Sushi, Sophie, Agatha, and bureaucracy

 

Spicy tuna tower, with sushi rolls
Pretty food

Been a busy couple of days. Jean and Jeannie picked me up last night for sushi supper at Tokyo Café, one of my favorite places. We went early but still waited almost an hour for our dinner—as the server explained, sushi slows everything down, and the kitchen was behind. I had salmon crudo which was good but not enough to eat; Jeannie had some kind of roll—and tried Kirin, a Japanese beer, which she said was terrific; Jean had the prettiest dish of all—a spicy tuna tower. She said it was both spicy and good. Fun to get out for dinner.

Sophie is coughing again. Poor dear started with a few coughs a couple of days go, but I am alert to that sound now and vowed not to let the problem develop. Jordan took her for an allergy shot yesterday, but she’s still had some coughing spells. I think though the steroid did to her what steroids often do to people—hyped her up. She woke me at 4:15, dancing in a manner that says she’s desperate to go out. You always hate to refuse in case she really does need to go, so I got up—and watched her disappear into a far and dark corner of the yard where I cannot see a black dog. She finally came back and lay on the patio, as if ready to begin the day—I enticed her in with treats which she then refused. Five-thirty came too quickly, and she had to go out again. This time I dished up her breakfast, and she reluctantly came in but was not interested in eating. At 6:45 we made one more trip; after that I refused, loved on her, and gently told her to go take a nap. It was nine o’clock before I woke up. Tonight she ate her breakfast, asked for more, doesn’t seem to be coughing. It will be a watchful weekend.

Yesterday was National Cozy Mystery Day, in case you missed it—a day in honor of Agatha Christie’s birthday. Confession: I am not especially a Christie fan; in fact, I’m not a fan of British mysteries, as are so many of my friends. I have enjoyed the two books about Christie’s mysterious temporary disappearance, but I’m not much schooled in her actual mysteries. It makes me feel a bit guilty, as though I am masquerading by calling myself a mystery writer when I don’t have the right credentials. Like those people who fake their academic degrees. Oh, I’ve read some of the books, but a long time ago. I need to buckle down and re-read. Jean particularly recommended the one in which Poirot dies—wonder which book that is?

I rarely diss on businesses or companies, but I’d like to issue a warning here: do not deal with Cigna insurance. Six months ago, when TCU cancelled their dental insurance for retirees, I took out a policy with Cigna. I paid each month, and each month they returned the check to my bank. SO each month I called to find out what was wrong and was given a variety of fixes, like a code on my check, none of which worked. And each month I would get an overdue email statement. This week my bank called and was told I need to put P.O. before Box on the envelope—is not the lamest thing ever? But this week, when both the bank and I talked to Cigna, the representative acted as though I had an active account. A note on my account on the website made me nervous, and I asked my dental office to call. Cigna had cancelled the insurance as of July 1 without notifying me either through a website message or email. Upshot: I have cancelled my dental appointment for next week and applied for new insurance. In retrospect, I think the problem was that I didn’t let Cigna automatically debit my bank account, but I am leery of having many automatic debits. I want to be in control of what happens with my banking.

Now waiting for Jordan to arrive with supper—for me, veal caprese from Macaluso’s just down the street. It was a hectic day, with Jacob playing 36 holes in a golf tournament, and nobody thought about dinner until too late to defrost anything. And Jacob will be in a hurry to get to the Paschal homecoming game. Meantime, I’m hungry!

Happy weekend everyone.

Waste not, want not

 

White chili with turkey

I did something this year I haven’t done in a long time. In a fit of domesticity, I simmered the turkey carcass, at least as much of it as would fit in my biggest pot. (Remember tiny kitchen.) I had to give up on the breastbone. It was simply too big.

Jordan and Christian didn’t want to “mess” with it—his words. But it has been simmering in their kitchen for two nights now. On Saturday, I added the last of a bit of celery, a cut onion that had been in the fridge I don’t know how long, and some of the baby carrots Jordan puts in Jacob’s salad. Started it in the cottage but had a problem—my hot plate automatically shuts off every 30 minutes. Cooking something all day is an exercise in getting up and restarting the thing. Cooking it overnight is impossible. So the pot went into the house and simmered for two nights. This morning, Jordan asked what to do with it and I asked her to bring it out to me.

When I simmer a turkey, I don’t want the meat and vegetables that have cooked that long. To me, they get soggy and tasteless, so I strained them out and got three good-sized icebox containers and two small ones of a rich, good broth. But as I discarded those scraps of meat, I thought guiltily about people for whom that would be a feast. For many of us, this is a season of plenty, and we tend to put out of our minds those that may hunger. I’m not sure what form of outreach will come from that aha! moment on my part. Certainly not to save those scraps for someone or some animal, but perhaps an extra donation to the Food Bank or through my church to the Presbyterian Night Shelter. But that waste really hit home with me, and I’ll act on it.

It was surely a weekend of plenty around here. We took a break from turkey and had a fresh salmon filet Saturday and real beef bourguignon last night—you know, made with sirloin rather than hamburger. Jordan wanted to make an occasion out of the first night of Advent, so we splurged on dinner. But she discovered that prep work for the bourguignon was more than she expected. The final result was worth it. Today at lunch I made the leftover salmon into a delicious salad that Jordan and I shared. Tonight it’s back to turkey—in white chili.

Food seems to surround us at this time of the year. I have the makings of cranberry/apricot chutney and cranberry cake. I’ll try to talk Jordan into another cheeseball. Before we know it, it will be time to think about Christmas dinner. Jordan is already talking about plans. Apparently, there is one of the coveted Greenwood smoked turkeys in the freezer—gotten just before the turkey plant burned. So I don’t know if we’ll have a roast turkey also or a small ham or what.

Not at all related to turkeys, but I want to give a shout-out to my colleague Judith Copek, whose mystery, Murder in the Northwoods, debuts tomorrow as a Kindle e-book. The opening line of the blurb is terrific: “She’s into high tech. He’s into homicide.” Can’t you just hear the tension, danger and romance both, crackling? Judy has been hit with a triple whammy of health problems, one of which is shingles. Having just survived a bout with shingles, I send her all my sympathy, and I know she may not be up to marketing her book widely. So I want to help. Check it out here: Murder in the North Woods - Kindle edition by Copek, Judith. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

Happy reading. It’s a cold night. Perfect for getting lost in a Northwoods mystery. While the woods are cold and dangerous, you can be cozy and safe reading about it at home.