chilling damp we had today. I sat at my computer in my all-purpose gray sweater (I really need to relinquish it long enough to send it to the cleaners, but this time of year I wear it every day). A lap robe over my knees, both of my heat units working—I usually only use one. And it was still chilly. Looking out the window did not brighten my mood, and once again I longed for a fireplace. But I worked and got quite a bit done, a good start on locating pictures for the Alamo book.

Last night, we had ham, black-eyed peas, cornbread, and company. A more subdued evening than the night before, though the guests had also been there for New Year’s Eve. Dinner was delicious—I ordered a pre-cooked, pre-sliced ham from Central Market and cooked a big pot of dried peas. I’d forgotten how much work that is. Christian brought me the dried peas and a piece of salt pork (I would have rather had a ham hock, but I gather the stores were a mess and supplies running out. A friend reported that Central Market was a zoo).

So I made do with what we had—and fought to get that tough skin off the salt pork. Wanted to use chicken broth, which meant I had to make it from the concentrate I keep in the fridge—six cups is a lot as you spoon out the concentrate and finally put it in boiling water. And then chopping an onion—I wore my special onion glasses, but it’s still a chore. At least I can do it without crying. Megan gave me these some time ago, and I have since gifted a lot of my cooking friends with them. I think they’re lifesavers.

Tonight, a friend and I mutually cancelled our dinner date—too cold, too wet, too risky. So I made scalloped potatoes with ham and scallions—okay, I didn’t have an onion and figured I could substitute scallions. All my adult life, I’ve struggled with scalloped potatoes—they were too runny, they were undercooked. My Colin loved them, but I never got them quite right. Tonight, I cheated and used cream of mushroom soup, cooked them in the toaster/oven, for two hours, and they were great—soft, tender, with a nice browned crust. I’ll blog about them on the Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog, along with the super recipe Christian used for corn bread. You begin with a mix and add sugar, sour cream, etc.—so delicious. Watch for it all at http://www.gourmetonahotplate.blogspot.com in a few days.

So now we are into the routine, the holidays behind us, the government shutdown unfortunately not. It’s either a time of boundless enthusiasm and optimism for the new year—or a time when you think, “Ho, hum, here we go again.” I prefer to choose the boundless optimism. And tonight, my Christmas lights still cheer me. We’ll leave the decorations up until Epiphany, then have yet another party to mark the date.

More cooking experiments. And a clear look at myself

Tonight, I ran into more of the disadvantages of downsizing, mainly that you downsize yourself out of everything you’re used to having on hand. Who lives in a kitchen without baking soda? Apparently, I do and so does my daughter. I wanted to soak chickpeas overnight and cook them in the morning to make hummus. First problem with that was we couldn’t find chickpeas in the large dried bean section at Central Market. Duh! A foodie reminded us they’re garbanzos, and we bought twice as many as I needed for my initial experiment.

Then I didn’t think I had a pot big enough to cook them in 10 cups of water. Jordan unearthed one that works on my magic hotplate, so tonight the peas/gabanzos are soaking in salt water. But in the morning, I need to cook them with ¼ tsp. baking soda. My kingdom for a tsp. of baking soda.

Tomorrow I hope to cook the peas, make the hummus, and make homemade tabbouleh—a big order, since we only did the “exotic” shopping today and still have a long list for the “ordinary” grocery store, plus Jamie says he’ll be here at elevnish—read two or three, but it will be so good to see him and Eden. I hope to let the day unroll as it will. The cooking projects don’t have to be done until the next day or the next. I’m trying to learn that lesson—or unlearn all the compulsive lessons that I carry with me as baggage.

Today, after our trip to Central Market, we picked up Jacob at a friend’s house in a nearby neighborhood, one of seventies and eighties ranch style houses and huge trees, all lovely and comfortable. But people are tearing down original structures and building McMansions that stick out like sore thumbs. Apparently, no thought is given to fitting into the neighborhood. There are neighborhoods in this city where McMansions fit the general style, but not the one we visited this morning and certainly not mine. It distresses me.

But with Jacob in the back seat, monosyllabic as young boys can be, I listened to myself criticizing the big houses and realized how negative I sounded. I fear I do that about other things that don’t fit my standard of how things should be, from frozen hamburger to people (a big leap). I made myself then and there a promise to be more positive and less critical. I can keep those critical thoughts to myself.

I remembered something Colin said to me when I mentioned that the stream of visitors to the cottage had slowed down drastically. He suggested maybe I don’t always make people welcome. Sometimes I’m so wrapped up in my work that maybe I’m not fun. Another critical look at myself and another resolution.

Lord, I hope I can live up to all this. Meantime, I’m happy to report I had a wonderful and simple supper tonight. Fresh corn on the cob, steamed asparagus, and filet of sole. I used to have an awful time cooking sole because it fell apart. I dusted this with flour, and it browned perfectly and came out of the pan easily. Such a mild but good fish. Color me happy.