Lazy Saturday and another cooking experiment

 

My slightly burned tuna puff

Today was just what Saturdays should be—lazy. Sophie and I slept late, had a good afternoon nap, although I dreamt so heavily that something in my dream scared me, and I woke myself up shouting, which alarmed Sophie. She barked and barked, and I had to sit on the bed petting her and telling her it was all right for a long time. Then I turned over and slept for another hour! Sophie’s night hours sometimes leave me really exhausted.

I told myself I should compile the recipe section for Irene Deep in Texas Trouble, but I didn’t do that. I read emails, read the news, and spent a long time reading the novel I’d barely started. I told myself I either had to pay attention to that novel—a romance/mystery so far—or give it up. And of course when I spent some concentrated time reading, I was hooked.

I was also hooked on news about the Chinese surveillance balloon. I had read someone’s prediction that we would be at war with China within a few years, and I fervently hope this didn’t accelerate that. But I am appalled at people like MTG who encouraged ordinary Joe to go out with his rifle and shoot it down. At eleven miles away when the farthest shot on record, by a trained distance shooter, is 4.4 miles—and that’s pretty remarkable. Besides what a lot of these gun-happy folks don’t think about as they shoot into the air, what goes up must come down. So all those bullets that couldn’t possibly hit the balloon would come back to earth and quite possibly kill someone.

MTG wasn’t the only one calling for stupid action. Trump Jr. blasted Biden for not bringing it down. Apparently he didn’t think far enough to think about three busloads of debris landing on communities in America. I truly shudder to think if these people ever again get power to dictate policy. And that goes for Kevin what’s-his-name.

But news and books aside, Saturday was as usual a day to experiment in the kitchen—only I didn’t mean to experiment. I have a recipe for tuna pasties that I’ve liked a lot. It calls for refrigerator biscuits, but sometimes the dough overwhelms the tuna, and I got the bright idea that puff pastry would be better. So I put puff pastry sheets on the grocery list—and didn’t realize until tonight that I had puff pastry shells, not sheets.

Dilemma: the shells are meant to be cooked and then filled. If I had sheets, the filling would bake (and the cheese melt) while the pastry cooked. I sort of fudged—cooked the shells part way, took them out and stuffed them, lowered the oven temperature a lot, and baked them a bit more. Actually I thought they were quite good. My oven runs hot, and even though I never heated it to the 475 recommended on the pastry package, they were a bit too brown, shading over to burnt. I think if I fiddled more with baking temperatures, I may have invented something. I’ll call them tuna puffs.

Meantime I have a whole lot of the tuna filling left!

A lazy morning, a lovely evening

Antipasto

Saturday morning, and I was reluctant to get up. Let Sophie out early and headed back to bed, but she is ever quicker than I am, and we disagreed about who should get the warm spot I’d just vacated. I won, and she pouted off to the living room. By 8:30 I was browsing the news but reluctant to face the chores I’d laid out last night—cooking chicken for tomorrow night’s casserole and making a batch of oatmeal/raisin cookie dough, since Jacob said he loves those cookies.

About ten-thirty, I took Jordan to meet a friend to watch the TCU/Baylor game—managed to avoid the traffic jam by going back streets. Some will tell you I’m the queen of back streets in south and west Fort Worth—my preferred routes, which always makes me think of an older friend, many years ago, who tut-tutted at me that a straight line was the shortest distance between two points. She didn’t think about traffic jams and stoplights.

Back home I dug in and spent the rest of the morning doing those chores—by one o’clock I had the kitchen clean, cookie dough and cooked chicken in the fridge, and lunch eaten. Prowled the New York Times Cooking Community Facebook page—what do you say to a woman who begins a post with “I hate hamburger. So bland and tasteless,” and then asks for recipes. I wouldn’t dare make a suggestion. Printed off a full color picture of a charcuterie platter with all  the ingredients labeled—good guide for us sometime, since Jordan and I loved to do those platters. And I even jotted down some good Christmas ideas and found a bright red outfit I think I want. I reluctantly parted this fall with the red plaid velvet shirt I’ve worn every Christmas Eve for years. Nap time!

Tonight, Jordan, Christian, and  I went to a lovely dinner party to celebrate the seventieth birthday of the husband of my Canadian daughter (explanation for those who don’t know: Sue and her two children, now well grown but young then, lived next door to me for several years; she moved on, bought a house, fell in love with a guy from California and enticed him to Fort Worth; she calls me her Fort Worth mom because her mom is far away in Ottawa, Ontario). We absolutely adore Teddy and were honored to be able to celebrate with him. I'm only sorry we didn't get a picture of him. He did single me out as the only person in the room a year older than him, and I reminded him it's a bit more than one year.

Dinner was at Nonna Tata, a tiny charming restaurant that serves country Italian food and seats at most 22—that’s how many there were tonight.  Wonderful food—antipasto, two pasta dishes, salad, rosemary bread, chicken and capers in what seemed like a yogurt sauce and was absolutely delicious, and an apple something for dessert. Great food, twice as much as I needed, and that much wine too. Good company, and a happy atmosphere. Lovely evening.

Whoopee, Saturday!

 

So proud of Kegan, my youngest grandchild, the Tomball kid. At eight, he was asked to try out for the 11-year-old soccer team and made it. His mom sent this picture, saying Kegan, on the left, doesn’t even realize he’s half the size of #6. He may be physically, but he’s twice the size in spirit.

Today was what every Saturday should be—lazy, no commitments, a genuinely nice day. Jacob is here a lot the next week, because his mom is on a business trip to Alaska—poor thing, a week on a Holland America cruise line. Have a hankering to go to Alaska? Just call Jordan—she will tell you all about it. Being a travel agent isn’t all bad.

Today Jacob and I slept late, and it was well after ten before I got myself in gear to do mundane house chores like make the bed, water plants, do a load of laundry. Jacob’s dad came to get him for lunch, and then they took a buddy to play at their house. I worked—learning to format manuscripts for print and digital production. Steep learning curve, but I’ve been keeping after it. And, yes, I had to have a good nap.

Tonight, I’m still alternating time at my desk with household chores—cutting up chicken for tomorrow night’s casserole, setting the table. I pan roasted the chicken as I usually do—sprinkle with salt, pepper and onion, cover with foil, and let it cook an hour or so.. It produces the most wonderfully flavored gelatin—at least one of my children hates “gelatinous” things. I know it’s not good for us, it’s not good for the dog (who sniffed with utmost curiosity), and I’d probably never make soup out of it. But, gosh, it hurt me to throw it away. The Scotsman in me, I guess. I once asked the owner of a Scottish B&B why they served blood pudding—which is nothing more than oatmeal with blood added and I didn’t think it was much of an addition. He shrugged, “I guess it was part of using everything about the animal.” Sometimes I wish I were that kind of cook.

Unfortunately, tomorrow probably won’t be that lazy. Maybe I got all the laziness out of my system today.